#But like.... Maybe she means just as a friend like.... Maybe shes just nice....

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS― jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So– yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[lananiscorner]

Coldest hot take that ever took, but if people can understand the meaning of the word "nostalgia" and the sentiment of "god, remember when we were kids and our biggest worry in the world was whether we could have ice cream for dessert after dinner?", then they should be able to understand the urge to consume something that hearkens back to a time when the world seemed simpler (it never was, you just had adults taking over lots of shit for you and shielding you from the worst, ideally). A time when it was good enough for you to just exist and have fun and maybe learn about the importance of courage and friendship and kindness.

Also, I think a lot of the stigma around adults consuming media for kids is that puritanical panic around "but what if these adults are gonna corrupt/groom/abuse our kids???" to which all I can say is:

1) adults who want to do that will find a way to do it even without watching My Little Pony or Steven Universe or whatever.

2) Not every adult who consumes media for kids is a pedo. See the entire topic of this post.

3) You SHOULD want your kids to interact in spaces where there are adults around as well, because learning how to interact with people who are not the same age/ethnicity/affiliation as you is actually a really important life skill.

4) It will help them learn what healthy interactions with adult strangers look like, which will make it easier for them to notice when an interaction is not healthy (e.g. why is this one user so eager to get a picture of what I'm wearing today, none of the others have ever asked me for that).

5) By having adult strangers around that are not affiliated with their parents in any way, they will have someone to reach out to in case they are actually, in real life, being groomed or abused by someone they don't trust to report to their parents (e.g. dad's best friend, mom's sister, the teacher both their parents get along with so well, etc.)

"Fun" trivia: Many years ago, my mom and I used to be part of a massive anime forum/art posting site where the average age was something like 13 or so, and thanks to both of us commenting on art work a lot, we became "that one nice lady who always says what she likes about my art" and eventually "the one nice lady who's been nice enough for long enough that I want to DM her". And you would not believe the sheer amount of kids we ran into who lived in very troubled (and sometimes seriously dangerous) homes, who did not feel safe talking to their parents and who sometimes had no frame of reference for how stuff that RL adults did to them was wrong until they interacted with us in comments and DMs and realized what healthy interactions with adults at a respectful distance looked like.

Trying to remove adults who are not being creeps from fandoms for media for kids helps exactly no one other than the actual creeps who will simply pretend that they are 12 themselves.

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety (attacks). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot. 

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.��

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[grapejuicebrat]

champagne coast - r.c.

where rafe has to watch you moving on.

warnings: mentions of smut, kissing, swearing, heavy angst, might be a happy ending, rafe tries to be better.

notes: SHES BAAAACK. and a little reminder: english is not my first language so be nice! x

my masterlist

———

“i want you to be happy rafe, that’s all i ever wanted”

but what if he can’t be happy without you? what if just your presence made rafe smile? if you want him to be happy, why did you leave? those questions were never asked but god, rafe still do want to know all the answers.

watching you moving on is hard. the first time rafe saw you after the break up, your eyes were red from crying. you never smiled. never wanted to pretend that you’re ok. you still loved rafe after all. even if he was a drug addict, even if he was a mean grumpy man. you really wanted to see rafe as an old rafe who tried to not hate on pogues. who tried to catch up with his sister and be a good older brother.

he really tried to be better. for you. for your future family.

he even wanted to marry you. of course, part of him understands that all those thoughts were in his head because he wanted you to stay with him. maybe he could get you pregnant with his baby. having a little copy of you with those big doe eyes was everything he ever wanted. but looking back, it wasn’t possible. not anymore.

sitting in a country club and watching you working hard was difficult. in the beginning of your relationship rafe made that clear. he never ever wanted you to work there again. not because he wanted you to be in a golden cage, just because men in this club were disgusting. rafe would never forget how you cried in his shirt about another nasty comment about her body. that’s why you decided to quit your job and instead of being a waitress you waited at home for rafe, making a dinner for you two and being like a housewife.

you changed rafe in a lot of ways. so now he doesn’t even want to punch this motherfucker jj in the face, because he is clearly flirting with you. after all, he promised you to fight with his anger.

the last thing rafe wants to do is disappoint you again.

“bro, there many other bitches, just forget about her” kelce said to rafe, laughing.

rafe’s eyes shifted to kelce, anger bubbling up in his blood. nobody gets to talk about you like that. even if you were the one to break up with him, you did it for best.

“if you try to say stupid shit like that again, i won’t even hesitate to punch you in a fucking face. you don’t know anything, motherfucker”.

it was the first time rafe didn’t let his friends say something disrespectful towards a girl.

you would be proud of him, that’s for sure.

after two shitty weeks of your break up, rafe saw you smiling for the first time. and he could swear, his heart melted. of course he wanted you to be happy to, even if it does mean that he won’t be included in your life anymore. as much as it hurts to say, maybe in some time you will start a family with a guy that really deserves you. and rafe always said to you that he didn’t deserve you. well, that’s true. he never deserved your kindness, your patience and mostly, your love.

after a long month, rafe could proudly say that he didn’t do coke for a month and two weeks. he didn’t drink either, except one bottle of a beer at the party. he wanted to start a new life, to try to be someone who would deserve you even if you doesn’t want him anymore.

and of course, you knew about this changes. you promised yourself to keep an eye on him if anything happens. and you were really happy to see him like this. without his stupid friends, that you never liked. without being high and drunk. at some time you would think that it’s your old rafe. who you used to know. and your heart would skip a heartbeat. after all, you still loved him. you will always love him.

sometimes you wanted to kiss him like you used to. to hug him, whisper an “i love you” and kiss like there was no tomorrow. you wanted to feel his hands on your neck, on your waist, everywhere. you missed this feeling of being loved by him, you missed his big eyes and his perfect smile. you missed those rare times you two made love to each other. of course you were obsessed with his dominant side in sex but oh god, when he would lay on you and hug you, and his dick was buried deep in your pussy and only god knows how many times he said that he loved you.

you would look at him in a country club, scared that some chick would hug him and sit in his lap. but not in a month, or two. not after a year after your break up, he still didn’t bring anybody. and if topper told you the truth, he refused to even look at some girl. except you.

there were still some rare moments when you would just sit in your kitchen and there will be only one question.

“what if we were still together”

you tried to imagine your life with rafe, how would everything be okay. and you cried. every time.

after another long night in an empty bad you’ve had enough. even if it is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made, you didn’t want this to be the end. not like that. when everything could possibly be better. when rafe at least tries to be better. because you still love him and some part of you hopes he still does love you. so you made your choice right away, getting your phone from the table.

notes: end sucks, i know. but i am still proud of this one. waiting for your comments!

[natalchartnurtures]

•Pick-A-Meme• How Do Your Friends View You?

1-2-3 >>

Cue the intro to F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Pile 1:

Spirit message to open your reading – "a bundle of joy." Aw, haha, I get a really warm, expansive energy radiating from you. It's quite beautiful as I sit in it right now. It’s as if I’m basking in soft sunshine on a Sunday morning—so light, so golden. This is exactly how your friends view you. You’re a ray of soft sunshine, pile 1. Believe it or not, you are the embodiment of joy and kindness to the people around you. Your presence is deeply felt and appreciated, especially in the world we live in rn.

Your friends may think you’re incredibly lucky? Maybe you’re the lucky charm of your friend group? Or maybe it’s just that you bring a lot of fun wherever you go. You give me fairy vibes tbh. You remind me of Tinker Bell sprinkling her pixie dust wherever she goes (you don’t have to be a ‘she’ to take that message, btw) and lifting people’s frequency without even trying to. This could happen on subconscious levels as well, so your friends might not know how to put a finger on how you make them feel. They might just describe you as a lovely person to be around.

Ooh, I’m getting that even though you might like to keep your circle small, you may have a lot of people around you generally. It might just be that you make a lot of people feel like they want to get into your close circle but can’t. You probably don’t even realize it, lol. To you, you’re just living a normal life and being your fairy-ass self—cute, kind, generous, wonderful, authentic, divine, and casually powerful (lol). Let me tell you, IT HAS A PROFOUND IMPACT on everybody you know and interact with, not just your friends. You impact strangers, acquaintances, potential romantic suitors (which you have a TON of, I hear—not sure if you know this).

Your presence is felt, pile 1. I don’t care if you’re a wallflower or a theater kid. You. Are. The IT GIRL/BOY/PERSON of the room, and that’s it. You may be blissfully unaware of it (and that’s a sign that your aura is heavily protected, which is a good thing, so dw).

MOVING ON—your friends view you as a go-getter. They see you as incredibly creative and capable of achieving whatever you set your mind to. You give BALANCE, in every sense of the word. You are equally feminine, loving, nurturing, and caring as you are protective, fierce, and masculine. This quality of yours is so bloody admired. You are the textbook example of integrity, pile 1. Wow. I’m in awe of your energy. Keep it up, sweets—you must’ve done some really intense inner healing to get to such a beautiful internal place.

Now, things take a very interesting turn. I see that a lot of the people you know but aren’t especially close with may be interested in you romantically but don’t come forth with their intentions. They prefer to simply stay in the "friend" zone (maybe ‘cause they feel unworthy of stepping towards you? Idk). These people seem to be in their distorted masculine energy, and you seem to trigger the ever-loving crap outta them, lmao. It’s just your beautiful light that automatically does it for you, yk.

People you know (but aren’t close with) could secretly be jealous of you. In their eyes, you’re living the dream life—whatever that means for them. But just know that you’re heavily protected at this time, yea? Any kind of energy that could potentially harm you will be dealt with by Spirit. Spirit wants only the best for you, and your energy demands nothing but the very best. So if you feel rejected, lonely, or like not a lot is happening in your life, it’s because of this. Take rejection as a positive sign that you’re divinely protected :)

So, that’s how your friends view you! Hope you enjoyed this read—I can’t wait to see you on my next one :] Have a nice rest of your day, sweet pea! And stay your divine, amazing-ass self, tehe ✨️

If you'd like to know more about how your friends view you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

Pile 2:

Opening energies for the pile – I heard the song "Reincarnated" by Kendrick Lamar as I tapped into how your friends view you. Pile 2, I must say... your friends view you as a badass person. Hardcore, intense, low tolerance for BS, and possibly having old-soul energy is how your friends see you. They love your sarcasm, your witty humor and the light energy you bring to everything you do.

Also... I’m ngl, your friends think you’re a bit like Kendrick Lamar himself, haha. They might think you’re really talented at something and potentially have star quality, too. Do you have any major Leo energy in your chart, maybe? ‘Cause you sure come off that way to your friends, and they LOVE this leaning vibe about you. You seem so open, generous, and childlike with your friends but intense to people who aren’t, haha lmao. You may have an RBF that scares some people away 😂 (but enjoy that, maybe?). You’re hilarious.

Side note: If you’ve ever considered doing stand-up comedy, I see you being super successful at it 😁👀

Do you like Kendrick Lamar, pile 2? ‘Cause that song I channeled is playing in my ears LOUD and clear as I’m reading for you, haha.

Your friends might view you as somebody with a complex but deeply satisfying and rich inner world. You may love being by yourself as much as you love goofing off with your friends. They find this very interesting about you, tbh. They see you as somebody that’s “detached but VERY cool.”

You come across as the cool boy/girl/person in the room. You have an energy that stands out, and the best part is you don’t even care, haha. You’re just living in your own mind and checked out from the world unless there’s something worthwhile that catches your attention irl. Haha, that’s so iconic.

Ooh... your friends may view you as very attractive, too, ‘cause I just saw Christina Aguilera from her Dirrty MV, and boy, does she EAT in that ICONIC VIDEO. That MV is how I can summarize your energy and how it’s viewed by your friends, pile 2. It’s quite powerful (in a nonchalant typa way), too, I’m ngl. Like, idc about you but HAVE LOADS OF MONEY simply ‘cause you didn’t give a fuck, lmao.

You might be deeply spiritual, and to your friends, it comes as a very mysterious part of you. They don’t fully understand it, but on some level, they acknowledge that it’s a BIG part of who you are and respect it for what it is.

They view you as highly individualistic. As someone who’s gonna do what they wanna do and still land on their feet every time. They view you as “this person will be fine no matter what happens,” ‘cause I feel this raw strength emanating from you, which your friends easily pick up on. It’s something they love about you, too, yk.

Your friends view you as somebody who finds it hard to let their guard down. They see you as someone who’s come from a difficult life/upbringing, and they understand that you need your space from time to time. You seem to have very mature and protective friends, pile 2! Good for you, haha.

They view you as somebody who is content and fulfilled in their life despite any past challenges. They admire everything you’ve accomplished despite these challenges. And if you’ve been through a transformation recently, they really see this shift inside you, and they’re really happy about it 😊👀

They might feel as if you still struggle with some things related to your past, though, but on some level, they expect to see a breakthrough in your energy soon. They know for a fact you’ll get over anything ‘cause, according to them, you eat challenges for breakfast 😂 Haha, love that.

So, that’s how your friends view you! Hope you enjoyed this read—I can’t wait to see you on my next one :] Have a nice rest of your day, sweet pea! And stay your divine, badass self, tehe ✨

If you'd like to know more about how your friends view you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

Pile 3:

Spirit messages to open your reading – "inspiring and very healing to be." You give papa bear energy, pile 3 (regardless of your gender). You have this sweet and tender vibe towards your friends, and that’s how they see you. Somebody with a precious heart and an even more precious mind—always buzzing and alive with thoughts.

Your friends might reeeeally love chatting with you. You give me therapist vibes, tbh. Talking to you is sooooo soothing. But I think what your friends don’t understand is that while you give great advice and are fun to talk to, you might not always be in a good place mentally. I feel like your friends assume that you’re fine on the inside when you’re not? Maybe they have a false impression of you? Hm. Interesting. This might be ‘cause you simply keep your mental health struggles to yourself.

You don’t want your friends to bear what you think is your burden to bear. You don’t wanna bleed on everybody else, so to speak, and this has your friends viewing you as a light ✨. You give me strong Chiron vibes, tbh—the wounded healer in every sense of the word. You have quiet compassion towards people in general, and that’s really appreciated, but not necessarily always seen. If that’s the case with you, I’m so sorry, pile 3. You deserve to be CELEBRATED for your heart and deserve friends that truly appreciate you!

Your friends view you as a bit of a mom figure in their lives. Maybe you take on a lot of responsibility, so they see you that way. You are viewed as a safe space where anybody can be themselves without feeling judged. This is that therapist energy I was picking up from your vibe earlier. You might have some very emotionally disconnected (and potentially immature) friends in your life, pile 3. Hm.

Interestingly, your friends also see you as somebody who's not a pushover, though. You know how to burn a bridge when it's time, and this is something about you that's respected. They could describe you as someone who's a nice person but not a doormat. You know how to move on and get that REVENGE if you're pushed to your limits—and you'd do it with such ease that the people you've left behind might be baffled by it.

I'm also getting that you might've gone through a heartbreak recently? If so, I'm sending you loads of love, sweet pea. Hope you heal well from this. I see that beyond this heartbreak is a fresh new start for you, leading you straight into a joyous outcome. Like, say you broke up with your significant other—I see you meeting new people by the end of your healing period, potentially even your next suitor! (Apply this to whatever situation you're in, though.)

But yeah, to sum it up, your friends view you as a wonderful friend, confidant, and just... a healing presence.

So that's how your friends view you, pile 3. Hope you got something helpful out of this read—I can't wait to see you on my next one :]

Have a nice rest of your day, sweet pea! And stay your divine Chiron-ass self, tehe ✨

If you'd like to know more about how your friends view you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[wchswift]

HABZHSBAH HIII LINAAA (it's me again 😭) gosh i don't want to appear as a desperate but it seems that you're the only who opens your request for leopold 😔😭

just a small request :3 from a prompt that i encountered "... sorry, i talked too much" "no no no not at all, keep talking. i love listening to you."

well, we all know what a gentleman leopold is HABSUSBSH (I NEED HIM SO BAD MY BABY), i don't have any plot in mind so maybe you could create yours based on the prompt?? thank you!! (i love your writings)

Every Word You Say

Pairing: Leopold Mountbatten x Reader Content: strangers to friends to lovers (kind of), yapping, fluff, reader is a bookworm, Leopold is head over heels, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 2.6k (maybe I got a little excited) a/n: HIII ZAYN BESTIE!! I'm so happy you're sending me requests yayy, thanks to you I could write to Leopold my baby again (pls keep going)! okay I have to admit that I loved this prompt and maybe I got a little carried away about the plot... Maybe I've strayed a little from what you wanted (I hope not), but I really hope you like it cause I really enjoyed writing it <3

It was a good afternoon. The store was quiet, as usual, with only a few customers coming and going and not much activity. Afternoons like that were nice—there wasn't much work to do, but sales were enough to keep the place from feeling forgotten. This allowed some time to relax behind the counter and arrange books on the shelves.

The faint jingling of the brass bell above the door broke the comforting silence of the shop. The sound made her look up from the stack of books on the counter, brushing a stray hair from her face as she spotted the man who had just entered.

He was tall and impeccably dressed, with an air of calm that seemed at odds with the frenetic city outside. His coat was neatly buttoned, his shoes polished, and he carried himself with a poise that made her pause. New Yorkers weren’t usually this... composed. It was weird. But most importantly, he was so beautiful.

“Hi, good afternoon,” she greeted, flashing him a polite smile. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

The man hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes scanning the shelves. “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, the kind of voice that made even the most mundane words sound elegant.

She went back to organizing her stack of books, sneaking a glance now and then as he browsed. He moved slowly, as though savoring the sight of each title, his fingers brushing over the spines like they were relics. Finally, he stopped at the classics section and pulled out a leather-bound book.

He turned to her, holding the book aloft. “This edition of The Odyssey... it’s rather splendid. Do you recommend it?”

She blinked, surprised at his formality. “Oh, definitely. It’s one of my favorites. That edition has some great commentary in the back, too. Though, fair warning, if you get me started on books, I might not shut up.” She confessed, her tone amusing but gentle.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you, I regret nothing. Please, continue.”

She smiled genuinely at him, feeling a small flutter of surprise at his response. Most people gave a polite nod or chuckle when she rambled, but this man seemed really interested. Encouraged, she leaned against the counter, her hands gesturing animatedly as she began talking.

“You can’t go wrong with The Odyssey,” she said. “I mean, it’s a classic for a reason, right? Epic journeys, gods meddling in human affairs, monsters… And don’t get me started on Odysseus himself. Brilliant, but also kind of an idiot, if you ask me.” She laughed, then quickly added, “Oh, but you know... I mean that in the best way, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Hm, Is that so? Fascinating perspective. You find fault with his decisions?”

“Oh, plenty,” she replied, warming to the topic. “Some of his problems are his own fault—like the whole Cyclops thing? That could’ve been avoided if he’d just kept his mouth shut. But that’s what makes him interesting. He’s flawed. Human. It makes the story feel timeless, even though it’s thousands of years old.”

As the words tumbled out of her, she noticed his expression soften. His gaze didn’t waver, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as though he were cataloging every word she said.

So she just kept talking, completely oblivious to him or how he was mesmerized watching her, the excitement and ease with which she lost herself in the topic. After a moment like that, it was like something hit her, realizing how much she’d been talking, she stopped abruptly, her cheeks heating. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. You came for the books and probably weren’t expecting an impromptu lecture on Greek mythology.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “Not at all. Your enthusiasm is... refreshing. Please, go on.”

Her lips twitched in a smile of her own. “You’re dangerous, you know that? Most people try to shut me up, but not you. You’re encouraging me.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would wish you to stop,” he replied earnestly.

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She licked her lips, momentarily speechless and lost in him. After that, she just knew she would want to keep him in her life for as long as possible.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to return.

As she rearranged a display near the window the next afternoon, the bell above the door jingled again. She glanced up, half-expecting the usual flow of customers, only to see the same man from the day before.

He greeted her with the same polite nod and reserved smile, his gaze sweeping over the shop like he was committing every detail to memory.

“Back so soon?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He stopped near the counter, his posture impeccably straight. “I enjoyed our conversation yesterday. And I have a fondness for bookshops.”

“Well, then you’ve come to the right place,” she said, gesturing to the shelves around them. “Find anything interesting today?”

He paused, his gaze flicking to the classics section before returning to her. “Not yet, but I have no doubt you will recommend something.”

“Challenge accepted,” she said, already scanning the shelves in her mind for the perfect book. "Oh, sorry. What's your name again?"

As the days passed, Leopold's visits became routine. He would step into the shop with that same calm air, and they would talk—about books, history, the city, and whatever topic struck her fancy. He never seemed to mind when she rambled, always listening with the kind of focus that made her feel like the most fascinating person in the room. Something she wasn't even a little bit used to, by the way.

Their interaction was so easy and natural. When she talked to him, was always exciting and gave her a feeling of comfort. So it wasn't exactly a surprise when she quickly grew accustomed to his presence. It was strange how easily he fit into the rhythm of her days, even though she knew so little about him.

Each time he came in, she found herself lighting up in ways she hadn’t expected. She would recommend books, tease him about his formal speech, and talk about whatever was on her mind, and he never failed to listen with unwavering attention. She never, not once, felt uncomfortable or unseen in his presence. He was like a prince in a fairy tale.

One rainy afternoon, as she stacked a new shipment of books behind the counter, the man who wouldn't leave her thoughts walked in with droplets clinging to his coat and hair. She glanced up, smiling automatically.

“Caught in the rain, huh?” she asked, setting down the stack.

“Indeed,” he said, brushing water from his sleeves. “Though I find it a small price to pay for the solace this shop provides.” He complimented, in his usual formal way.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You always know how to make the place sound fancier than it is. It’s just a bookshop, you know.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile gracing his lips. “To you, perhaps. To me, it is quite extraordinary.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice made her breath catch for a moment. She quickly looked away, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve.

“Well,” she said, her tone lighter, “if you’re going to keep flattering the place, I should at least give you a tour of the neighborhood. There are some other spots I think you’d like—if you’re interested.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, as though the suggestion surprised him. “I would be delighted,” he said, feeling his heart race.

This finally happened two days later.

The city bustled around them, cars honking and voices blending into a constant hum, but she took him down quieter streets, pointing out her favorite spots.

“This café has the best pastries,” she said, gesturing to a small storefront with a faded awning. “And the park a few blocks down is great if you need to get away from all this.”

He listened attentively, nodding at her words but occasionally glancing around with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of his surroundings.

When they reached a crosswalk she stepped forward without thinking, only to realize he hadn’t moved. She turned back to see him standing on the curb, watching the cars zip by with a look of mild apprehension.

“Hey, you coming?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Is it always this... chaotic?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Pretty much. You just have to commit to it.” She grabbed his arm lightly, tugging him forward as the light changed. “Come on—don’t think, just go.”

He followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath, “This city has no regard for decorum—or the sanctity of life.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I swear you'll get used to it. Well, eventually.”

As they walked through the park, the noise of the streets faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of joggers. She led him to a bench near a small fountain, sitting down and patting the spot next to her.

“See? Not so bad, right?” she said, leaning back with a contented sigh.

He settled beside her, his posture as upright as ever. “It is... quieter than I expected,” he admitted. “Rather pleasant, in fact.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she said, smiling. “You know, You're not as hard to please as you seem.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “Oh, I imagine this is good?”

She laughed softly, and for a moment they sat in comfortable silence, watching the fountain's water ripple in the breeze. They enjoyed being at peace, simply appreciating each other's company.

That evening, he returned to the bookshop. The streets were quieter now, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor as she tidied up before closing.

He lingered by the counter as she talked, her words spilling out in an excited stream as she recounted a childhood memory sparked by a book she’d come across earlier that day.

“So when I was ten, I had this phase where I was obsessed with The Secret Garden,” she said, gesturing as she spoke. “I even convinced my dad to help me plant this tiny garden in our backyard. Except, I was an awful gardener—I kept forgetting to water it, and half the flowers were just weeds I thought looked cool.”

She laughed, shaking her head at the memory. “But I’d still sit out there for hours, waiting for my own magical door to appear. My dad always called it my ‘weed palace.’”

Leopold chuckled softly, his smile warm. “A ‘weed palace,’ you say? Peculiar, but at the same time charming.”

“Well, maybe to you,” she replied, grinning. “To everyone else, it was probably an eyesore.”

She paused, glancing at the clock and suddenly realizing how long she’d been talking. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced at him.

“Oh God... I’m sorry, I talked too much. I really need to learn when to stop.”

Leopold, who has been utterly captivated, loses the humor in his eyes, his expression shifting to something quieter, warmer as he tries to reassure her.

“No, no, not at all. Keep talking. I love listening to you.” he said softly.

Her breath caught at the earnestness in his voice, the way his gaze held hers as though he truly meant every word. For a few seconds, she could only stare, her usual quick wit failing her.

“Thanks,” she murmured finally, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

The warmth in his eyes didn’t waver, and in that quiet moment, the bustling world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

A comfortable silence settled in for a few minutes. Leaving them there, just staring at each other, observing each other. For a moment, she didn't know what else to say. People didn’t usually look at her the way he was now—like every word she said was worth hearing. It was flattering, a little unnerving, but mostly... nice. She blinked a few times, adjusting her posture while lightly playing with her hair, hoping to dispel the warmth creeping into her cheeks.

The quiet between them was the kind of silence that felt full, warm, and fascinating. She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, glancing at him as he remained by the counter, looking as though he had something more to say.

Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, her voice soft. “You know, you’re a pretty good listener. Most people get bored with my stories halfway through.”

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint, knowing smile she was beginning to adore. “I find your stories enchanting. They are... a window into a world I often feel I’m only just discovering.”

Her brow furrowed at the odd phrasing, but before she could question it, he stepped a little closer, his hands gently resting on the counter. His gaze softened, the usual formality in his expression giving way to something more vulnerable.

“It’s rare,” he continued, his voice low, “to find someone who speaks with such passion. Most people... say so little of consequence. But you—your words, your thoughts—they breathe life into even the most mundane things.”

Her heart gave a tiny flutter, and she felt warmth creep up her neck again. “That’s... really sweet of you to say,” she murmured, looking down at her hands.

For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered across his face. He took a deep breath, then, with a soft, deliberate motion, tilted his head to meet her eyes. The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable as he declared, “I speak only the truth.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a spark of something unnameable through her chest, and she met his gaze, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Well,” she said lightly, trying to steady her voice, “if you keep flattering me like that, I might start to think you enjoy my company.”

His smile deepened, feeling more real, with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I should hope that has been apparent for some time.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re kind of a mystery, you know that? But... I think I like that about you.”

“And you,” he said, his tone softening again, “are an open book. A rare and beautiful one.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. The faint glow of the shop’s dim lighting reflected in his eyes, and the quiet hum of the world outside seemed to fade entirely. She momentarily dropped her gaze to his lips before his voice brought her back.

“Would you,” he began, his voice careful, almost hesitant, “permit me the honor of accompanying you on another of your walks? Perhaps tomorrow?”

She bit her lip, her heart racing in a way that felt new and thrilling, together with the urge to jump into his arms. “I think I’d like that,” she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

He straightened slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction crossing his face. “Then it’s settled.”

As the bell above the door jingled softly, signaling his departure, she stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the night. She closed her eyes as a painful smile appeared on her face, she quickly did a happy dance before lightly resting her hands on the counter.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty! feel free to join the tag list ☆

[darkredsugarcookie]

"The Pressure of His Lips" - ex!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi! Like three (3) people have asked me to start posting fics on here, so here we go. I'm new to posting on tumblr, but I'm a wattpad and ao3 veteran, so be nice. I'm still trying to figure out the formatting and everything for this place :P

Summary: After breaking up due to your secret relationship being brought to the surface, you are not handling the separation well. Too much vodka and lonely nights end with you accidentally Bucky from the bathroom floor.

Warnings: Alcohol use, heavy intoxication, mentions of smoking weed, slight hint at SA history upon the reader, angst, alpine mention!!!! let me know if I missed any!

DISCLAIMER: This is an excerpt from a bigger fic I've been writing in which the self-insert has a history of SA. It is hinted at for one sentence in this specific blurb.

By all means, I should’ve been the one that managed to keep my head above water. Dad hit rock bottom when he was my age— after my grandparents died. He was no stranger to tell me about it. It was always an example of what not to do. Even Mom had her struggles after she lost her brother. 

I had every picture perfect reason to stay away from anything that could drag me down like a weight in still water. Which is why I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at the bottom of a bottle on a Monday night in uptown Manhattan. 

For a long time, I refused to drink more than once in heavy social settings after what happened when I was seventeen. But this? I didn’t care anymore. I needed whatever would keep him and my parents and the team out of my head. 

The problem I was running into, however, was that by the time I was cross-faded in a mass of bodies in a bar uptown, he was the only thing I had the ability to think about. 

Everything I wouldn’t confront during the day when I was sober chased me down until I was curled up in the corner of a bathroom stall. 

The smell of weed clouded my senses as the cold tile floor hit the backs of my thighs. The vodka still on my tongue made me dizzy and I could feel my heart beating like a drum in my head.

Every memory axed its way into my head like a migraine I couldn’t shake. I could spend every night like this, I could dance with strangers I didn’t care about, I could swear off men to my best friend and demand that I was completely fine, but I would always end up like this. Thinking about how I could still feel the pressure of his lips on my skin and if I tried hard enough, the temperature of the bathroom tiles almost felt like that of his arm under my fingers whenever we were curled up together. 

I couldn’t keep a straight thought. It all flashed through my head in images I couldn’t shake. 

My phone was vibrating. 

I fumbled for it, where it was tucked into the front of my dress, and I didn’t even check who was calling when I  tapped the screen and held it to my ear. I sniffled, wiping my nose. My cheeks were wet. 

I was crying. That seemed to be pretty normal for me these days. 

“Hello?” 

I blinked. Great, now I was hallucinating voices. I’d never reached that point of being wasted. “Nat,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I probably just ruined my makeup already. “What’s up?” I did my best to sound sober. Probably didn’t work.

There was a heavy sigh. “You didn’t mean to call me,” he said. 

“You called me,” I replied. 

“No, I did not. Are you… Are you okay?” 

“I am fine,” I said. “I’m not… supposed to talk to you.” “I know, angel.” Another sigh, a shuffle of something. Maybe blankets. It couldn’t have been that late. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

My head was pounding, swimming… I couldn’t quite breathe right. “You don’t really sleep…”

“No, I don’t. Less now. Where are you?” 

“Why?” I felt defensive all of a sudden. No matter the fact I didn’t think I could get up off this floor if the building was on fire. 

“Because you’re drunk, sweetheart. And you’re alone. It’s not safe.”

“You don’t know that I’m- if I’m alone.”

A brief pause. “Yes, I do. Do you know where you are?” 

I was picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I’m…” I squeezed my eyes shut. That string wrapped around my finger twice. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay, hold on—” I heard a door shut. It was quiet for a second. “I know where you are. You stay in the bathroom, okay? I’ll come get you.”

“But you—”

“No, you stay where you are.” I shrank a little. “Hear me?” 

“Yeah…” “Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I think I fell asleep after that, because the next thing I remember was hearing a commotion of voices— only one of which I recognized. 

Then it got so bright as the stall door was pushed open and I swear it felt like my heart that had dropped dead almost a month ago was beating again. 

Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions as he touched my cheek. “Sweetheart…” He said, letting out a breath. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, blinking a few times to try and see clearly. If he was here, I wanted to feel it, see it. All of it. 

“I’m here for you, doll.”

“But you hate me.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I don’t, baby. I don’t hate you. But we need to get you home, come on.”

Without waiting for me to say anything, he lifted me to my feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asked. I just shrugged. 

As I limped my way to the bathroom exit, one of the other girls stopped him, demanding that he either explain how he knew me, or set me down. If I was sober, I might have hugged her for that. “He’s…” I started. 

She cast a worried glance from me, to the man holding me up. Bucky sighed and pulled out his phone, showing her the screen. “She’s mine, promise.” I barely caught a glimpse of the wallpaper. It was a picture Avery had taken of us when we were in Atlanta, we were in the kitchen, not even aware she was watching. 

Once we were past the crowds, he shoved the door open and helped me outside. The chilly air shocked me a little back into my senses, but not much. 

He pulled the car door open and helped me into the passenger seat before rounding the hood and climbing in. “I feel like lecturing you on how dangerous this is might be pointless because I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of it.”

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks. “I thought I was… fine.” “I’m sure you did,” he said, pulling onto the street. “Avery would have a heart attack if she knew about this, you know?” 

“Yeah… It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like you.”

“Sure it is,” I replied as I looked out the window. “It’s in my genes.” Bucky glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. When we pulled up outside my apartment building, I paused. “How do you—”

“I had a feeling something like this would happen. I got it from Nat.” 

“She gave it to you?” 

“I had to ask. Beg, actually.”

“That isn’t like you,” I said, quoting his own words. He cast me that same look he always gave me when I said something annoying, but valid. I smiled a little, tipping my head against the headrest of the car as I watched him climb out. 

When he got to my side and pulled the door open, he didn’t give me an option. Next thing I knew, he was scooping me into his arms and I didn’t have it in me to fight. I leaned closer, letting my body relax for the first time in weeks. I could scold myself for this in the morning. 

“What’s the door code?” he asked me. 

“My birthday,” I replied in more of a mumble than anything. “It’s—”

“I know your birthday, angel.” 

I sighed and nodded as we stepped into the warmth of the lobby. I didn’t question him as he held me the whole way to my apartment, his fingers occasionally brushing against my body as if it was muscle memory. 

He pressed the same code into my door keypad and shoved the door open. 

“Don’t let the cat out,” I muttered. 

“The what— Oh my god.” I heard my little white kitten meow up at him. “That’s Snowball,” I said. “Or Alpine. I can’t choose.”

He sighed, a small smile on his face. “I like Alpine.”

Bucky carried me to the master bedroom and set me on the bed. I rubbed my eyes, the ache behind them starting to grow. He disappeared for a second and when he came back, he put a glass of water in my hand. “Drink this,” he said, setting my shoes in my closet. I wondered briefly where he found them before he returned from the closet with the Avengers Compound sweatshirt that used to be his, but I had reclaimed. “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he said. “Or that makeup.” 

“I’ll be fine—” I started. 

“No. You’re gonna change. I’ll give you a—”

“I can’t get the zipper myself,” I said quietly. “It’s not- It’s not a ploy… Promise.” 

He helped me to my feet and turned me around before tugging at the zipper. I felt the air hit my back a second before his hand landed at my waist. “Are you gonna remember anything from tonight?” 

“I hope so,” I said softly. Other words for definitely not. 

Bucky sighed and dropped his head to my shoulder. “I miss you,” he breathed, lips brushing against my skin. “More than I’ve ever missed anyone.” 

A pain lodged itself in my chest. It was so deep that in this moment I genuinely didn’t think it’d ever leave me. And if it did, it might just leave a hole where it sat. “Bucky…” 

“Get changed. I’ll be right back.”

When I felt his body heat disappear from me, I dropped my dress to the ground and tugged on the sweatshirt he’d set on the bed. I didn’t bother with shorts, just left my underwear on. 

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, finished my water, held my hands in my lap. 

Bucky came from the bathroom and clicked on the lamp beside my bed. He took my face in his hand and with the warm rag in his hand, wiped it gently along my face. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. 

I did as I was told. It wasn’t as in depth as I could’ve myself, but it was enough to keep my eyes from hurting in the morning.

He tossed the rag in the hamper and guided me into bed. “You need to sleep,” he said softly. 

“I’m not used to sleeping alone,” I mumbled against my pillow. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, fingers combing through my hair. “Me either. But you’re gonna be okay.” 

I felt exhaustion coming for me like a thief in the night. “You think so?” 

“I know so. Sleep, baby.” 

A breath escaped me. I didn’t have the energy to speak anymore.

As sleep pulled me away, I felt his kiss against my head. Then the light clicked off and it was gone like a dream. 

[clementineofmine]

Not Looking for Happy (But Found it Anyway)

I've been writing this series of kinda stand-alone happy-fuzzy (or as close to that as my whumpy heart can get lol) Hargreeves-siblings-returning-to-their-timeline-and-figuring-their-shit-out epilogues for my Same Weird Family post S2 series for a while now and just posted the latest on A03 (hooray).

And, since we all live in the worst-timeline and maybe some of you could use a distraction as much as I could, I thought I'd put the latest chapter of Diego and Five eating breakfast up here on tumbles as well. Enjoy, and stay safe out there my friends...

---------

Diego was making eggs, concentrating on the way the whites bubbled in the cast iron skillet, when he heard soft footsteps approaching the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder, and was mildly surprised to see that the footsteps belonged to Five. 

“Mornin’,” he greeted Five with a nod. Per tacit agreement, Diego pretended not to notice Five pretending not to notice Diego look him up and down, assessing his healing progress. Five had done a surprisingly adequate job of taking it easy over the last few weeks, and to everyone’s surprise he had even (mostly) tolerated Diego’s self-appointed role of charge nurse. 

Though they didn’t talk about it, Five had been in bad shape when they had arrived home. Diego wondered just how much Five remembered of that time, or ever thought about how close he might have been to not making it home at all. Between the abuse of his powers and the further abuse in Reginald’s dungeon, Five had emerged with the constitution and complaints of an old man, despite his previously healthy-ish teenage body. 

But that didn’t mean they had to talk about it. Just like they didn’t talk about how Diego’s broken nose was healing a little crookedly, or that he would carry an additional facial scar as a permanent reminder of his fight with Reginald. 

But today, things seemed to be looking brighter for both of them. Diego was pleased to see Five was standing squarely, if a bit stiffly, and most of the visible bruising had faded to pale shadows on his face and neck.

His assessment done, Diego returned his attention to the egg pan. Just in time too, as Lila didn't like her yolks runny (a preference that Diego thought bordered on the verge of obscene) but didn't like them hard either. 

Diego was pretty sure that she had made up the last preference just to be petty. Eggs should have a nice jiggle, like your ass in a nice pair of pants she had complained the last time he had overcooked them. 

“So what are you making?” Five asked, his tone a too-forced casual.

“Eggs,” Diego answered noncommittally, continuing to survey the eggs’ progress. He had heard from the others that Five was attempting small talk this week, and didn’t want to cut him off, but also wanted to avoid another reaming out from Lila.

“Hm,” Five said, and Diego could hear the frown in his voice. “Luther said you ate your eggs raw.”

“Luther’s a dumbass,” Diego retorted. 

They fell into silence again. 

He wasn't avoiding talking to Five, Diego kept telling himself as he used the spatula to pry up the eggs. 

“That wasn’t a no,” Five pointed out. “So why are you cooking them?”

Diego felt his lips pull up into a small, tight smile, not quite a grimace, but certainly not an expression that reached his eyes. “These are for Lila,” he explained, carefully maneuvering the perfectly cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a ceramic plate. 

“Oh,” Five said. “I see.”

Silence.

Diego felt a pang of guilt, sighed, then took pity on his brother still awkwardly standing in the doorway and waved him towards the table. “Sit down, Five. I'll make you some too. How do you like yours?”

“Not raw,” Five said dryly. 

As he wiped out the pan, Diego turned to Five and raised an eyebrow. “Come on, man. I already get enough shit from Lila.” 

Diego watched Five avoid his eyes, looking around the kitchen as if the answer would be found on one of the glass cabinets. 

“Over easy?” Five finally said. 

The way it was said, Diego was instantly certain that Five had picked a style at random. He felt a pang of frustration but kept his face carefully neutral. “Over easy,” he confirmed. Then, “You sure?”

As the words left his mouth, Diego remembered that Grace had always made scrambled eggs, so it was more than possible that Five had never been asked how he liked his eggs before. 

The way Five's lips suddenly set and his jaw tightened confirmed to Diego that he was right. 

“Look, it's not a big deal,” Diego backtracked. He turned back towards the stove, and added more butter to the pan. “Over easy it is.” 

A sudden jolt of panic hit Diego as he saw the plate of steaming eggs cooling next to the stove. “Hey, Five, you mind taking these up to Lila first?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Five said. 

Once Five departed, Diego shook his head to clear his thoughts. He cracked six eggs into the browning butter in the pan. He looked at them, looked back at the package, frowned, then grabbed four more eggs and added them to the pan. 

Five was healing nicely, Diego mused, mentally checking through the list of Five’s injuries. He was on his way back to normal. But Diego also was very well aware that normal for Five Hargreeves wasn't something that he, anyone really, was familiar with. And would normal even be possible for a fifty-eight year old man stuck in a teenager’s body? Diego became again aware of the anxious knot that hadn’t left the pit of his stomach since they had found Five in Reginald’s basement. He knew he was driving Five, himself, hell everyone, nuts with anxiety. 

But he couldn't stop himself. 

Besides, Five had always driven Diego crazy: as a kid due to his overly competitive nature, and now, as an agent of chaos disrupting their lives. 

Five said it himself, he’s the four freakin’ horsemen, Diego recalled. And he was viscerally aware, more than the others, of the death that had followed in Five’s wake. 

Griddys. Patch. Kennedy. Dad (twice). 

How many countless others? 

Diego felt the knot twist in his stomach. He knew it was wrong, but it was hard not to blame Five for the destruction that they had all experienced. The chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. 

And Diego did feel a tiny bit justified being angry at Five’s antics. The killing sprees. Lying about the killing sprees. Normal people don’t act like that, Diego told himself. But he knew that didn’t justify blaming Five for everything else. 

Diego sighed and jiggled the eggs in the pan. What a fucked up family we are. But not so deep down Diego knew that he loved his fucked up family, and would hold onto them as long as he could. 

Even Five. 

And so Diego was doing what he could to take care of Five. Even though he knew it made him annoying as shit to himself and everyone else. 

Five came back into the kitchen just as Diego’s ruminations and the eggs were done. Diego shook his head to clear it, then divided the copious pile of eggs onto two plates. 

“Lila said ‘keep trying’, then some disgusting stuff that I’m not going to repeat,” Five smirked. 

Diego growled as he maneuvered the plates of eggs onto the table and went to grab forks. 

Five maneuvered himself into one of the chairs at the table. Interestingly, as he sat, Diego saw him lay a small package on the table. But he didn’t say anything about it, so Diego ignored it for now and simply slid a fork and a plate of eggs over to Five. 

“Goddamn it,” Diego muttered, clattering his own plate down on the table and taking a seat. “I've been making that woman eggs for weeks now and….She can make her own damn eggs next time.” Reaching for the salt and pepper shakers, he saw Five frowning at his plate. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked, pepper shaker in hand. 

When Five ignored him, he kept talking. “Hey, look, Lila’s a limey idiot. These are good eggs.”

Five still said nothing. Diego continued adding his condiments, then shoveled a perfectly cooked egg into his mouth. They were good eggs. 

Five was still sitting motionless, now staring through the plate of eggs more than at it. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked again, a new sense of unease limiting his enjoyment of the deliciously runny yolk. 

Five looked up, as if finally noticing Diego. He blinked, then shook his head. “No, I—nevermind.” He looked around the room again, as if seeing it for the first time. “Last time I was in here I, uh, used the stove as a bomb. It was—” he picked up his fork and stabbed at an egg. “—more kinetic than I expected.” 

Diego remembered witnessing the explosion from down the block. At the time, it had certainly been one hell of a distraction, and had given the Umbrellas the perfect cover to sneak into the Academy. “Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he scoffed. “Not even you.” 

Five’s face twisted. 

Immediately, Diego regretted the words. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Five’s mouth twitched again, but he said nothing. 

They ate in silence for a minute. “Lila’s wrong,” Five finally proclaimed through the last bite of eggs. 

“Come again?” Diego asked. 

“You do make good eggs.” 

“Uh,” Diego began, trying to hide his surprise. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He couldn't remember the last compliment he had gotten from Five. Hell, he couldn't remember ever getting a compliment from Five. 

Five reached down and slid the small package across the table to “Here. I got, well,” he amended. “I found something for you.”

Diego reached for the package. It was a small object, wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper. He unwrapped it carefully, feeling Five’s eyes watch him the entire time. 

When it was open, Diego placed the object on the table and simply stared at it. Then he looked up and stared at Five quizzically. 

“I thought,” Five began haltingly, “that you’d want to have it. A memento. To remind us that he’s finally gone for good.”

Diego looked down again at Reginald’s monocle. It somehow seemed to be staring back at him, which was creepy, so Diego palmed it, squeezing his hand around the glass and metal. It was cold, colder than Diego would have expected. “Where did you find this?” he demanded. 

Five shrugged and looked embarrassed. “There’s a secret compartment under dads liquor shelf. I saw it in the, uh, Sparrow Timeline. Thought it might be here, too.” 

“I…” Diego picked up the monocle and dangled it from his fingers, frowning at it. “Five, I threw this monocle into the river after Dad died.”

Five blinked, looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged it off. “Reginald probably had a spare.” 

Diego twisted the monocle between his fingers and considered the idea. 

“Either that or we’re in a different timeline.”

At those words, Diego looked up sharply.

“I’m kidding, Diego,” Five said with a hint of a smile. Then, the smile transformed into a concentrated frown. “Well, maybe…the temporal math…hmm, it's not impossible…”

As Five rambled, Diego inspected the monocle. It was still cold, and he thought it was very odd that it hadn’t picked up any body heat from his hand. In fact, Diego realized that he now felt a chill in his fingers, as if something was draining the heat out of them.

On a whim, he put the monocle up to his eye and looked through it.

Immediately the world shifted and Diego’s stomach lurched. He squinted through the glass and panned around the room, frowning at seeing what had just been formerly functional kitchen appliances replaced by broken equipment and debris.

But when he looked up from the monocle, the image was gone.

He turned to Five, intending to interrupt his incoherent monologue to point out what he just saw. Yet the words died on his lips when Diego caught a glimpse of Five through the monocle’s glass. 

Where Five was sitting, Diego saw an old man with weathered cheeks and a scraggly beard. Diego blinked, and the image shifted to that of another stranger, another old man, this one impeccably dressed in a vintage suit. A pistol was expertly laid out on the table in front of him. 

Diego blinked again, and other versions of Five appeared through the monocle:

Five as a young adult, wearing a ripped and ratty version of Dad's hunting outfit, Diego’s own knife harness strapped to his gaunt frame. 

Five, still young and skinny, in a dirtier version of the Academy uniform. 

Then, the scene changed slightly and the uniform was clean, but blood spattered. 

The perspective warped dizzyingly, and suddenly this version of Five stood over Diego clutching an axe, his face contorted into a feral grin. Diego’s felt his heart palpitate as he looked up into Five’s eyes, glinting with madness, staring straight down into his own. 

Diego blinked rapidly, and the monocle responded with more visions. 

Five in suits and rags, his hands clutching weapons, briefcases, or unidentifiable objects. 

Five in a Sparrow Academy uniform, a black eye and a bloody lip complementing the ensemble.

At one point Diego could swear he saw a woman's face, with blond hair and a kind smile. But he blinked again, and the vision was gone.

Diego wasn't sure how long he was captured by the spell of the monocle, blinking through what seemed like an almost infinite number of portraits of Five.

“Diego? Diego?”

Suddenly Diego saw a familiar version of Five: Five as a child again, a young child who wore a frown too old for his face, his eyes pleading with Diego. 

With effort, Diego ripped the monocle away from his eye. For a moment, the world swam, then snapped back into focus.

“Diego?” Five said again, his voice tinged with impatience. “Are you okay?”

Diego stuffed the monocle into his pocket. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I'm fine. Thanks for the present.” 

Five worked his jaw like he was going to say something, but Diego decided to quickly change the subject. “So, do you want to train sometime?”

The non-sequitur caught Five off guard and he raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, you’re almost healed,” Diego explained. “And I don't know what you did at the Commission…and I know you’re probably not at your peak, but…” he trailed off. “Look if I were you I'd be itching to get back in the gym,” Diego admitted. “And I started boxing again so…”

“Diego, are you asking me to fight you?” Five asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

Diego rolled his eyes. “I mean you don't have to spar with me or anything. Luther used to, but it's fine there's plenty of people at the gym. For someone of your age—”

The words dried up in Diego’s mouth as his memory superimposed the older versions of Five in his vision. Diego instinctively felt the monocle in his pocket. He could feel the coolness even through the cloth. “There's older…I mean younger…” Diego threw up his hands in frustration. “Fuck, I don't know how damn old you're supposed to be, Five!”

Five’s raised eyebrow went even higher, and the corner of his mouth twisted into wry amusement. He seemed to be relishing Diego's discomfort. He held the beat for a moment, then turned serious. “Sparring with you would be fine, Diego. I think….I think I'd enjoy that,” Five admitted. 

Before Diego could say anything, he continued. “I mean, as long as you don't mind your friends watching you get your ass handed to you by someone who looks like…” Five trailed off and gestured to his body. 

“Oh, I don't mind,” Diego said, leaning over the table and looking Five in the eye. He flashed him a ruthless smile. “Because, you see, that is never going to happen.”

Five stared back at him. For a moment, Diego could have sworn he saw that glint of madness flash in his eyes, and his adrenaline spiked.

But just as quickly the moment was gone, and only his brother remained. Five flashed Diego a wide, sardonic smile. “Challenge accepted.”

[beachlifelez]

The setup was subtle enough that Jane didn’t even realize she’d been set up.

It was another travel soccer weekend for her daughter Alexis. Jane was always happy to chaperone these trips; she loved watching Alexis develop into a strong young woman through her growing soccer skills. Alexis also seemed to be very popular with her teammates, which made Jane very happy to see.

This Saturday after their games, Alexis asked if maybe she could spend the night in her friend Celeste’s hotel room. This would mean Jane would have to share their room with Celeste’s mom Heather. Jane liked Heather a lot, and didn’t see any issues, so she readily agreed. Truth be told, spending all these weekends with Alexis, her teammates, and their moms had sparked a bit of girl lust in Jane.

All the very attractive, athletic girls, and some of their moms, including Heather, had Jane experiencing feelings she’d had in the past, but never fully acted on. Some girlfriend kissing as a teen was about as far as anything had ever gone for her. Lately, though, she was wondering what it might be like to actually make love to another woman.

The moms said goodnight to their daughters after dinner and they went to their separate rooms. Jane and Heather relaxed with a bottle of Chardonnay.

“Celeste is a beautiful young woman, Heather. And such a good soccer player. You must be so proud.”

“Thank you, Jane, that’s so nice of you to say. I am proud. And I have to tell you that Alexis is just so precious. She’s really a perfect match for Celeste.”

“Perfect match? What are you talking about?”

“Omigod, I’m sorry. Maybe you weren’t supposed to know yet. Oops. I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but Celeste and Alexis have been a couple for about three months now. I dare say they might be in love.”

“My Alexis? With another girl? With Celeste? I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Is it so surprising that two beautiful young women with a lot in common might find that expanding into a special companionship?”

“No, no, it’s just that…well, Alexis has never indicated…”

“Perhaps she’s afraid you wouldn’t understand female-to-female attraction."

"Well, I've never really been with another woman, if that's what you mean. That doesn't mean I wouldn't understand...I mean, what about you?"

"Jane, I'm a lesbian, so yes, I understand female-to-female attraction. Very well. And yes, Alexis knows. I guess I thought you did. Well, tonight is full of surprises for you."

"That's an understatement."

"So you said you've never really been with another woman. Tell me, Jane, have you kissed any women?"

"Oh, you know, some silly games back in high school with a couple of girlfriends. Maybe a little groping, but certainly not anything beyond that."

"Yes, such good memories. When I hear Celeste and Alexis together in Celeste's room, it does bring back those days to me."

"You mean they...?”

"Yes, Jane, don't be so shocked. That's what they're probably up to right now in your hotel room. Get used to it, sister, now that you know."

Jane could feel herself blushing furiously.

"Oh...goodness...I mean, well, I guess..."

"Jane. Look at me."

Jane was a bit shocked by Heather's tone, but she obeyed.

"Love between two women is perfectly natural, I hope you realize that."

"I do, I do, oh, Heather, I promise I do. It's just that I didn't for a minute think my daughter would get to experience it before I did. Oh, God, that sounds so silly, doesn't it?"

"It's not silly at all. I think I know where your head is at. There's a lot of positive estrogen flow on these soccer weekends, that's for sure. It definitely gets my blood pumping. Let me ask you something."

"Yes?"

"If I kissed you right now, would you be receptive to that?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything."

Heather leaned in and kissed Jane square on the lips. Jane raised her hand as if to resist, but as she felt Heather's lips press harder, and felt Heather's tongue enter her mouth, her hand went instead to Heather's hip. Heather's arms went around Jane's torso and she pulled Jane's body close in, never stopping the kiss.

Jane's arms then went around Heather's body, too. She felt Heather move her hands down and begin squeezing her buns. It seemed only natural to mimic Heather, and so she moved her hands down as well. Heather broke off the kiss.

“That’s it, Jane, explore me. Enjoy me. I think maybe you need to learn a lot more about female-to-female attraction tonight.”

“Oh, god, Heather, yes. Please teach me. Please show me everything there is to learn.”

“You’re doing fine so far. Let’s lie down on one of the beds. I have a feeling we won’t be using the second bed tonight.”

Heather was right, of course. One bed was all they needed. For the next four hours, Heather taught and Jane learned. Not in a domme/sub kind of way, although Jane certainly demonstrated a keen new enjoyment of providing oral pleasure to Heather. Making up for lost time, perhaps.

When they fell asleep in each other’s arms, it was only for a while; Jane woke up a few hours later to the warm feelings of Heather’s tongue between her legs. On to the next round.

And in the morning, when they reunited with their daughters, Heather gave Alexis that “yes, it happened” look. Alexis smiled back at her and hugged Jane.

“Welcome to the club, mom.”

(Perhaps a bit longer than my normal stories. But I do hope you enjoy it, dear readers.)

[rekino2114]

Okay, so after the wonderful Fami introducing her boyfriend to Yoru request I got to thinking. How about a sequel where after Asa and Yoru get a boyfriend, she decides to introduce her boyfriend to Fami and her boyfriend. I'd also like Fami to talk with Yoru, asking her if she gets what she was saying before about loving her own boyfriend more than anything in the world.

Yoru introducing fami to her boyfriend

This is a part 2 to this post

A/n:since there are two y/ns here, I will write (f)y/n whenever they're talking about fami's boyfriend and I will color their dialog differently, here's every dialog color to make it less confusing

Yoru=red

Asa=blue

Fami=white and pink

Y/n (asa and yoru's boyfriend)=white

(F)y/n (fami's boyfriend)=pink and white

Yoru didn't actually want to introduce you to fami that much at first. It's not that she didn't like her. They were sisters after all. it's more like she thought she was kinda weird, and with her threatening to kill her one of the last times they met, they didn't talk that much.

However, it seemed that you and fami's boyfriend were friends and you told him that yoru was your girlfriend and he told fami, which in turn made her tell yoru that she wanted to meet you. She reluctantly agreed, and that led to the 4 of you (5 if you count asa) walking in a restaurant to get to know each other

"It's nice to meet you, I'm famine but you can call me fami"

"Oh nice to meet you too"

You and the pink haired girl shook hands as she went back to eating her burger. When she finished her first bite, she looked at you again and started talking

"How did you and war met?"

"Oh well, she....appeared when me and asa were kissing and-"

"So you're dating asa too?"

"Yeah, is that a problem"

"No, not at all, I suppose it would be awkward otherwise, I was just curious about how my little sister managed to get a boyfriend"

Yoru scowled and looked at her sister who had resumed eating in the meantime

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your......situation makes it hard to talk to humans, and I didn't think you were the type to fall in love"

"W-what do you mean?"

"You want to kill every person you meet"

"You can't argue with her on that one"

"You're still here?"

"I just wanna make sure y/n isn't uncomfortable"

"No, I mean, why are you here? You have nothing to do with this conversation"

"Y/n is my boyfriend too"

"And I'm making him meet MY sister, you have no family for that anyway"

".........."

Your girlfriends mental conversation was interrupted by you elbowing yoru causing her to look at you angrily

"That was a low blow yoru"

"....what? it's the truth"

"You're not getting any kisses tonight"

"Wha- hey, no fair"

"Then don't be mean to asa"

"Tch, fine then, sorry asa"

"....i-it's fine"

Fami finished eating and continued staring at you. Her cold gaze was slightly unnerving, but her words reassured you

"......You're good for her"

"Eh?"

"War isn't always willing to apologize like that, I'm glad you're there for her"

"Oh thanks"

"You make it sound like I have no manners"

".....last week you turned the barista in a sword because she spelled my name wrong"

"That bitch deserved it, she even refused to apologize"

While you sighed, the famine devil continued to look at you and her sister, even if it was impossible to tell with her emotionless face. She was happy, happy that yoru finally found love with someone

"You have my blessing y/n"

"Eh?"

"What are you saying? You're not my mom"

"Yes, but as the older sister, I have to play that role. Y/n, you are allowed to marry war, and invite me and (f)y/n too, just make sure there's a lot of food"

Hearing this, both you and yoru blushed heavily with your girlfriend immediately starting to yell at her sister

"W-what the hell are you saying fami? We're not getting married!"

"Oh that's a shame, I was looking forward to it"

Yoru's blush grew even more as her voice lowered

"I-i mean not right now, maybe later- ughh what am I even saying, look we just didn't talk about it!"

"OK, keep me updated, me and (f)y/n are thinking about it too"

"......w-we are?......not that I mind"

You all finished your meals and walked outside. You and fami's boyfriend decided to have a talk while the horsemen spoke to each other

".....do you get it now?"

"What?"

"What I said before about loving my boyfriend more than anything, do you get it now?"

"I guess"

"You love y/n right?"

"Yeah"

"......would you kill someone for him?"

"Yeah, in a heartbeat, I already did actually"

"Then you understand what love feels like, isn't it wonderful?"

".......yeah, it's like what I feel watching humans slaughter each other but times 100"

"It's the same for me and food......I'm glad someone was there to make me feel that"

"......me too"

Fami and yoru both looked towards their boyfriends with a look of pure love on their faces, even if they were some of the most feared and powerful devils in existence, they could still feel love all because of them, and they were so happy about it

[hrtnovas]

NEW WLW BLOGG!! Now Imma help christen it by giving your 1st request!😂 You can definitely see from my profile pic that I am a huge Arlecchino simp.

Let's go with a childhood fem!reader who stayed with Arlecchino throughout her child to teen to adult years where Arlecchino becomes the 4th Harbinger after 'removing' Crucabena from play. Maybe they both developed feelings along the way? Or Arlecchino pines after reader but reader is very VERY oblivious despite the obvious sign from Arlecchino? Make this a smut!

​🇧​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇧​​🇾​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​

FIRST REQUEST?? THIS IS A 10/10 YOU COOKED WITH THIS.

also my first fic

the nsfw part is separated from the sfw part because I gen feel like it's easier for me this way ୨ৎ

cw ; NSFW, men & mdni, dom!arlecchino x shy oblivious sub childhood!reader, rushed sesbian sex, fingering, but so much fluff, slight angst???, friends to lovers, reader is kind of shy and a little bit clueless . .

word count ; 1,834 words ♡

ʚɞ

both dividers by @cafekitsune . . ୨ৎ

(you two are young teens in this scene.)

Arlecchino.

The two of you grew up together, went through everything together.

You saw her white hair and faded black streaks in the moonlight. She looked up at the moon restless in thought. She stared and stared, as if something would happen, there were flowers in her hand. She was lost in her thoughts, wondering about so much.

"There's something about her… something I can't look away from." She wasn’t sure what it was about you. Arlecchino thought, her eyes shifting quickly towards you. For just a moment, her gaze softened before she looked away. She wasn’t sure what it was about you. The way you offered a piece of cake when you two were together. Or maybe it was the times you both tried so hard to hide behind calm eyes and a resting expressions. She thought to herself, looking briefly at you. You were beside her, holding a flower of your own, completely unaware of the way her gaze softened for just a moment. You were also getting quite lost in your thoughts. You were pretty much zoned out.

Arlecchino's fingers brushed against the petals of the flowers in her hand. She didn’t make eye contact, but her voice cut through the silence like a blade. "You’re staring." Her voice was low, calm, but it carried a feeling that made your heart jump. She turned her head around to face you properly.

You snapped out of your thoughts. You didn't realize you were staring at her. "I didn’t mean to.." you stammered, clutching the flower tighter in your hand. You moved closer, unsure if you were about to apologize again or say nothing.

"D-don’t you think the moon looks beautiful tonight?" you blurted, your voice stuttered out. The words felt a bit rushed, a attempt to change the conversation anywhere but to look her gaze. Your eyes shifted to the vase by the window, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way your fingers tightened around the flower.

Arlecchino’s lips curled into a faint smile, her sharp eyes shining under the moonlight. "The moon?" she echoed, her tone unreadable. "You’ve been staring at me, and now you’re talking about the moon?"

Her fingers grazed the petals again, slower this time, as if lost in thought once again. Finally, her gaze shifted to the flowers in your hand. "You handpicked these yourself, didn’t you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

You glanced down at the flower, your grip tightening as a nervous laugh escaped you. "Y-yeah.. . I thought they looked nice." Her attention on the flowers made your face red, as if she could see right through you.

Her hand moved with purpose, brushing against yours as she plucked one of your flowers from your grasp. She moved closer to you.

"Stay still." she whispered. Her fingers brushed over your head as she swept a strand of hair out of your face, her touch was both gentle and firm. You held your breath ; unsure of what to do as she leaned in closer, the flower in her hand brushing against your skin.

She slid it into your hair with quick care, her hands grazing your cheek as she did so. The contact sent a small shiver down your spine, and your cheeks burned under her gaze.

"There." she said softly, though her voice was stoic, you could tell she was trying to be meaningful. And that made your heart race. Her lips curled into a faint smile as she moved back.

You fumbled for words, your voice barely above a whisper. “I.. thank you.” Your eyes darted away, too nervous to meet her gaze for long. But you could feel her watching you, her eyes lingering like a shadow under the moonlight.

And though, Arlecchino was now a figure of authority, her blank and stoic nature still a mask that still only few could see past. As time went on, you began to notice how she watched you, how her gaze lingered a little too long, the faint, almost unnoticeable smile that tugged at her lips when she caught you looking.

Yet, despite it all, you were oblivious.

To you, it was still the same Arlecchino, your childhood (best) friend, nothing more. You couldn't see the way she’d lean closer than necessary when speaking, the way her fingers brushed against yours with purpose or how her voice when she spoke to you, had softened, that made your heart beat as fast as ever.

You didn’t understand. You had no idea how close Arlecchino was to snapping, how close she was to revealing everything she’d kept hidden for years. She was. . patient, though. Waiting for you to see it, to understand the signs she was sending. But no matter how many times she leaned a little closer, brushed her fingers against yours, or let her gaze stare in a way that was anything but casual, you remained so damn oblivious.

She watched you laugh it off, the energy radiating from you as if the moment hadn’t never even shifted. Maybe it was because you didn’t know how to read her or maybe you didn’t want to.

After all, why would someone like Arlecchino be interested in someone like you?

It was the way you avoided her gaze this time that finally broke her patience. You could feel it, that heavy, unfeeling, presence she carried, the kind that lingered even when she wasn’t looking directly at you.

Tonight, though, it felt different, impossible to ignore. You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting with your coffee in your lap and looking at your papers as your eyes darted anywhere but toward her.

You always did this, pulled away the moment things started to feel too intimate, too feeling, too real.

When her words carried more weight or were more gentle than usual, or her actions felt. . careful in a way you couldn’t quite ignore, you would shy away, brushing it off as nothing. It was easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

But tonight, Arlecchino wasn’t going to let you slip away.

The scrape of her chair against the floor made your heart race. Your head snapped up, eyes meeting hers as she stood, her figure shadowed by the light. Each step she took toward you was slow and proper. Her stilettos clicked softly against the floor.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn't speak.

She stopped just in front of you, her presence overwhelming as she leaned down slightly, close enough that you could see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her lips pressed together in quiet wanting. Then her hand lifted, hand holding your chin, lifting your face upward.

"Look at me." she said softly.

Her voice was quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument. You froze, glancing away, but her grip was steady, not forceful, just firm. You had no choice but to meet her gaze.

And in her eyes, you saw something that made your breath hitch.

It wasn’t the cold expression she wore around others, or the confidence you had come to expect. This was different. Her expression was. . gentle, soft in a way you’d never seen before, and the weight of it was almost too much to bear for your heart.

"I’ve waited long enough." she said, her tone low, but you could hear the frustration beneath it. And god, was it hot. "You’re not blind, ma chérie. my love You know what I want."

Your heart pounded against your chest, your mind scrambling for something to say, but no words came. All you could do was sit there, wide eyed and trembling, your face becoming flushed.

Her fingers brushed gently along your hair. For a moment, her features softened, the blankness in her gaze melting into something warmer. "I’ve.. been waiting for you to see me." she said, her voice quieter now, but no less insistent. "Tell me you feel it too."

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled with emotions you hadn’t let yourself come to until now.

And then she leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed her movements were hesitated, giving you just enough time to stop her if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Her lips brushed against yours, soft and uncertain. When you didn’t pull away, her hesitation faded. The kiss deepened, careful but filled with everything she’d been holding back. One of her hands slid to you waist, holding you, while the world around you seemed to fade into the background.

Your cheeks burned, your breath caught in your throat, and your chest felt like it might burst. You could hear the frantic rhythm of your own heartbeat, and you were sure she could feel it too.

And for the first time, you realized ; maybe you hadn’t been as oblivious as you pretended to be.

nsfw utc

Arlecchino pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark, gazing into your own. "Are you sure you want us to do this?" she asked you, consent is key. ( and there is no other way it should be. ) She held onto your waist firmly.

You nodded, your words caught in your throat, but your actions spoke louder than anything you could say.

"I want to hear you say it. Say you want this, ma lumière." my light

You hesitated at first but, you knew you wanted this. You knew you wanted her.

"Arle.. I, I want you."

You could feel her fingers sliding inside you, you were so tight, so tense. You felt a bit nervous and were holding onto her just as she was holding onto you.

"Relax yourself. . your so tense." She mumbled. She had you on her waist, one of her hands gripping your waist tight and firm as if you were going to run away from her, her breath touching your neck, leaving love bites all over, her fingers soaked from how wet you were. Her fingers were pumping in and out of you, making you squirm and moan , it made you feel so damn filled up with every time they went inside of you.

"S-so m-much... -" "You can take it, it's alright, relax." She said, you were squeezing around her, begging to be fucked into. And the way she was fucking you? You loved it. The way your arms were wrapped around her neck, your lips releasing sweet noises, and the way Arlecchino was stretching your pussy open with her fingers.

"Are you enjoying yourself? Feeling good..?" She said, feeling your tight walls clench her fingers, you couldn't focus on anything else, just the fact she was making you feel so good.

"O-oh Arle.. mm- I'm going to . .- ! " "That's it dove. Let yourself go for me, go on."

"You're staring, dove. Something on my face..?" She asked you, you were panting for air, trying to calm down from your high.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

ugh i need this woman

[invinciblerodent]

I love the arcs and stories we got from Veilguard, and I know continuity-wise it wouldn't have been possible to integrate this, but recently, I had a thought that simply won't leave me be:

I think it would have been so bloody interesting if the Iron Bull had been there, to act as a thematic counterpoint to Shathann in Taash's storyline.

Like... okay, I know that in reality, it would have been entirely unfeasible due to the way Bull's story can unfold in Trespasser, but I'm not going to lie, I do have a bit of a bone to pick with the binary choice at the end of Taash's quest specifically. (I think it was likely done this way so they won't stick out from the rest of the companions, but both culturally and thematically, it feels strange to me to have them specifically come down to a choice of A or B, when developing their own, mixed heritage would have not only been more realistic, but it would have also echoed exploration of their nonbinary identity more closely), and I think having another, maybe more intimately significant personal influence in Taash's life besides Isabela (who is less a mentor, and more a friend and boss, I feel) to exemplify the other choice would have added a nice, additional layer of nuance to the arc, another bit of emotional weight to the choice.

And, to support my point: if Bull is alive for Veilguard, not only does he have no other, definite place to be post-Inquisition (I believe after Trespasser, his epilogue only says that he goes off adventuring?), and have at least the interest in dragons in common with Taash (to be a basis of an immediate emotional attachment), he's also definitely Tal-Vashoth- and most importantly, he chose that life, having left the Qun for his family's sake in a way that very nicely mirrors Shathann's choice to flee with the infant Taash.

He also had had doubts before leaving the Qun (which is why he submitted himself to the reeducators prior to the Inquisition assignment), but like Shathann, he was also raised in Qunari culture, and has a pronounced emotional attachment to it- but, instead of Shathann's adherence to tradition and apparent desire to preserve the Qun in her (and by extension, Taash's) life while adjusting to living further South the best she could, Bull seems much more enmeshed with the Southern way of life (has more of a familiarity with the southern perception of gender too)- and he seems happy that way, which can be a source of conflict between him and Shathann as well. (Could be shown through her initially still calling him "Hissrad" perhaps, and transitioning to "Bull" later?)

He could have very nicely embodied the "Rivaini" choice (which would ofc need to be called something different, needs workshopping lol), and provided another, different, but familiar angle on what being Tal-Vashoth is like long term. Especially now that that word's meaning has changed so drastically, with the entire Antaam having split off the Qun, and willingly become essentially Tal-Vashoth.

.... I also think it's quite easy to imagine him joining up with Isabela as a Lord of Fortune (and being the other faction leader perhaps, to keep them all in pairs?), but also being a valuable asset to Rook and co. in their efforts to bring Solas down: both as someone who just knows Solas (most likely better than most), and as an experienced and talented strategist and spy.

I think it would have been really cool if instead of going either Rivaini or Qunari, the final choice for Taash's personal quest had come down more to them following either their mother's footsteps, or an almost father-like mentor's, instead of choosing one culture over another. (Potential downside that even fewer people would have then chosen the Qunari side of it, but that can be mitigated via wording choices.)

(The argument could ofc be made that if it's about Taash being torn between two people, rather than two abstracts, maybe the choice wouldn't center them in it quite so clearly, but I do think that it would have made for a touch stronger story overall.)

(ALSO, the inevitable shipping of Taash's mom and mentor, and the three-way dynamic of them? Would have been really cute. I'd have been on board with that. Lots of dialogue that sounds like they're both 20 years married and very divorced, some "do you see me as a father figure, Taash?" "I see you as a BOTHER figure" type of lines, plus it could have been actually really easy to write him consistent with who Bull is while keeping his lines ambiguous enough to allow for him already having a partner in some worlds.)

[women-in-ssports]

FOREVER AND A DAY

Ch 7. ALOT HAPPENING

The whole weekend had been a whirlwind. The game Friday night had been an emotional rollercoaster, and when they’d won in the final quarter, Azzi had felt a rush of adrenaline and pride for the team. But when she saw Paige and Joseph share that kiss after the game, the sharp pang of something *different*—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—had settled into her chest. And that feeling hadn’t gone away.

So when Jake had texted her asking if she wanted to go on a date that weekend, she’d said yes without really thinking. But then, as the days stretched on, she began to feel the weight of the decision.

She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to go on the date. But at the same time, she *did* want to go. The attention from Jake, the way he looked at her—she liked it, and it felt like a distraction from the mess of feelings surrounding Paige.

So, she changed the date. *Next weekend*, she texted back. She wasn’t sure why she’d pushed it back a whole week. Maybe she just needed more time to figure things out. Or maybe she didn’t want to feel like she was rushing into something that wasn’t really real.

But this morning, as she stood by her locker, tying her shoes and staring down at her phone, the weight of it all hit her again. She hadn’t told anyone about the date. It wasn’t that she was hiding it—she just wasn’t sure how to explain it. Especially not to Paige.

Azzi shoved the phone back into her pocket, trying to focus on getting to class, but the uncertainty still nagged at her. She wasn’t *into* Jake the way she thought she should be. She liked the attention. It felt nice. But every time she thought about him, her mind seemed to wander back to Paige. It was like she couldn’t help herself.

As Azzi walked toward the school entrance, she noticed Paige and Joseph talking outside. Paige was laughing, her smile lighting up her face as Joseph made some offhand joke, his arm casually slung over her shoulder. It was easy to see the chemistry between them—the comfort, the warmth. Everything Azzi *wished* she could have with someone, but she wasn’t sure who. She didn’t know if it was just the *idea* of Jake, or if it was something deeper—something more like what she might have with Paige.

But Paige was with Joseph, and Azzi was… stuck.

She walked past them quickly, trying to ignore the way her heart twisted, and ducked inside the building. When she reached her usual spot by the bleachers to meet up with the girls before first period, the usual group was already hanging out. Nika, Ice, and Aubrey were chatting, but Azzi couldn’t quite tune into the conversation.

Paige had joined them just a few minutes ago, slipping into her usual spot beside Azzi. But even though Paige was *there*, something felt different.

For a few moments, Azzi just stared at her best friend, who seemed uncharacteristically distracted. She wasn’t her usual self—her words came a little too quickly, her body a little too stiff. Azzi couldn’t figure out if something was *off* or if it was just the leftover tension from the game and everything that had happened since.

In a moment of quiet, when the conversation fell into a lull, Azzi found herself speaking without thinking.

“So, um, I said yes to Jake’s date next weekend,” Azzi said, her voice a little too casual for her own liking.

There was a pause, a split second of stillness, before Paige’s head snapped toward her. For just a second, Azzi thought she saw something flicker in her eyes—something she couldn’t place. But before Azzi could figure it out, Paige’s face broke into a tight, controlled smile.

“You’re going on a date with Jake?” Paige repeated, her voice tight.

Azzi nodded, feeling the weight of the words as they left her lips. "Yeah, I mean, it’ll be fun. I’m not really sure what it’ll be like, but it’s just a date, right?" Her laugh was soft, almost forced.

Paige’s smile faltered, just for the briefest second. Azzi noticed it, but before she could say anything, Paige cleared her throat and leaned back, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I guess. It’s high school, right?” she said, her words a little too quick, too sharp. She gave a half-hearted shrug.

Azzi was still watching her closely. The tension between them felt thick, the air suddenly heavier. *Was Paige upset?* She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that something wasn’t sitting right in her chest. Paige had always been supportive about everything, so why did this feel different?

“You okay?” Azzi asked gently, not sure if she was even ready for the answer.

Paige’s eyes flicked away, and she let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. Totally.” She gave Azzi a tight smile, the kind she always used when she was trying to cover something up. It made Azzi’s stomach turn.

It wasn’t like Paige to hide what she was feeling, and the fact that she was doing it now—*over something so small*—made Azzi feel like she’d missed something. Something important.

Azzi stared at her best friend for a long moment, her heart heavy. The silence between them felt loud, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“So… um, you’re really okay with it?” Azzi asked, her voice quiet now, trying to keep things light.

Paige gave her a quick, sharp nod. “Yeah, sure. It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly, then stood up, brushing herself off. “Anyway, we should head to class. Don’t want to be late for that history exam.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her eyes still lingering on Paige, who was already walking off, a little too briskly. Something was off, and Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something.

She watched Paige walk away, her back stiff, and felt a pang of uncertainty in her chest.

*What just happened?* Nika whispered looking after Paige.

Azzi didn’t know. But she knew one thing: things between them were changing. And whatever was coming next, she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

But she was starting to realize that she couldn’t stop it.

Not anymore.

THURSDAY

It was Thursday, and Azzi was walking Jake to the double doors of the school. She wasn’t exactly in a rush—he had been talking about something trivial, a joke or a thought that had popped into his head—and Azzi had been laughing along, distracted by the easy flow of their conversation. She liked Jake, or at least, she liked the attention he gave her. It was fun and uncomplicated. He was cute, funny, and seemed genuinely interested in her. For a moment, she could almost forget the mess of feelings she had for Paige, the confusion that kept swirling beneath the surface of their friendship.

Jake waved her off with a smile as he stepped through the doors to his next class, and Azzi lingered there for a moment, watching him go. She didn’t even realize she’d been standing there for as long as she had until she glanced at the time. She was late for gym.

"Shit," Azzi muttered under her breath, grabbing her gym bag and rushing toward the gym, hoping she wouldn’t get too much of a scolding.

The halls were practically empty, and by the time Azzi reached the gym doors, she could hear the faint buzz of the bell marking the end of the passing period. She pulled open the door and stepped inside, trying to be as quiet as possible, though she knew she was already too late.

As she walked in, her eyes immediately found Paige, sitting with her usual crowd on the bleachers, her arms crossed, looking a little too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be on the court. Paige had a way of making everything seem effortless—even when she wasn’t exactly following the rules.

Azzi made her way toward the locker room, but just as she was about to head in, she heard Paige’s voice call out.

"You can't be late, Azzi," Paige said, her tone flat and surprisingly stern.

Azzi stopped mid-step and glanced back at her, unsure of the vibe Paige was giving off. Paige’s eyes met hers with a sharpness that made Azzi freeze, even though the words themselves weren’t anything to get worked up over. It was the way she said it—like she was more concerned than usual. More... *disappointed*, maybe?

“What are you on about, P? I'm not late. We still have two minutes before we need to be on the court, and you’re still sitting here,” Azzi replied, trying to keep her tone light, almost teasing, like it was no big deal.

Paige’s gaze didn’t soften. “Yes, but the bell already rang before you came in, Az,” she said quietly, but firmly.

Azzi felt a sharp tug of confusion. Something in Paige’s voice felt different today—tense, almost like she was holding something back. She couldn’t put her finger on it. There was no reason for this kind of energy, right? It was just gym class. But somehow, it felt like there was more to it than that.

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Okay… whatever. It’s not like I’m the only one who’s late. And I didn’t even see you rush to get in here either,” Azzi shot back, trying to play it off.

But Paige didn’t respond to that. She just looked at Azzi with an unreadable expression, then glanced at the clock on the wall, like she was mentally calculating something.

Azzi had half a mind to keep pushing it, to try and force some kind of answer out of her best friend, but the weirdness of the moment hit her like a cold wave. Paige wasn’t playing around this time. And whatever this was—it wasn’t just about being on time for gym class. It felt like there was something unsaid hanging between them, something that Azzi couldn’t get a handle on.

Instead of continuing the back-and-forth, Azzi just sighed, grabbed her stuff from the hallway, and nodded toward Paige. “Alright, I get it. I’ll go get changed,” she muttered, pushing through the door into the locker room.

Paige’s gaze lingered on Azzi for a moment, but she didn’t say anything more. She didn’t follow Azzi into the locker room either. Azzi was left with that feeling again—the feeling that things were off. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but she knew something was changing, shifting between them. And this time, it wasn’t as easy to ignore.

As Azzi got ready for gym class, the thought of Jake and the date next weekend crept back into her mind. She hadn’t told anyone about it—no one except for a few people close to her. She wasn’t sure why she was keeping it so quiet, but maybe it had something to do with Paige. Maybe she didn’t want to deal with whatever emotions that would stir up. Azzi had always been able to talk to Paige about anything, but lately, it seemed like every conversation had a way of spiraling into uncomfortable territory. And with the way Paige had reacted this morning... Azzi wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

The whole class went by quickly, but Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the tension with Paige than just the casual back-and-forth they had earlier. Azzi didn’t know why she was still so distracted by it. She didn’t even know if it was worth addressing. But it kept eating at her, and by the time the bell rang and the class dismissed, she felt the weight of it still lingering in the air.

AFTER GYM

Walking out of the gym, Azzi saw Paige talking to Joseph and for a moment, Azzi hesitated. She knew she wasn’t close to Joseph—hell, they weren’t exactly friends—but she felt an odd impulse to say something. To clear the air. To ask her best friend what the hell was going on.

But before she could act on it, she noticed something else: the way Paige was smiling at Joseph, the way her body language softened when he touched her arm. They were in their own little world, and Azzi... well, she was standing on the outside of it.

Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe Paige’s reaction to Jake was nothing to worry about. But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave. What had changed between them? And why did it feel like Azzi was walking on thin ice every time she tried to talk to Paige?

As she walked past them and out of the gym, Azzi pushed the thoughts aside, at least for now. She had to. She didn’t have the answers yet, and the last thing she wanted was to make things more complicated.

FRIDAY

It was Friday afternoon, and the excitement of the weekend was just starting to settle in. The entire basketball team was already piling onto the bus for their team bonding trip, the chatter of teammates filled the air, their voices mixing with the low hum of excitement. It was meant to be a fun trip to take everyone's minds off the stress of the season, a bonding experience before the final push toward the playoffs. But for Azzi, the trip was already feeling complicated before it had even begun.

She stood outside Jake’s car, her hand resting on the edge of the door, her thoughts racing. The engine was running, and the car’s lights flickered in the dim light of the late afternoon. Jake was leaning against the hood, his expression a mix of anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

"You’re coming, right? You said you’d go this weekend," Jake said, his voice soft but earnest. He wasn’t pushing—just hoping.

Azzi nodded, trying to make the smile on her face look convincing. "Yeah, I said I would."

Jake stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Good," he said, leaning in a little too quickly. His lips brushed against the air as he tried to kiss her.

Azzi didn’t move, didn’t lean in. In that moment, she felt stuck, frozen. She turned her head slightly, just enough so his lips only grazed her cheek, not quite a rejection, but not what he had wanted either.

Jake pulled back, a small frown tugging at his lips, but he didn’t press the issue. "Alright. We’ll talk more this weekend. You’re sure you’re okay with this, right?" he asked, his voice quiet, as if sensing her hesitation.

Azzi didn’t know how to answer. Her mind was swirling—*Why didn’t I want to kiss him?* She liked the idea of a date. She liked how he made her feel, how easy he was to talk to. But when he’d tried to kiss her... she’d felt nothing but confusion. Shouldn’t she have felt something? Shouldn’t she have wanted to kiss him back?

"Yeah, I’m fine," Azzi said, her voice coming out a little too softly, not quite convincing even to herself.

Jake smiled, though it was a little unsure now. "Okay. See you tomorrow."

Azzi watched him walk away, the questions only growing louder in her mind as she walked back toward the bus. The whole weekend was supposed to be a fun distraction, but something about it was starting to feel... wrong. She wasn’t sure what she was even waiting for, but the doubts crept in, and they were hard to shake.

When she climbed onto the bus, everyone was already talking excitedly.m. But the second Azzi stepped in, there was a collective pause, followed by a chorus of "Oooo" and "Awwww" from the team.

Azzi felt her face flush, but she just shrugged it off, pretending like she didn’t care. No one would have noticed the hesitation in her steps or the unease in her eyes. To them, she was the girl with the guy—. Everything seemed simple for them.

Except it wasn’t simple for her.

The seat next to Paige was empty, and without thinking, Azzi slid into her usual spot. It was automatic at this point. Even though things felt off between them recently, it was still where she felt most comfortable, next to Paige.

Paige didn’t even look at her as she sat down. She was staring out the window, her expression unreadable, and Azzi felt the tension rise in her chest. It had been like this lately—small, uncomfortable silences between them. But they both pretended it wasn’t there, and maybe that was the hardest part.

The bus started moving, and Azzi leaned back in her seat, trying to shake the feeling that she was somewhere between two worlds. She was still holding on to something with Jake, still uncertain about the date they’d planned for the weekend. And then there was Paige—who felt like she was pulling away, but also, in small moments, was still *there*, as if nothing had changed.

The ride was long, and the motion of the bus made Azzi’s eyelids grow heavier. She found herself nodding off, her head falling against the cool window. Her last thought before she slipped into sleep was that she needed to stop overthinking everything. But that was easier said than done.

When she woke up, the bus was quieter than before. The sounds of excited chatter had dimmed into soft murmurs, and the movement of the bus seemed to have slowed down. Azzi blinked, feeling a strange warmth against her cheek. She tried to adjust her position, but then she realized—she wasn’t leaning against the window anymore. Her head was resting on something softer. Someone.

Azzi froze.

She blinked again, and her eyes shifted slightly, taking in the scene. Paige was sitting next to her, her head resting gently on Azzi’s. Their bodies were so close now, their shoulders almost touching. Paige’s arm was loosely wrapped around Azzi’s waist, holding her in place, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

*What the hell?*

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat. She was so confused, she couldn’t even think straight. The moment felt intimate, almost like something out of a dream, but Azzi knew this wasn’t a dream. This was real.

Slowly, she shifted, trying not to wake Paige, but something about it felt... right, like she was meant to be there, like Paige’s presence was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat. She had no idea how to process this. Paige’s arms felt so natural around her, but what did it mean? Was this just something casual—an accident in their sleep? Or was there more to it than that?

*God, I’m so lost right now.*

Azzi didn’t know what to do with the rush of emotions, the mix of warmth and confusion, that ran through her as she lay there, trying to figure out what was happening. Why did this feel different? Why did it feel *good*, in a way she didn’t understand?

And then she realized—the last few days, there had been this pull, this shift between her and Paige that she couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just jealousy over Jake. It wasn’t just the date. It was something else entirely.

Paige’s head shifted, her hair brushing against Azzi’s cheek, and Azzi’s breath hitched.

What was happening between them?

Azzi didn’t know. But all she could think as she tried to calm her racing heart was that this... this wasn’t just about Jake.

It was about Paige.

TIME JUMP

The boys' playoff game had been intense. Joseph’s team fought hard, but in the end, they lost their second game, effectively ending their playoff run. Joseph took the loss in stride, but it was obvious he was disappointed. Azzi had seen him linger in the locker room afterward, not saying much, just staring at the floor like he was processing the weight of it all. The loss stung, but what followed in the days after was even more unexpected. Paige and Joseph had broken up, though no one really knew the reason. Azzi overheard Dorka and Paige talking about it, but she didn’t press for answers. It seemed like one of those things that just… happened.

Without Joseph, Paige seemed lighter, freer. It was like the emotional weight she’d been carrying around had finally been lifted. Azzi didn’t pry into the details, but she couldn’t deny how relieved she felt. For the first time in a long while, she had her best friend back—without the constant tension that came with Joseph’s presence. The group was a little quieter without him around, but the dynamic felt more natural, more like it had before, and Azzi found herself grateful for that, even if she wasn’t sure why.

But that didn’t stop the undercurrent of change between her and Paige. Something was different now, though neither of them seemed to notice it yet. They spent more time together after the breakup, and the air between them felt lighter, more natural. They laughed more, exchanged more quiet moments, and it felt like everything was returning to the way it had been before—just the two of them in their own world, with no one else really understanding their dynamic. To Azzi, it was like they were finally getting back to that place they’d always had. She couldn’t deny that it felt good, but she never once considered it as anything more than the rekindling of their deep friendship. Neither of them realized yet how much the space between them was shrinking, how the lines were blurring. For now, they just thought they were two best friends who were closer than ever.

SUMMER

Summer felt like it lasted forever, and yet, it went by in a blur. The group of girls—Azzi, Paige, Caroline, Aubrey, Nika, and Ice—spent nearly every day together, their bond growing even tighter. Sleepovers became a regular thing, nights filled with laughter, secrets, and a never-ending supply of snacks. They’d stay up late watching movies, gossiping about anything and everything, and making plans for the future. It was the kind of carefree summer you dream about, when the world outside didn’t exist, and it was just them, creating memories.

Azzi and Paige were nearly inseparable, attached at the hip in a way that felt natural—like they were two halves of the same whole. They spent the mornings together, whether it was lounging by the pool or driving with the windows down, singing along to songs they both knew by heart. Azzi didn’t even realize how often their hands brushed or how their laughter seemed to echo a little more when they were together. They didn’t need words to fill the silence; being near each other was enough. And when they weren’t together, they were always checking in with each other, sending texts or calling just to make sure the other was okay.

The others were there too, of course. Caroline and Aubrey would make the occasional sarcastic comment, teasing Azzi and Paige about being joined at the hip, but they didn’t mind. Nika and Ice would roll their eyes but secretly enjoyed watching their best friends navigate the summer, sharing inside jokes with the group. Even when the six of them were together, there was this invisible force that pulled Azzi and Paige closer, making it seem like they were always on the same wavelength.

But amidst all the fun and the laughter, there were those moments that lingered. A lingering glance when they thought the other wasn’t looking. The quiet moments when they’d both find themselves alone, side by side, with no one else around. Azzi would feel the warmth of Paige’s hand resting against hers, or she’d catch the way Paige would smile at her—just for a second—before looking away. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them questioned it. They were best friends. That’s all it was. At least, that’s what they told themselves.

A secret

As the summer went on, Azzi couldn’t help but notice Aubrey’s growing distance whenever she and Paige were together. At first, it was subtle—an eye roll here, a quiet moment there—but the more time Azzi spent with Paige, the more it seemed like Aubrey was acting... jealous. Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that Aubrey was upset about their closeness, but she didn’t know why. Was it just the usual summer tension, or did Aubrey like Paige in a way Azzi hadn’t realized? The unspoken tension hung between them, and though Azzi didn’t ask Aubrey directly, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she ever did. For now, the secret stayed buried, a quiet undercurrent to their summer that neither was willing to address.

[anonymousewrites]

Apple of My Eye Chapter Nineteen

Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Nineteen: That's How You Know

Mouse Note: I'm back!

Summary: Harry and (Y/N) are both growing aware of just how strong their feelings are.

            “Hey, Harry,” said Evie, peeking her head into Uma’s room where her crew could almost always be found. “Can you go and find (Y/N) for me? I need to go over some designs for them Reunion Ball outfit.”

            “I don’t know where they are,” said Harry.

            “Apple Cottage,” said Evie. “There are signs. Thank you!” She left the room.

            “What are you waiting for? Go on,” said Uma. “Go and fetch your royal.”

            “They aren’t—”

            “Harry, you’re my first mate. I’ve known you since we were babies,” said Uma. “I know you. Go and get your royal.” She smirked. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even have the guts to ask them out.”

            Harry coughed, stood, and left without responding. A few moments later, Evie opened the door to the dorm again.

            “Did he go?” said Evie.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Uma. “Do you think this will help them admit each other?”

            “A romantic meeting in the woods by an idyllic cottage has better atmosphere than fencing, even if that’s good for flirting,” said Evie. She crossed her arms. “And if this doesn’t do it after weeks of hopeless flirting, then we’ll really step in. After all, I am really meeting with (Y/N) for their outfit.”

            “And Harry and I are helping Carlos set up decorations for the ball for Jane,” said Uma.

            “Good. Carlos has as great relationship with Jane. He’ll be able to help get Harry to confess or at least give him some ideas of how,” said Evie. “And Mal and I can work on (Y/N).”

            Uma laughed. “I haven’t had so much fun with a plot in a while.”

            Evie grinned. “Well, to get our best friends to date is a worthy cause.”

l

            “Highness?” said Harry, walking into the clearing of the woods.

            Apple Cottage, a small, quaint, and pretty little house, stood in the middle of the clearing. It was a replica of the dwarves’ cottage from Snow White’s life, and it was used for guests coming near Auradon Prep and (Y/N) when they wanted to get away.

            The door of the cottage opened, and (Y/N) stuck their head out. They smiled. “Harry.” They stepped outside. “I didn’t expect you.”

            “Evie is lookin’ for ya,” said Harry. “Somethin’ about clothes for a ball.”

            “Oh, right, I lost track of time,” said (Y/N). They brushed dust from their plane blue shirt. “I was cleaning up. I had a sleepover with some of the girls a few days ago.”

            Harry looked in through the door. “Nice place. Definitely a princess cottage.”

            “My mom wanted me to have something welcoming,” said (Y/N), chuckling. “Like how the dwarves welcomed her, I could be safe here.”

            “You mean ya aren’t at home at Auradon Prep?” said Harry.

            “I am,” said (Y/N). “But sometimes I want to be alone, get some privacy, that sort of thing. Being in a dorm can be tiring.” They chuckled. “So I come here.” They glanced at Harry. “You’re free to come here, too, if you need a moment away from everything.”

            Harry smiled slightly, softly. “Thanks. I do miss havin’ the ship to go to.”

            “You could ask Adrian to go out to eat with him. His family has a ship or two,” said (Y/N).

            Harry scowled. “No.”

            “He’d say yes,” said (Y/N).

            “Still, nah,” said Harry. He really wasn’t interested in going around with (Y/N)’s ex. It was the same way that Nazarin—Naveen and Tiana’s daughter—had flirted with him, he had immediately rejected her. Harry wasn’t going out with (Y/N)’s exes. No way. (Also, he had some irrational jealousy of that fact that they got even one date with (Y/N)).

            “At least ask Ben or Mal to find a ship,” said (Y/N). “You, Uma, and your crew could have some fun sailing. Maybe take a few of the Auradon kids, teach them.”

            “Would you come?” said Harry.

            (Y/N) smirked. “I could be convinced.” Harry grinned. “Now, I should get going before Evie comes down to get me. You should be scared when she offers to make you a suit.”

            “She did,” said Harry.

            “Good luck,” said (Y/N). “You’re living in her world now.” They laughed and dusted themself off again. “Pity I can’t change out of my cleaning clothes. Ah, well.”

            “Here.” Harry pulled off his red leather jacket.

            “Oh, no, you don’t need to,” said (Y/N) quickly.

            “Come on, Highness, take it. I know ya want to,” said Harry. He winked. “And you’ll look dashing in it.”

            “Flattery, how original,” teased (Y/N), but they did take the jacket and slip it on.

            “Damn, Highness, quit lookin’ so good in me clothes. Can’t take ‘em back now that I know ya look so good,” said Harry.

            “I’m not letting you give me your closet,” said (Y/N).

            Harry slung a hand over their shoulder. He winked. “Just sharin’ my good taste with ya.”

            “Good taste? You have a high opinion of yourself,” laughed (Y/N).

            “Well, I like you,” said Harry. “Don’t I?”

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and Harry grinned.

l

            (Y/N) walked into their appointment with Evie. “Oh, Mal, hi,” they said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you taking a break.”

            “After what feels like a thousand meetings, I need it,” laughed Mal.

            “Up on the podium, I’ve got to drape you,” said Evie, getting straight to business. She paused and smiled. “What’s this I see? Harry’s jacket?”

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed. “I have a little bit of dust everywhere from cleaning Apple Cottage. He knows that I like to look presentable.”

            “So it wasn’t a romantic gesture?” said Evie.

            “No,” said (Y/N), cheeks now on fire.

            “Of course it was,” said Mal. “Harry—even good Harry—doesn’t do stuff like that.” She leaned forward on her arm. “I think he likes you. Really.”

            “Not you, too,” said (Y/N). “Evie teasing it bad enough—”

            “We both have True Love, we know when we see it,” said Evie, folding the jacket and putting it aside. She tutted. “If only one of you would be honest.”

            “…You told him to come and get me at Apple Cottage,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms, unimpressed.

            “Guilty,” said Evie in a sing-song voice. “But it’s for a good cause.”

            “Maybe I should cast a truth spell on you both,” said Mal, grinning.

            “Mal!” exclaimed (Y/N). Mal burst out laughing. They groaned and buried their head in their hands. “I just—He’s teasing and open with everyone. How do I know he loves me?”

            “Love?” said Evie with a smile.

            “You love him?” said Mal with a soft look in her eyes.

            “…I do,” admitted (Y/N). It had snuck up on them for so long, but they did love Harry. They could only hope it was true.

«

            “Where’d your jacket go, Harry?” said Uma, raising a brow as Harry arrived.

            “Highness has it,” said Harry.

            “(Y/N)?” said Carlos, smiling slightly.

            “Yes,” said Harry. He rolled his eyes at Carlos’s tone. “Get ya mind outta the gutter, dogboy.”

            “I wasn’t suggesting anything,” said Carlos, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying, I only give my clothes to Jane, and she’s my girlfriend.”

            “It’s called being charming, not that ya’ve hurt of it,” said Harry.

            “Uh-huh,” said Uma, smirking. “Harry, you’ve never tried to be charming in your life.”

            “I’m a charming, attractive pirate,” said Harry.

            “For (Y/N), maybe,” said Uma. “We all know it.”

            “That obvious?” said Harry.

            “Yeah,” said Carlos, patting Harry on the shoulder. “But, hey, (Y/N) is a great person. So it’s not bad.” He smiled. “And they definitely like you back.”

            “Highness can do better than me,” said Harry. “Ima a pirate. They’re a royal.”

            “They’ve never cared about that stuff,” said Carlos. “They were the first person to be nice to us, outside of Ben. They’ve always judged people on their heart.”

            “And me cold heart’s enough?” said Harry, dubious.

            “Harry, would they banter with you if they didn’t like you?” said Uma. She put her hands on her hips. “Buck up. Put your brave pirate hat on and tell them.”

            “Yeah. You just need to show them you like them,” said Carlos, smiling.

            Harry looked between Carlos and Uma. “How do I show them I love them?’

            Carlos grinned. “You love them?”

            “If a villain can love—”

            “Have you seen Mal and Ben or Doug and Evie? VKs have a lot of love to give,” said Uma, laughing. “Come on, Harry. Be honest.”

            “I love them,” said Harry softly, the words so honest as they spilled from his heart. He had been entranced by them the moment he met (Y/N), yet the word of love had grown like a flame—an ember that grew into a roar. It felt so natural to say it, like it was meant to be. He could only hope that it was meant to be.

            “So, tell them,” said Uma.

            “Show them you love them,” said Carlos.

            “What if they don’t love me back?” said Harry.

            “You’ve got to show them, first. They’re probably—”

            “Definitely,” interjected Uma.

            “—as nervous as you,” said Carlos.

(Carlos) “How do they know you love them? How do they know they’re yours?”

            Uma hit Harry on the shoulder.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

            Harry rubbed his shoulder as Uma put her hands on her hips and Carlos smiled at him. Uma might not know love, but she knew action, and Carlos knew the heart. They were going to teach Harry a lesson.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            They circled Harry as he watched them in surprise.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them? How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            Carlos jumped onto a decoration for the ball—a podium for taking photos for friends. It was covered in flowers, and he leaned against it romantically.

(Carlos) “It’s not enough to take the one you love for granted, You must remind them or they’ll be inclined to say—”

«

            (Y/N) sighed as Evie draped fabric over them and Mal smiled.

(Y/N) “How do I know he loves me?”

«

            Uma stepped towards Harry.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

«

            (Y/N) looked at Evie and Mal as Evie pulled the fabric back and it floated like a bird through the air, as gentle as the love in (Y/N)’s heart.

(Y/N) “How do I know he’s mine?”

«

            Uma tapped Harry on the chest, a commanding captain.

(Uma) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            Harry frowned.

«

            Evie picked up a collection of notes from Doug.

(Evie) “Well does he leave a little to tell you, You are on his mind?”

            “He gave me his sash to think of him,” said (Y/N).

            Mal held up a bouquet of flowers from Ben.

(Mal) “Send you yellow flowers when the sky is grey? Hey~”

            “He grabs me my favorite food when I’m late to meals,” said (Y/N).

            Evie and Mal each put a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder and smiled into the mirror.

(Evie and Mal) “He’ll find a new way to show you, A little bit every day!”

            They looked at (Y/N), and Evie gestured to the pirate jacket. Mal squeezed their shoulder with a smile.

(Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know, That’s how you know, He is your love!”

            (Y/N) laughed, and their cheeks warmed.

«

            Carlos spun around on the podium and pointed at Harry.

(Carlos) “You’ve got to show them you need them, Don’t treat them like a mind-reader, Each day do something to lead them, To believe you love them.”

            He pulled a loose rose from the display and tossed it to Harry. He caught it and stared at it. One way to show his love could be gifts—like a jacket. Like a rose.

«

            (Y/N) fell back from the dais, and Mal and Evie lowered them to the ground. They smiled at each of the girls, took the fabric, and draped it dramatically around themself. They danced and spun, the skirts swirling around them in waves like the sea.

(Y/N) “Everybody wants to live, Happily ever after, Everybody wants to know their true love is true!”

            They dropped the fabric and looked at Mal and Evie with a lovestruck and hopeful look in their eyes.

(Y/N) “How do you know he loves you?”

«

            Uma pointed at the rose and gestured to the variety of flowers around them.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

            Harry needed to really show his heart to (Y/N), show that his feelings went beyond friendship, show his love.

«

            (Y/N) picked up the jacket and spun with it. Mal and Evie laughed at the loving look in (Y/N)’s eyes as they held the item close.

(Y/N) “How do you know he’s yours?”

«

            Uma pulled out more flowers from the buckets ready for display and pressed them into Harry’s arms. Carlos pulled out paper and a ribbon to tie the bouquet together.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

«

            Mal took the jacket while Evie took (Y/N)’s hands. She spun them around and swayed with them, hugging their back to her front. (Y/N) laughed.

(Evie) “Well, does he take you out dancing, Just so he can hold you close?”

            “He asks me to fence, and we get close with that,” said (Y/N), smiling slightly. Evie squeezed them tighter in encouragement.

(Mal) “Dedicate a song with words meant just for you?”

            “I’m the only one with a nickname,” said (Y/N) slowly.

            Mal grinned. Evie squeezed (Y/N) and let them go. Steadily, they were going to get Harry and (Y/N) to realize their interactions were anything but platonic.

(Mal and Evie) “He’ll find his own way to tell you, With the little things he’ll do, That’s how you know, That’s how you know he’s your love.”

            Evie took (Y/N)’s hands from the front and smiled at them.

(Evie) “He’s your love.”

            She sang softly, trying put all the honest words and truth of Harry’s feelings into (Y/N)’s heart.

(Evie) “That’s how you know he loves you, That’s how you know it’s true!”

            She spun (Y/N) and grinned at them. Mal caught them from the spin and draped the jacket over their shoulders.

(Mal) “Because he’ll wear your favorite color, Just so he can match your eyes.”

            “I do like red,” said (Y/N), smiling.

(Mal) “Rent a private picnic by the fire’s glow, Oh!”

            “He customized a sword for me for fencing,” said (Y/N) fondly. “That way I always have one to use.”

(Mal and Evie) “His heart will be yours forever, Something every day will show!” (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know!” (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know! (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know—” (Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know he’s your love!”

«

            Carlos and Uma pressed the finished bouquet into Harry’s arms—flowers of red, yellow, and blue wrapped in white paper and tied with a golden bow.

(Carlos) “That’s how they know that you love them.”

«

            Evie and Mal hugged (Y/N) and swayed them to the music, leading them in a dance.

(Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know!”

«

            Uma squeezed Harry’s hands closed around the bouquet.

(Uma) “That’s how you show them you love them.”

«

            (Y/N) laughed and joined in, twirling with the jacket of the man they loved held tight around them.

(Evie, Mal, and (Y/N)) “That’s how you know!”

«

            Carlos danced around Harry, nudging him forward towards the door and demonstrating how to bow and give the flowers with exaggerated movements to the beat of the song.

(Carlos) “You’ve got to show them you need them.”

            Harry held out the flowers to Uma, no ceremony, and she rolled her eyes.

(Uma) “Don’t treat them like a mind reader!”

«

            Mal and Evie took (Y/N)’s hands, took each other’s, and they danced in a circle.

(Mal, Evie, and (Y/N)) “That’s how you know!”

«

(Uma) “How do you know that you love them?”

            Harry tried again, bowing and offering the flowers with all the love in his heart—because he did love (Y/N)—and Uma and Carlos nodded approvingly.

(Carlos) “That’s how you know that you love them!”

«

            Mal and Evie hugged (Y/N) close, and they laughed.

(Mal and Evie) “He’s your love!”

«

            And, at the same moment that Uma and Carlos grabbed Harry to haul him towards Evie4Hearts, Mal, Evie, and (Y/N) smile and threw their arms up.

(All) “It’s not enough to take the one you love for granted!”

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[natnatscorner]

Not used to this

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JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: You and the pogues have always gotten along. They all love you, except for one.. that would be JJ Maybank and not for the reason you'd think.

based on this request!

word count: 762

cw: none, fluffy

masterlist - outer banks masterlist

It's Friday night here in Outer Banks, and there's a small soiree for Kooks at the beach. Instead of going to enjoy yourself with your friends, you're working the night as a server since you need the community service hours. It's not too bad thankfully you're just serving food and drinks after all.

You stumble upon your pogue friends and Sarah. You decide to go towards them, giving them a sweet smile and wave. "Hey guys! I didn't expect to see you here." At the table are Kiara, Pope, John B, Sarah, and JJ. "Hey Y/N we decided to stop by for a bit, check it out maybe go to a party after." voiced John B. "Sounds fun! Can I get you guys anything a drink, something to eat? Night's been pretty slow surprisingly."

Pope was about to say something before JJ cut him off "We're not helpless Y/N, if we want something we'll get up and get it. Okay?" he spat. "Woah JJ, calm down I'm just doing my job, sorry for being a bother." You waved goodbye and walked away, feelings deeply hurt by his rough tone.

You're not sure why JJ acted like that towards you. You've always been nice to him and his friends, and treated them with respect, unlike others. It's okay if not everyone likes you, but there should be a reason why he treats you this way, right?

"JJ c'mon man, why'd you do that? She's always sweet towards us and you talk to her like that." John B and the group continued to scold JJ until he finally got up to apologize. "OKAY! I'm going, damn guys" He holds his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes as he walks towards you.

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You're working the bar, making some mocktails. You're still thinking about JJ and how he spoke to you. Deep in your thoughts, you hear someone call your name. You turn around and speak of the devil—it's JJ.

"Hey uh, can we go somewhere and talk?" He asks quietly, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sure, let me just finish these drinks up. It won't long don't worry." You give him a quick smile and continue with your work. That damn smile he thought. Once you finish you let another server know you're taking a quick break. You both walk a few feet away from the venue and pause.

"Okay, what was it that you wanted to talk about?" You asked sweetly.

"I uh- just wanted to apologize for the way I acted earlier, you don't deserve to be talked to that way." He said feeling lots of guilt building up. He doesn't want to come off rude to you, he knows that you are a kind-hearted person, but then again you're a Kook and they're all the same in the end, right?

"Hey it's okay, I get it. You think Kooks are assholes and trust me some check that box off but we're not all like that JJ. I mean look at Sarah, you like her, don't you? And she's dating John B, they seem to be doing really good despite being from different sides of the island. "

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is, why do you treat me like this?" You look up at him directly in the eyes.

He looks away from you and sighs. "I-I don't know. I feel really bad right now and I can't give you a real answer. I mean you're so kind to me, I guess I'm just not used to a pretty Kook like you being so kind. Based on the people I've seen you hang around, just didn't think you'd be like this.."

"You think I'm pretty?" You ask, crossing your arms with a big smile.

"Yeah, of course. You're beautiful Y/N." He looks at you smiling back.

You let out a small giggle. "Come here ya big dope." You go in to hug him. He's hesitant at first but after a few seconds, you feel him wrap his arms around your waist.

"So am I forgiven?" he asks still in the embrace.

You force yourself to pull back. "Yes JJ, of course." Looking at the time, you still have a good amount of time left. "Wanna walk around for a bit? I still have another 10 minutes."

"Sure why not?" You wrap your arm around his and walk around the beach admiring the sunset. Talking about the most stupid things ever until your break is up.

You still can't believe the reason he was so mean was because he actually had a crush on you? Definitely something you're not used to.

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© natnatscorner - please do not copy, repost or translate my works on here or any other platform!