#I used it for this but then went over it to actually make it look like marker on glass

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

To answer the original question- we went to libraries and read books (often encyclopedias) and periodicals. Libraries still exist. Please try them sometime. And sometimes we did the assignment by flashlight while sitting in the back of a tree prop to weigh it down so it didn’t fall forward on a dancer while it was onstage for a daytime performance of your school’s Nutcracker production when that class was next on your schedule. (Specific example but you get the point.)

But to expand on last-minute things - I used to call it “bullshitting (an essay).” And I thought, at the time, that it wasn’t actually useful or good - that it was irresponsible or lazy. But now, looking back on it, it was, in fact, a coping mechanism and a damn good one considering how absolutely awful our public school system (in the US) actually is. (But that’s a topic I’ve already ranted about.)

I was undiagnosed for ADHD and autism and had demand avoidance, anxiety, and short-term memory issues. Those things sucked in an environment where memorizing and regurgitating things on a schedule for a grade that everyone emphasized could affect the rest of your life were the priorities.

So instead of memory and regurgitation, I developed, over time, my own skills in being able to make something up on the spot that contained what I could manage to remember accurately without bringing attention to the parts I couldn’t remember. Bonus points if the essay was part of a test and I could look at the rest of the test and logically pull information from it. (Oh look, research, problem-solving, awareness, and logic skills!) And it turns out that that’s pretty useful even just in everyday conversation. I learned to examine the environment and be aware of everything around me that might be helpful (look around the room for anything that might have a word I can’t remember how to spell or some piece of useful information.) I learned how to communicate through writing quickly and clearly and how to organize my thoughts on the spot.

If it was an essay that required research, I’d gather the materials to do the research then just accept that none of it was going to happen until right before it was due and I’d churn it out at the last minute.

Again, I thought this was procrastination and it was bad but it turns out it was a coping mechanism for poor memory and anxiety. It would have taken so much more effort to break it up over days and basically have to start over every day because I couldn’t remember what I researched yesterday. And it sounds backwards but I was less anxious about getting it done and more anxious about if it was good enough once it was done so it was less stressful to have less time to worry over it after it was done and probably end up screwing it up because of constantly trying to make it better. The procrastination method meant that done at all was better than not done and helped me get over seeking perfection.

So yes, these are learned skills and also good coping mechanisms and they cannot be learned without practice. Having AI do it for you means you are depriving yourself of the incredibly useful skills of research, awareness of the world around you, and of showing what you know/remember in a coherent way while giving yourself grace and privacy for what you’ve forgotten.

Also you’re missing out on the chance to meet people at the library and they often have cool art displayed that you get to see. Seriously, go there. Talk to some fellow humans.

Also the hand drawing thing works. It works for everything in drawing. Anatomy, animals, buildings, etc. If you are bad at it and want to improve, 1000 quick (like 1 minute) drawings of the thing will do it.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but it won't build you the the muscles.

[gay-dorito-dust]

* re-corporates*

Hello again, sorry

Could I get some headcanons for a male [or gender nutral] reader who's a diva. Think the Emma frost kind. Bad bitch who's so cut throat when defending the team from the public view or like if Valentina is giving them shit.

"The only publicity cover up we need is that ratty wig you have on Valentina.😮‍💨>:["

However would literally lay down his life for anyone on the team and actively goes out of his way to make them more comfortable. Like demands them be treated well.

I love your work goodbye 👋

the second you all were called the new avengers, you wanted to wrangle Valentina's neck for the shit storm she was subjecting you all to.

You knew people wouldn't take too kindly to your group of assasins and super soldiers with blood on their hands being called a name that was once synonomous with indivisuals who might as well have been gods and worshiped as such.

you knew that things from here on out would be a constant uphill battle, where you'd be faced with countless obsticles for you and the team to overcome on your own.

after Yelena told Valentina that they 'own her now' you put your hand on the assassins shoulder, gave her a smile, before moving to lean towards Valentina where your smile became a malicious sneer. 'hopefully with all that money you'll get for these gullible lot, you'll be able to actually get your hair done professionally, and not have to rely on the bathroom mirror and the pair of siscors that i know you use to sort out those god awful dead ends of yours.'

you weren't done as you then later added. 'also if you try and use any one of my team as scapegoats in the media the second you can't control the narrative, i will come for your throat. do i make myself clear.' you threatned.

'crystal, you have my word.' Valentina replied with a tight lipped smile. you weren't convinced and she could tell, you would do anything in your power to keep your team safe, people you didn't give two shit about twenty mintues ago are now the people you would raise hell for in order to keep them out of the public eye should you see it was getting to them.

this mainly being john walker, whom seemingly only ever cared about how the general public and press saw him as; a failure replacement of steve rogers who went rouge and killed a man in broad daylight.

'i'll believe it when i see it De Fontaine. so actually try and make it believable.' you mockingly spat before taking your spot between Yelena and Alexei, flashing the public a fake smile that would've fooled anyone and everyone becuase it was just enough to keep people from looking at your teammates and keep the public focus on you and you alone.

you did not fuck about when it came to your teammates, you wanted them to be okay and to have a much more comfortable living within the tower, all the while trying not to wince and scowl at the...decorative choices Valentina made to the place and actively made the choice to throw them out. Ava and Yelena had once caught you hauling an ugly statue over your shoulder and asked what you were doing.

'i'm not allowing myself nor any or you to live with such an eyesore, the woman doesn't know fashion from trashion if it hit her in the face.' you told them before adding, 'oh also remind me to buy Bob a book shelf for his book nook along with another beanbag or at least a more comfotable loveseat to support his back, weighted throw blankets, weighted plushies and snug hoodie blankets. okay thanks!'

you do similar things for Yelena, Alexei, John and Ava by making their floors within the tower more tolerable, places where they can find respit in. For Yelena you got her food for Fanny and Houdini the guinea pig, even buying them better dog beds and cages for houdini to move and get exercise within, along with some new jewlery and fake plants to decorate the blandness of her window sill.

For Ava you got her some books, diaries for her to write her innermost thoughts in, movies that she missed out on and that you'd think she would like, art supplies so that she could get her feelings out on the canvas and most of them came out really beautiful and amazing that you began to make a room on her floor decked out as an art room for her to fully use at her complete disposal.

for Alexei you got him memorobilia of his golden days as Red Guardian, knowing how much he looked back on those days with pride, wanting nothing more to recapture it. You got a massive poster of the wheaties box with all of you on it to hang on his wall, since he wouldn’t stop talking about it. You even managed to find newspaper clips of the football team that he and Yelena talked about and had them framed and sat on his bedside table for easy accept for him to look at whenever he wanted to, much to Yelena’s dismay.

For John you made one of the rooms on his floor into a sort of relaxation room that you made sure had no wifi, no signal, nothing and force him to sit in his thoughts and just breath. You even got him some journals to go write in as he didn’t open up vocally about what he’s going through, so why not write instead. You pay homage to Lemar ‘Battlestar’ Hoskins too upon learning how close he and John were, knowing how his death had disturbed John to the core even to this day while not overstepping your boundaries upon this subject.

You were essentially their reminder to take it easier on themselves, to treat themselves better as you would force the team into activities that would prove beneficial for not only them, but to you all as a team. Movie and game nights, family dinners in the Kitchenette, team outings to a park or elsewhere when there wasn’t any missions to go on nor stupid press junkets that Valentina demands you all to attend.

‘Stop it.’ You took the vodka shot glasses from Alexei and Yelena.

‘Put it down.’ You confiscated John’s phone, pocketing it in your jeans.

‘Knock it off.’ You grab Ava by the elbow before she could phase through the wall, something she always did whenever you decided to rally the group.

‘Come one sweetheart, get in here.’ You gestured for Bob to step away from the stove where he was making breakfast for you all, wanting to make himself useful while he was learning to better understand his powers and their full extent, seeing the tired look upon his face.

You’d make them all stay in the living room won’t let anyone be left out, not stopping until all of you were laughing and having a good time, you just wanted them all to be okay and will fully intended to be harsh if you must to get the results you want from your group.

But you have days yourself when you couldn’t always protect your teammates, days where you were tired from the weight you’ve put on yourself in taking care for others over yourself that your team decided to step in themselves to help you for a change.

‘Come on, enough of that.’ John said as he took away your phone, pocketing it in his jeans as he guided you to the room he and the others had decked out just for you. It took them a week but it was worth it. fairy lights hung from the ceiling, bookshelves lined the walls, a projector was lying in wait to be used, loveseats were placed wherever possible along with little gifts each of the thunderbolts best suited you and your room.

Yelena- a collage of pictures of yourself and her along with the other team members falling asleep on one another during movie nights, having self care days or even having a makeshift fashion show in order to make you laugh with tears. A plushy that looked like Fanny and Houdini the guinea pig. It was the least she could do when you reminded her to put down the bottle, put down the phone and allow herself to be in the company of people who love her and were just as fucked up as her, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her out of the room and forcing her to talk Fanny for a walk.

Ava- a painting she made of you that was hung on the wall, trinkets to put in the alcove units John had installed, and even found a plush window sill seat should you ever want to look out the window without having to worry about a sore and numb ass afterwards. It was the least she could do when she needed to escape, phasing into your room and lying on your bed while you kept her company, making sure to keep some distance between each other as you knew touch was something she was iffy on especially when over exerting herself.

Bob- books that were well loved and well read by him that he’d thought and hoped would help you, the sweater you kept stealing from him, and a weighted plushy he had help picking out for you. He even picked out some vine wall decorations to hang over the bookshelves to give them a more fantasy feeling. It was the least he could do for the times you’ve stayed up with him when he couldn’t sleep, for opening your door for him whenever he needed to talk to someone, for giving him the tools to help better himself mentally.

Alexei- a massive poster of him as red guardian, a fishing rod for he drags you and the others to go fishing and vodka shot glasses, and flower table lights. Helped Ava set up the cushioned window sill seat. It was the least he could do for when you helped him take the opportunity to do something new with this second chance in the limelight, to do things he’s always wanted to do while also helping repair his and Yelena’s relationship in the process.

John- some throw blankets, cushions, put together alcove units for you to use however you saw fit. Also helped Ava and Alexei with the window sill seat as he claimed they were doing it wrong. It was the least he could do for the times where you’d pull him away from public view and practically shield him from view, from another bad new outlet about him for him to drown in later. Telling him that he owed them nothing.

You almost felt like crying upon seeing the room and the personal touches each of your team had left behind, you knew most of them fucking sucked as speaking their feelings but the fact that they had all come together just for you. It showed that they cared for you and acted as the biggest thank you you’ve ever received in your life, reminding you why you were so hellbent on keeping their heads above water, for moments like this where you could see them healing and accepting of themselves.

You were proud of your dysfunctional team, you would keep defending them until you couldn’t anymore, they still very much needed you but you needed them just as much and standing in the room they’ve took great care in crafting just for you only proved such.

‘Thank you.’ You said to them.

‘No,’ Alexei said, clapping you on the shoulder, ‘thank you.’

[zenithsturniolo]

⇢ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑!𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓

1k words — drug use, suggestive content, use of “angel”, lowk asshole chris

you weren’t supposed to be here this late. but then again, you weren’t supposed to care if he remembered either.

chris had texted you a few hours ago, something short and blunt— come over if u still need — and even though it was past eleven, even though you’d already gotten into your comfiest sweats and tied your hair up in that stupid clip he always made fun of, you went.

you told yourself it was for the weed. told yourself you were bored. told yourself you didn’t care.

his place is dim when you knock. smells like weed and candle wax, like old smoke clinging to the walls. that familiar haze that sticks to your clothes, to your skin, to your thoughts long after you leave.

he opens the door shirtless, low gray sweats hanging from his hips, chain resting heavy, eyes already red-rimmed and half-lidded like he’s been coasting all night.

“took you long enough,” he mutters, stepping back to let you in. no greeting, no smile. just the usual.

“wasn’t rushing,” you shrug, closing the door behind you. “figured you’d be stoned and grumpy either way.”

he scoffs, the sound lazy and mean. “and yet you still showed up. desperate.”

you roll your eyes, toeing your shoes off, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck. “maybe i just wanted to be your last client of the night.”

he glances over at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes for half a second. “that right?”

you hum, pretending to browse the stack of lighters on his counter even though you always use your own. you never actually need one from him, but the way he watches you when you do this — pretending like he doesn’t — it always feels like a quiet ritual.

“midnight’s in, like… fifteen minutes,” you say casually.

he lights a blunt, eyes flickering toward the oven clock. “so?”

you don’t answer right away. you’re used to this. his clipped voice, the cold mask he wears like armor. you’ve told yourself a hundred times not to expect more, but something in you still stings.

it’s your birthday in fifteen minutes, and even though you didn’t come for that, even though you knew he’d probably forget, some stupid part of you still hoped.

you perch on the edge of his couch, legs tucked under you, arms crossed loosely like you’re trying to stay small. “nothing,” you say. “just thought maybe you’d, i don’t know… say something.”

he exhales smoke without looking at you. “say what?”

you raise your brows, the silence stretching between you. “i don’t know. maybe something like happy birthday?”

he doesn't answer. for a second, you regret bringing it up. your throat goes tight, dumb with disappointment. he passes the blunt to you wordlessly, his face carved from shadow and apathy. you take it and inhale slowly, trying not to care. the smoke burns down your throat, settles deep in your lungs. makes it easier not to feel too much.

“figured you forgot,” you mutter.

“didn’t forget,” he says flatly.

you glance at him. he's still not looking at you, but his jaw ticks— that tiny shift he does when he's lying or pissed or both. your eyes drift toward the counter. there’s a small box there. black ribbon, no tag. definitely wasn’t there last time. your heart tugs.

“what’s that?”

“nothing.”

“looks like something.”

“don’t be annoying,” he grumbles.

you stand anyway, crossing the room to grab it. it’s heavier than you expect, neatly tied, too purposeful to be nothing. a flicker of hope twists in your chest, stubborn and stupid.

“this for me?” you ask, already knowing.

he doesn’t answer.

you peel the ribbon, open the box... and freeze.

inside is a small silver lighter. sleek, engraved, matte finish. your initials are etched into one side, and on the other… a tiny etched outline of a blunt and a halo.

you blink. it’s stupid. ridiculous. and it makes your throat close up.

“you hate birthdays,” he mutters from behind you.

you turn around slowly. “i never said that.”

“you said they’re performative. that no one ever gets it right.”

“doesn’t mean i don’t wanna feel special sometimes.”

he shrugs. “so you get a lighter. big deal.”

you let out a soft laugh, teary without meaning to. “you engraved a fucking blunt with a halo on it.”

he finally meets your gaze. red eyes, tired mouth, but there's something soft in the way he looks at you now. like he’s letting you see the part he always hides.

“suits you,” he says. “you’re a pain in the ass but you’re still kinda my angel.”

your breath catches.

“shut up,” you mumble.

he stands, takes the box from your hands, sets it gently on the table. then, without asking, he pulls you close by the waist and sits back on the couch, dragging you down with him. you land straddling his lap, knees pressed into the cushions, heart pounding like it wants to leap into his hands. he pulls the blunt from your fingers, takes a drag, then slips it between your lips. lights it with your new lighter. you hold his gaze, feel the warmth of him beneath you, anchoring you like gravity.

“you’re high,” you whisper.

“no shit.”

“and nice.”

he glares. “don’t ruin it.”

you giggle, tilting your head back as you exhale smoke. his hand slips beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed across the small of your back, steady and possessive, like he doesn’t plan on letting you go.

it’s midnight now. you don’t say it. you don’t have to. he shifts just enough to brush his mouth against your jaw. not a kiss, just enough to feel him. just enough to ache for more.

you close your eyes, and chris breathes you in.

and then, real quiet, like it physically pains him to say it, “happy fuckin’ birthday,” he mutters into your hair, blunt still burning in his hand.

“now shut up and stay right there.”

a/n: thank you @chloe444 for the request! this was supposed to be out yesterday n i’m sorry for the delay love, but I hope you like it. I hope you had the best birthday ever ilysm :)) also... thinking of making a dealer!chris au. got some ideas 🤷

+ find more dealer!chris here + find my entire masterlist here

🏷: @drewswife @k4urltzx @courta13 @briizysturn @y2kstarr @adorechris @dolliraez @rriverscuomo @sturnsblogs @mattspillowprincess @mattsplaything @sturns-mermaid @auttysturnz @sonnyangelsweetiee @izzylovesmatt @ribbonlovergirl @matts-girlfriend @pair-of-pantaloons @444sturns @weron1ka @grrrrcherries  @matts-wife @thicknick19 @slvtf0rchr1s @devotedlyteenagemusic @adoremattsturns @slut4chrisloads @cayleeuhithinknott @lyingbymalcom @sturniolo1trips @chrissbxby @alexisa78 @ariheartsmatt @slutformatt17 @chestersturn @kenziesturniolo54 @malsmind @chrismoans @sophsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @sturnslutz @passionfruitchris

© zenithsturniolo

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 9

Paige X Azzi

warning: some homophobia, cam!, language, nods to adultish content sorta

A/N: if you thought you hated cam yesterday, just wait till you read this! lmao ok this story is winding down. but no worries. we've got more cooking. toxic WNBA fic loading. love yallll <3

Azzi’s POV

Azzi crossed, then uncrossed her legs beneath the booth. The one tucked into the far corner of the student center—the kind you only noticed if you were looking.

She’d picked it on purpose. Sent the text. And waited.

But now it was past time. Eleven minutes, exactly. Not that she was counting, except she was.

Her phone stayed face-up beside her, untouched and unbearably empty. The seconds dragged. Her knee bounced. Her irritation simmered, slow and low.

She had practice in a few hours and had been hoping to squeeze in a nap before getting her ass kicked. She scanned the room again. Still nothing.

With a sigh that felt more like surrender, Azzi opened the message thread and tapped her fingers against the screen sharply. 

are we still meeting?

A beat. A breath. A heartbeat too long.

yeah. walking up now.

She stared at the reply. No apology. No explanation. Just that.

Azzi clenched her jaw and flipped her phone face-down on the table. Too late now. She was already here. She blew out a breath and tried to calm herself down. 

Right then, the door swung open.

Her head snapped up. And her heart stumbled in her chest. But not in a good way. In an anxious, terrible way that always happened before she let someone down. 

Cam stopped in the doorway, eyes landing. She could physically feel the weight of his gaze. 

For a second, neither of them moved. He just stared, like maybe he didn’t expect her to actually show. Then he exhaled. Long. Measured. Almost bracing. And walked toward her.

He slid into the booth across from her, propping his elbows on the table. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, flat.

Azzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, already feeling the distance stretch between them. She knew where this conversation was going. She just didn’t know how to get there without drawing blood.

“How have you been?”

Cam shook his head, sharp and immediate. “How do you think, Azzi?”

She swallowed. Her knee started to bounce under the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know I haven’t really been around.”

He laughed. Bitter. Cold. Like he’d been saving it.

“Yeah. I bet you’re really fucking sorry,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Must be hard to remember I exists when you’re fucking Bueckers.”

Azzi physically flinched. Eyes blowing wide. She knew Cam was upset but didn’t expect such vitriol. It took her a few seconds to reorient herself. 

“Cam. I -”

“Does it make you feel special?” He pressed. “That Paige Bueckers picked you?”

She knew it wouldn’t go over smoothly. But this? This was nuclear. Cam leaned in, voice quieter now. Meaner.

“Can’t wait to see what happens when she gets bored,” he said.  “When the shine wears off and she realizes you were just something easy. Something temporary. She’s got the whole world, Azzi. And you think she’s gonna stay small for you?”

Azzi didn’t mean to let it get to her. Didn’t mean to show anything. But it was like Cam knew exactly where to hit—those soft, still-raw parts of her. The old insecurity. The part of her that still wasn’t sure she’d ever be enough.

She bit down on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. Two escaped anyway. Cam saw. Of course he did.

“How long?” he asked, voice flat. “How long have you been in love with her?”

Azzi stared at the table. Quiet. Honest.

“Since I was a kid,” she said.

Cam laughed. Low. Cruel. Like it amused him how easy it was to pull her apart.

“Of course you have,” he said. “I used to watch you watch her, you know. Thought it was harmless.”

He leaned back, stretching like the knife in his words wasn’t intentional.

“And then—guess how fucking stupid I felt when she opened your dorm door the day I came to talk?” he went on. “Wearing your shirt. With that smug little look like she knew. Like she was proud of it. Of having you. Just because I wanted you.”

“Paige isn’t like that,” Azzi muttered, swiping at another tear.

Cam rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard the shit people say on this campus. Because according to them? She’s exactly like that.”

Azzi shook her head, the first flicker of heat curling back into her chest. The tears didn’t dry, but the ache in her gut was quickly turning into something sharper.

It was one thing to talk down to her. But it was another thing entirely to talk about Paige like that. Her Paige—with the gentlest heart, the steadiest hands. The girl who tried so hard to carry everyone else’s weight that she forgot to ask for help with her own.

“You don’t know her,” Azzi said, louder now. “And neither does most of this school, though they love pretending they do.”

She paused, chest rising and falling. That familiar burn rising in her throat but this time, it wasn’t grief. It was rage. It was clarity.

Because Cam didn’t know. He’d never known.

He didn’t know what it meant to love someone like Paige Bueckers. To watch her carry a thousand expectations like they were stitched into her skin. To see her wake up early just to make sure everyone else had what they needed. To hear the way people talked about her when they thought she wasn’t listening—how fast they flipped between praise and poison.

He didn’t know what it was like to see someone that gentle get torn apart by a world that never stopped asking for more.

But Azzi did.

And she had always wanted to protect Paige. Even before she knew what the feeling was. She would’ve handed over her own breath if it meant making Paige’s life easier. Would’ve put herself between Paige and the entire world, if she thought it would matter.

But she couldn’t stop the noise. And she couldn’t make people like Cam disappear.

What she could do was stop pretending she didn’t know how to fight back.

“She’s a good person. A good person. Who just happens to be extraordinary at things. You don’t get to make her the villain because the world chose her,” Azzi Fudd wasn’t known for being cruel. She was the even one. The steady one. The peacekeeper. But when it came to Paige—when it came to this—maybe she didn’t have to be. So she mirrored Cam’s grin. Sharp. Icy. Unapologetic. “Because I chose her and not you.”

Azzi watched it land. Watched his face twist up. Bitter, bruised, small. And for once, she felt nothing. No guilt. No urge to soften it. No apology rising in her throat. Just a steady, quiet kind of rightness humming in her chest.

Cam scoffed, voice scraping the air between them.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said. “Paige’s dirty little secret.”

Azzi froze for a second. Nails digging into her thighs. She forced her jaw to unclench. To look Cam in the eyes. 

“Nothing’s a secret with Paige,” She muttered. “We’re just private.”

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Az." Cam rolled his eyes, “Funny thing about privacy though. In the blink of an eye, it can just go poof.”

He pushed up from the table, turning to look at Azzi one more time. 

“Would be a shame if someone did you wrong. Paige Bueckers really is a household name,” He said. “No telling how quickly things could get twisted.”

And then, he shrugged, leaving her at the table. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Azzi was on the edge—of a panic attack, of punching a street pole, of bursting into tears in the middle of campus.

She sat on the curb outside the student center, hood up, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded together like maybe if she held herself tight enough, she wouldn’t fly apart.

She wasn’t crying. Not yet. But her vision was swimming, and her breath was doing that stupid catch in her chest like it didn’t want to cooperate. Like even her body was mad at her.

The thing was, she’d just wanted to protect Paige. To say the thing Paige never got to say out loud. To stand in front of her, just once, and take the hit instead.

But she hadn’t taken the hit.  She’d invited it.

And now it wasn’t just about her anymore.

It was about Paige’s name. Her reputation. Her career. The thousand tiny ways the world chipped away at her already—and Azzi had handed them another blade.

She tugged on the sleeve of her hoodie until the fabric twisted in her palm.

She couldn’t tell Paige. Not yet. Not when Paige had been so happy just this morning. Not when she’d said: “It’s nice having something that’s just mine.”

Azzi felt sick.

She didn’t want to be the reason Paige lost the one piece of herself the world hadn’t gotten its hands on yet. So she sat there.

For ten minutes. Then twenty. Then long enough that her legs started to fall asleep.

She replayed the conversation with Cam over and over. She typed out a dozen different texts. Some sharp. Some desperate. Some that said please don’t and others that said try me.

But she deleted every single one.

She’d already made a mess. There was no use handing him proof. No screenshots, no words he could twist when someone eventually asked him to back it up.  Because they would. Of course they would.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d just circle, teeth bared, waiting for the next excuse to tear Paige apart.

But still, she wondered if he’d already saved something. Some old photo. A text. A time-stamped moment that looked just incriminating enough if you squinted hard and stripped it of all its context. The thought alone made her stomach lurch.

Because the fear wasn’t about being gay. It never was. It was about being Paige’s weak spot. And everyone knowing it..

Because once it was out there, they…The media, the fans, the ones who loved her when she won and turned on her when she didn’t would use it. They’d say Paige had lost focus. That she was distracted. That she was spending too much time tangled up in Azzi Fudd instead of locked in on the court.

They were teammates, and that would be the story.

Azzi had seen it before. Heard it whispered about other players. Love weaponized to the point of ruining things.

And then there’d be the others. The louder ones. The ones hiding behind burner accounts and comment sections.  Saying all the ugly things people say when they think they’re anonymous. When they think you’re not human.

Some people were just hateful.  And Paige Bueckers—who led with kindness, who carried her spotlight like a burden and still held her hands out anyway—was exactly the kind of target they loved.

Because the world didn’t know what to do with a girl like her. So it would try to break her. Softly at first. Then all at once.

She groaned. This was supposed to be her protecting Paige. Instead, she might’ve handed someone the exact weapon they’d been looking for.

And the worst part? She didn’t even know if the blade was coming. Just that it could. And somehow, waiting for it was more panic inducing than anything else.

Her phone buzzed at her side and she flinched, full-body. She fumbled it out of her bag, breath caught in her throat, then let it out hard when she saw the name.

Caroline: are you okay?

Azzi frowned. Had something already happened? Another text came through.

Caroline: do you often find yourself hanging out on curbs in front of the student center? or is that a new habit? 

And then:

Caroline: just gauging how worried i should be.

Azzi looked up and saw her.

Caroline, standing across the walkway with her arms crossed and her face pulled into something careful Concerned, as always, but softer this time. Like she knew to tread lightly.

She raised a hand in a slow wave. Waited. Azzi didn’t move. So Caroline approached like Azzi was a spooked animal. Cautious. Slow.

When she crouched in front of her, it only took one look—one real look—for her to nod.

“Come on.”

No questions. Just that.

Caroline pulled her up without fanfare and they walked, shoulder to shoulder, back to her dorm. Nothing loud. Nothing sharp. Just the sound of their footsteps on the pavement and the hush of a friendship built on showing up.

And when the door closed behind them, Azzi sat on the edge of Caroline’s bed and told her everything. When Azzi finished talking, she stared at her hands. Like maybe if she looked up, everything would be different. Less heavy.

Caroline was quiet for a moment. Then she exhaled through her nose, sat back against the wall, and said:

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Azzi nodded, still not looking at her.

“So I’m gonna say this with love. But also you need to listen to me.”

Azzi glanced up, bracing.

“You have to tell Paige.”

The words landed like a second heartbeat in the room.

Caroline didn’t stop. “You don’t get to be in this—really in this—and shut her out the second it gets hard. That’s not how it works.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Caroline lifted a hand.

“No. I know you’re scared. I know you’re trying to protect her. But trust is part of that too, Az. You don’t just get to pick the parts of her you want to carry.”

Azzi flinched, barely. But Caroline saw it.

“You’ve been best friends since you were kids,” she said, softer now. “You owe her more than this short-sighted, self-sacrificial spiral. Paige would burn the world down for you, and you’re out here deciding things for her like she doesn’t get a vote.”

Silence. Then, after a beat:

“If this is going to really work you have to let her be scared with you. Or it’s not real.”

Azzi bit down on her lip. Caroline’s voice gentled even more.

“Tell her, Az. She deserves that. You deserve that.”

Azzi knew she was right.  Knew that this was part of it…part of the hard they’d brushed past in whispers, in moments when things were still soft enough to ignore.

But this was it, wasn’t it?

This was the part where love didn’t just mean holding each other when it was easy. It meant choosing to stay in the mess. Letting yourself be seen in the panic. It meant letting Paige be in it with her, even if that meant watching her face fall. Even if it cracked something open that might be hard to close again.

She wasn’t protecting Paige by hiding. She was just…hiding. And maybe that had made sense before. But it didn’t anymore.

Azzi finally sighed and nodded. Caroline didn’t say told you so. She just reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Anyway,” she said, casually, like they hadn’t just talked through a complete emotional unraveling, “if there’s anyone who can handle this, it’s Paige. Friends in high places and such.”

That pulled the smallest smile from Azzi. Tired, but real.

“She does have a terrifyingly efficient team,” she mumbled.

Caroline smirked. “Exactly. By the time you tell her, she’ll probably have already handled it.”

Azzi squeezed her hand back before letting go and collapsing backward onto Caroline’s bed. The ceiling spun just a little. Or maybe that was just the leftover adrenaline finally burning off.

“Thanks, Caro,” she said, eyes closing.

“For what?”

“For… all of it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Please. It’s literally my job as your favorite best friend.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh. Thankful for people who were smarter than her. 

Paige’s POV

Paige was in the gym, chasing silence the only way she knew how.

Shot after shot. Around the horn. Reps until her shoulders burned and her vision blurred with sweat.

The more shots she took, the better she’d be. That was the deal, right? More work, more control. So she stayed in motion—kept the ball moving, the net snapping, the echo of each make loud enough to drown out everything else.

She was locked in. Right now, it was just her and the game. The rhythm. The feel. The fix.

Nothing was technically wrong. She just wanted to be better.

There’d been a few miscues in the last game. Sloppy reads, rushed decisions. Little things. Things people maybe wouldn’t even notice. But Paige did.

And if she worked hard enough, long enough, she figured she’d beat the bad habits out of herself one way or another.

“Don’t you ever want to just…take a nap?”

The voice echoed across the gym, loud enough to cut through the sound of the ball snapping through the net.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Sleep is for the offseason.”

She turned to see Nika standing at half court, hands on her hips, grinning.

“Can sleep when we win a national championship,” Paige added, snagging the rebound.

Nika chuckled, the sound warm, familiar. “Won’t hear me complain.”

She jogged over to the bench and started lacing up her shoes.

“Hey, P?”

“Mm?” Paige said, eyes still on the rim as she rose for another shot.

“How bad of a sign is it if Azzi’s texted you six times in the last hour?”

The ball hit the rim—clanged once, rolled, and dropped through. Paige froze. Just for a second. 

“She what?”

“Six texts. Azzi Fudd.” Nika flashed her phone. “Aw, do I also have emojis by my name? Or is that girlfriend only privilege?”

Paige half-sprinted over and snatched the phone from her, scanning the notifications like they might rearrange themselves into something less urgent.

Azzi wasn’t a frequent texter. And she definitely wasn’t a six-texts-while-you’re-at-the-gym kind of texter.

Something was wrong. Paige could feel it in her chest.

Azzi💎[1:41 PM]: hey. when you’re done, can we talk?

Azzi💎[1:45 PM]: no rush of course

Azzi💎[1:47 PM]: i’m fine. promise. just anxious

Azzi💎 [1:53 PM]: sorry. don’t mean to dump it on you

Azzi💎[1:57 PM]: i didn’t tell you earlier because i didn’t want to ruin your day. or your shootaround. idk i probably should’ve told you 

Azzi Fudd💎[2:01 PM]: it’s about cam.

Paige stared at the screen. For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then she grabbed her water bottle, her keys, and started toward the door.

Nika barely had time to ask, “Everything okay?”

Paige’s voice was tight, steady, already halfway gone:

“Gotta go.”

Paige barely remembered the walk over. Just the echo of her own footsteps and the way her heart felt like it was pacing ahead of her. When she reached Azzi’s dorm, she knocked once and the door swung open almost immediately.

Caroline.

Her eyes widened for a second, but she didn’t ask anything. Didn’t need to. She just stepped aside.

“She’s in her room,” Caroline said. “Hasn’t really moved.”

Paige gave her a small nod, barely a sound of thanks, and stepped past her without pausing. Her sneakers whispered against the floor as she moved down the hallway.

And then, Azzi’s door.

Paige didn’t knock this time. Just opened it slowly, quietly, like she was afraid of startling something fragile.

“Az?”

Azzi didn’t look up.

She was curled into herself on the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, legs tucked tight to her chest like she was trying to take up less space than usual. Her eyes were on the floor. Or maybe nowhere at all.

Paige crossed the room slowly, like if she moved too fast, Azzi might vanish. When she reached the bed, she didn’t say anything. Just sank down beside her and placed a hand on her back. Gentle. Solid. There.

Azzi didn’t move. So Paige leaned forward.

“Az… what’s going on?”

For a second, she thought she wouldn’t answer.

But then Azzi turned, slowly, and tucked her face into Paige’s hoodie like it was the only place left she trusted. Paige wrapped her arms around her without hesitation, without question, and pulled her in close.

Several seconds passed. The kind that stretch.

And then, finally, Azzi’s voice, so small Paige almost missed it:

“I fucked up.”

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen her grip. 

Just pressed her lips to Azzi’s temple and whispered, “I’m sure you didn’t.”

But Azzi nodded against her chest, breath hitching.

“I did.” A beat. “I met with Cam.”

And for a beat, Paige went still. Not from fear.  Not even from the threat that was coming next. But from jealousy. The kind that was immediate and instinctual. The kind she didn’t want to feel but did anyway.

It hit in the ribs—sharp and stupid.

You went to him. You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?

Still, when she looked at Azzi, it crumbled. Because it wasn’t about her.  Not right now. Not about her petty feelings or ancient insecurities or whatever awful, selfish thing had just risen to the surface.

It was about Azzi.

So Paige swallowed the jealousy. Buried it. Told it to wait its damn turn.And she reached for Azzi’s hand. Quiet. Steady. Honest.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. She stared at their fingers, like maybe they held the words she couldn’t find yet. Then she exhaled. Long and shaky.

“I thought I could handle it,” she said finally. “I just…I wanted to close the loop. End it clean. He kept texting and I didn’t want it hanging over us anymore, so I told him I’d meet.”

She paused, like she was bracing for impact. Paige didn’t flinch. Azzi kept going, the words picking up speed.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry-” she cut herself off, shook her head. “It wasn’t about him. It was about me. Us. And I was trying to prove that I could handle it. That I could be brave about something without needing you to fix it.”

Her throat tightened.

“But I said too much,” she whispered. “I let him get under my skin. I provoked him, and then he…”She swallowed hard. “He threatened to out us. Said some shit about how easily privacy can just… disappear. Like it’s nothing.”

Her voice cracked.

“I thought I was protecting you. But I think I made it worse. And I know you trust me to show up for you, and I—I didn’t. Not the way I should’ve.”

Paige was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that came from shock. Not disappointment, either. Just… processing. She stared at Azzi for a long moment. And Azzi, suddenly unsure, started to pull her hands back. But Paige didn’t let her. She held on.

“I don’t care about Cam,” she said softly. “I mean—I do, and I’m pissed, but—” She broke off. Exhaled. Tried again. “That’s not what I care about right now.”

Her thumb brushed across the back of Azzi’s hand.

“What I care about is this,” she said. “You. Me. Us.”

Azzi blinked. Her lips parted like she might speak, but nothing came out.

“I’m not mad at you,” Paige said, finally. “I hate that you felt like you had to do it alone. I hate that he made you feel small. But more than anything, I hate that you thought this—” she motioned between them, “—was something that could break.”

Azzi’s breath caught.

“This isn’t breakable, Az,” Paige said, softer now. “Not from this. Not from a moment of fear or a conversation gone wrong.”

She leaned in, forehead nearly brushing Azzi’s.

“You don’t gotta be perfect to be with me. You just have to be with me.”

She leaned forward. Forehead nearly touching Azzi’s.

“Do you understand that? I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Like hearing it hurt a little. Like maybe it was the first time she fully believed it. Paige stayed there, breath soft against her cheek, holding the space open between them. But her brain was turning over the conversation. The threat. 

The conversation. The threat. Cam’s voice, echoing secondhand in her head. Privacy doesn’t last forever.

She didn’t let herself tense. Not with Azzi this close. But beneath the calm, something sharp had begun to settle. Because now she wasn’t just thinking about what had happened. She was thinking about what came next.

What Cam might say. What others might run with. How fast the story could spread if it got in the wrong hands. But none of that was Azzi’s to carry, not anymore. Paige would make sure of it.

Later. She’d handle it all later.

Right now, Azzi was still in her arms. Still here. Still hers. So Paige kissed her temple. Light. Certain. And said nothing. Not yet.

Azzi fell asleep curled into her side, one arm slung across Paige’s waist, breath steady against her collarbone.

Paige didn’t move. Every instinct in her body wanted to stretch. To roll her neck. To pull out her phone and start fixing things. But she didn’t.

She stayed. Because this mattered more.

Because the way Azzi had melted into her felt like something sacred. Like trust, finally handed over. Like love curled in the shape of a girl’s sleep-heavy grip.

So, Paige just tugged her a bit closer, like she couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. She pressed a kiss to Azzi’s shoulder. Then another. Just because she could.

God, she was so in love with her.  It made everything else feel quieter. Smaller. Easier to breathe around.

Paige closed her eyes and smiled into the back of Azzi’s neck.

This—this was the part she’d never get over.  The sweetness of being next to her.  The miracle of being allowed to stay.

So she did just that. Stayed. Her body curled around Azzi’s, her thoughts somewhere half-alive. She stared at the ceiling and counted her breaths. Let time pass in slow, patient inches. Watched the light shift across the walls, just enough to remind her the world was still turning.

An hour passed before Azzi stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, brushing against Paige’s ribs. Then a soft hum, her forehead nudging instinctively closer. Paige looked down, smiling. 

“Hey.”

Azzi blinked slowly. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Hard,” Paige murmured, smiling. “You snored a little. Very flattering.”

Azzi groaned and buried her face in Paige’s side again. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Wrapped in warmth, in the illusion that the outside world hadn’t already begun knocking. But Paige could feel it. The peace cracking around the edges. 

Azzi shifted. Cleared her throat. And finally said, “So. What are we going to do?”

Paige had been expecting it. She’d been thinking about it the entire time Azzi had been asleep…spinning every possibility in her head like a half-court play. And she’d made her decision almost immediately.

She didn’t want this to be Azzi’s burden to carry. Not because she didn’t trust her. But because Paige knew how to take the hit. Knew how to balance pressure and privacy like it was part of the game. She was built for this.

So she smirked. Didn’t sit up. Didn’t change her tone. Just leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to Azzi’s cheek.

“Don’t stress about that, baby,” she said, casually.  “I’ll handle it.”

Azzi looked up, her eyes searching. “How?”

Paige just smiled. Brushed a thumb under her eye, gentle as ever. 

“I’ve got connections,” she said. “People who don’t ask questions. People who know how to keep things quiet.”

A pause. Then, even softer:

“Let me carry this one.” 

Azzi blinked, jaw tight like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t. She just nodded. And sank back into her side.

A few seconds passed before Paige asked the question that had been quietly gnawing at her.

“What did you even say to rile him up that much?”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed pink immediately. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. But eventually, she mumbled it out, face still hidden, voice muffled. And when she finished, Paige threw her head back laughing. The sound cracked through the air, bouncing off the walls around them.

“Damn,” she said, grinning wide. “Didn’t know I had a dog in my corner. Might start bringing you to interviews—let you handle the reporters who get too cute.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Quiet and slow, like it was just starting to feel safe again. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.  Just… honest.

Paige cleared her throat.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, by the way.”

Azzi glanced over, curious. “What wouldn’t?”

“If the world knew about us,” Paige muttered. Still not looking at her. “I mean—I’m not embarrassed. Of you. Of us.” A shrug. Too casual. Like maybe if she didn’t look at Azzi, it wouldn’t feel like a confession. “Just figured you should know.”

It wasn’t a big speech. It didn’t need to be. Azzi heard it. All of it.And Paige saw the shift. Saw how much it meant to her.  How badly she’d needed to hear it out loud.

Azzi bumped her shoulder against Paige’s.

“You’re such a loser,” she said, soft and smiling.

Paige just grinned. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

When she left Azzi’s, Paige shifted.

Because while she was gentle with Azzi, she wasn’t with anything else. Not in her nature. Especially not now.

The truth was, she didn’t really care if she got outed.

Would it be ideal? No. Not with the season about to start. But people already assumed. People had always assumed.

What mattered more was Azzi. Protecting her from the inevitable noise. The think pieces, the whispers, the careless reposts and comment sections that always managed to cut deeper than they should. And for that reason alone, Paige would tap every connection she had.

NIL reps. Media liaisons. PR friends in high places.

She’d pull every string. Press every silent button.

Because if Cam wanted to test her?

He was about to learn exactly what it meant to come for the one thing Paige Bueckers still considered hers.

She pulled out her phone. 

Group Chat: "Team P"

Paige: need a favor

Paige: someone’s threatening to leak something personal

Paige: want it handled quietly

Paige: preemptively, if possible

She tucked her phone away and kept walking. It didn’t take long to get a response. 

Team: Send a debrief. We’ll handle it. Team: UConn student?

Paige licked her lips, typed:

Paige: UConn athlete.

A typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Came back.

Team: Oh. Easier than I thought. Team: Send the brief. We’ll handle it.

Paige typed out everything they needed to know—quick, clean, no fluff.  No unnecessary details. No names. Except Cam’s. Because of course his dumbass name made the cut. And then she hit send. 

She trusted her team. Knew they’d handle it. So she tossed her phone in her bag and headed back to the gym.

Still, there was a buzz under her skin, restless and hot. Part of her wanted to get her own lick in. To find Cam and ruin him. With words. With facts. With that smile she reserved for her only her worst moments. 

But she knew better. Knew her temper was better held. Because sometimes, a well-timed email spoke louder than anything sharp she could sling across a table.

After practice, she checked her phone. No surprise. The email was waiting. CC’d, just like she’d asked. It hit at 4:42 p.m. Barely an hour after she’d rung the alarm.

She opened it without blinking.

Subject: Student Conduct Concern – Privacy Threat to Student-Athlete

Hey Sheryll,

Reaching out on behalf of Paige Bueckers regarding a private issue involving another student-athlete at UConn.

There’s been a verbal threat to disclose personal information related to her relationship with another athlete, made in a way that could violate student conduct and NIL compliance policies.

We’re not seeking a formal report at this time, but we would appreciate the university addressing it directly and quietly. Paige would prefer to avoid escalation, and we trust your office can handle this discreetly.

Have attached Paige’s brief. If you need further context or documentation, we’re happy to provide it.

Thank you,

Lindsay Kagawa Colas

Wasserman

PR/Representation for Paige Bueckers

Paige read the email once. Then closed the app. The devil might work fast. But a well-paid PR team team worked faster.

Beside her, Azzi watched carefully.

“You think I’m pretty or something?” Paige asked, without looking up.

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway.  “What’s going on?”

Paige shrugged, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “All’s handled.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, suspicious. “How so?”

Paige smirked, lips tugging sideways.  “Don’t worry about it.”

She’d tell her eventually. But God, she loved a moment to be cocky. Especially with Azzi. Especially when it was earned.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, bit down on her lip, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Show-off.”

Paige grinned. “Only for you,” she muttered. “Obviously.”

Azzi’s POV 

Azzi loved a post-win Ted’s trip.

Nothing but sweats, sneakers, and Paige’s hand tangled in hers as she tugged her toward the metal roof of the only place still open in Storrs.

The game had gone about as perfectly as a game could go. So perfect, in fact, that even Geno had barely found something to nitpick. A miracle. A high. The kind of night that made you feel like maybe the whole season would go like this.

Paige followed willingly, hood up, cheeks still a little pink from the win. Azzi didn’t let go of her hand once.

When they walked in, Paige tugged Azzi toward the back and said, “Go grab the booth. I’ve got this. Lead scorer of the night deserves VIP treatment.”

Then, before Azzi could argue, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her neck. Quick, casual, completely lethal.

Azzi let out a half-laugh, half-gasp, already unraveling.

 “Unfair,” she mumbled, grinning like an idiot.

But she did as she was told. Collapsed into the booth in the far corner, still flushed from the game and now very possibly more flushed from Paige.

She propped her chin on her hand, eyes already tracking her girl across the room. Messy bun, hoodie half-tucked, ordering like she owned the place.

She was still watching Paige—laughing with the bartender, her whole face lit up—when someone stepped between them, blocking her view.

Azzi looked up.

Cam. Drunk Cam. He swayed slightly as he tilted his head, eyes dragging over her like she was an exhibit he’d already seen too many times.

“Congrats on the win,” he said.

Azzi offered a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. Took a long sip of whatever was in his glass.

“Got an interesting email a few days ago,” he said. “Seems like Bueckers got the impression I was planning to muddy up her name.” A beat. “Wonder where she got that idea.”

Azzi dragged her eyes up, finally meeting his. They were glassy from the alcohol. And from something else. Something bitter and bruised and maybe always there.

“Probably from me,” she said evenly.  “Since you threatened me. In the student center. To do exactly that.”

Cam shook his head, laughing under his breath. The sound was bitter. Familiar.

“That was a conversation, Azzi. Not a threat,” he said, like she was the one being dramatic. “I was just pointing out how interesting it would be. If it happened.”

He took another sip. Looked over his shoulder—toward the bar. Azzi followed his gaze. Paige had noticed. She was still smiling, still talking, but her eyes were locked on them. Alert. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Cam turned back.

“Looks like you took it a little personal,” he said, smirk creeping back into his voice. “Makes you wonder though.” He nodded toward the bar. “All those strings pulled. All that heat. Just to keep you a secret.”

Something about that made Azzi laugh. Not bitter. Not wounded. Just...tired. And maybe a little stronger than she used to be.

Because once, that line might’ve split her clean through. But now she knew the difference. She wasn’t Paige’s secret. Not in the ways that ever made her doubt it.

So she laughed.

“Good try,” she said, tipping her head.

Cam arched a brow. “What? She sent a full legal team to make sure I didn’t so much as whisper your name in the same sentence as hers.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “My name’s in the same sentence as hers all the time, Cam. That’s not exactly new.”

Cam leaned in, eyes mean and glassy. “Yeah,” he said, low and cutting. “But usually it’s not about fucking you.”

Two cups hit the table with a thud. Cam jumped. And turned. To find Paige standing there.

“Cam,” she said with an unfriendly grin. “Always showing up where you’re uninvited. A real talent.”

He rolled his eyes, but Azzi saw it. The twitch in his jaw, the swallow he tried to hide.

“Bueckers,” he muttered. “Got real intimate with your legal team recently.”

Paige nodded once. “Yeah. So I heard.”

She took her seat beside Azzi, tugging her into her side. Arm slung around her shoulders. Not possessive really, just proud. So, Azzi leaned into her. Braided their fingers together with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Weird thing to sick your paid associates the second the word might get out that Azzi’s your girlfriend.”

Paige took a long sip, rolling her neck. 

“Well, I’m glad you at least know she’s mine,” Paige said, tilting her head.

That landed.

“Yeah, Bueckers. Sure,” he said, voice dropping, bitter in that familiar, jealous way. “Until she remembers what it’s like to be with someone who can actually give her what she wants. You know. In ways—” his eyes dragged over them, slow and smug—“you physically can’t.”

Azzi didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew. They both did. But before Paige could say a word, Azzi laughed, sharp and cold and completely unimpressed.

“She can’t, huh?” Azzi smiled, slow and tired. “News to me.”

Paige smirked at that, licking her lips like she was trying not to smile. Then, she looked past him.

“Oh,” she said lightly. “Cam, looks like we got an audience.”

He turned.

A small group of his teammates stood near the bar. Manny among them. Their faces were tight. Eyes narrowed. One of them crossed his arms.

“Yo,” Manny said, stepping forward. “The fuck are you doing, man?”

Cam blinked. “What?”

“We came over to say thanks,” another guy muttered. “Paige sent us shots. That was solid.”

“But then we hear you running your mouth? Harassing them?” Manny cut in. His jaw tightened. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You drunk?” someone else asked. “Or just showing your whole ass on purpose?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked cornered. Caught.

Paige didn’t say a word. Just rested her arm on the back of the booth like she was watching a show she’d already seen the ending to. And as Azzi studied her—cool, unbothered, lips twitching like this was exactly the outcome she’d hoped for—realization bloomed.

The drinks sent to his teammates. How long it took her to come back to the table. All of it.

Azzi snorted and immediately buried her face in Paige’s neck, trying to hide the laugh that nearly cracked her open. Paige tilted her head slightly, like she felt it too.

“Get the fuck away from them,” Manny said, finally. Voice low. Firm.  “Go home. Sober up. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

Cam turned, looking back like he wanted to plead, explain, twist the story into something else. But Paige, in all her quiet, relentless glory, gave him a two-finger salute.

“Have a good night, Cam,” she said. Almost sweet.

He stormed out.

The guys lingered, awkward, clearly thrown.

“Hey—um, we’re really sorry,” one of them said, eyes flicking between them. “I don’t know what he was trying to do, but…yeah. That wasn’t it.”

Paige nodded once. Easy. “You’re good,” she said. “No need to let one guy ruin a perfectly decent night. Enjoy the shots.”

“Thanks Bueckers,” They muttered before walking away. 

Paige blew out a breath. 

“Shit baby. What did you do to that guy to have him so damn obsessed?”

Azzi’s face flushed. “Honestly? Nothing.” Her voice was quieter now. She and Paige hadn’t really unpacked the whole Cam thing yet, but she wanted to. Not right now though. In public. “We hung out a few times… not even just us. Never one-on-one. I—”

Paige kissed her. Quick. Certain. Like she could read Azzi's mind. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for attention but might’ve gotten it anyway.

Azzi didn’t really care.

“I’m kidding,” Paige said. “I’d be that down bad too if I had a chance with you and lost it.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi muttered against her skin. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

Paige bit back a grin. “No? Should I remind you he’s wrong about what I can’t do? Just to be sure?”

Azzi flushed, her whole body catching fire as Paige’s hand gripped her thigh a little tighter.

“If it’ll help your ego.”

That earned her a low laugh. Paige leaned in, lips grazing warm skin.

“Bet.”

[doomdoomofdoom]

So like. Fun fact.

Most countries actually focus on their own history and culture in the school curriculum. unless they're directly affected by other countries in their history. For example, I'm not french, but I still had to learn about Napoleon. That guy was everywhere.

The US stands out because it's a very new country (not even 250 years) and doesn't have much history beyond that, because they were pretty insistent on genociding those who did have history in these lands. On that note, the US doesn't really teach about inside the US either, but that doesn't make you shut up about it, does it?

I'm almost tempted to read the above as satire because. You don't watch foreign films?? Did you think Squid Game being about Koreans was a DEI measure? No foreign books? I mean even putting aside the semantic arguments of most "classics" being british and the bible technically being the bestselling book of all time while decidedly not originating from America, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you've never met anyone who read manga. You're not exposed to foreign cultures??? Motherfucker you literally called your country a melting pot. (Or a salad bowl, depending on your cultural philosophy) Over 15% of people residing in the US are immigrants by the most strict definition of Not Being Born In The Country. This doesn't even account for any second, third, or subsequent generation immigrants. (Bonus fun fact: Descendants of the original Colonizers would be up to 12th generation immigrants but the definition of a generation is flighty)

Do I look like I want to know all sorts of shit about the US? okay so im actually an american studies major so im an outlier adn shouldnt be counted but for the sake of argument, pretend that im not.

No!! But that shit happens to be relevant because we live in a globalized world. So i went ahead, looked it up, and fucking educated myself. I'm literally writing this in a language that's foreign to me and I had to learn first.

And yeah, that's not always easy. And yeah, it's a bit scarier now. You're going through some shit politically that's very concerning. But so are other countries. There's been a pretty much global shift to the right in recent years. Every country has some group hellbent on attacking civil rights. Yours just loves being in the global spotlight and has the geopolitical power to make it so. You have an insanely strong propaganda machine, but guess what!! Whining about the propaganda machine keeping you from learning about other cultures is literally the propaganda machine at work!! You're just gonna sit on your ass and stay culturally isolated because the big guys said there's nothing you can do about it??

Do better. Watch a K-Drama or something. Read something on wikipedia. Try figuring out why OP mentions being hungarian. Might be a bit of an eye opener.

"you don't get it, the usa is a fascist country full of government propaganda, and our rights as women and queer people are constantly attacked!! you have no idea what that's like!!" i'm hungarian 👍

[stevesgother]

emmmm!!!!!!!! i’m thinking “well you are cute, ah! i mean- you’re not cute, but you are? i’m just going to shut up now.” with steve & coworker!reader please and thank you love you mwuah mwuah

oh em gee this is so sweet ! i changed the dialogue of the prompt just a teeny bit but it's still the same idea hope thats okay <3 sfw, fluff, coworker!steve being flustered, fem!reader, two idiots crushing on each other

stumbling

"So," a greasy-haired ginger man leans against the checkout counter in front of you, "What kind of songs do girls like on mixtapes?"

You have to entertain this conversation for the sake of your job, but if someone were to ask, you'd rather be shot. "I dunno, depends on the girl, I guess," you tell him absentmindedly, collecting his change from the cash register. You swear this dude comes in here at least once every other day; it gives you a headache to fathom how much of his paycheck he's spending each week just to torture you with creepy pick-up maneuvers.

"Well, what kind of music do you like?" He lilts.

"Death metal. Is there any else I can help you with today?" You deadpan, hoping your lack of interest in anything that's coming out of his mouth will be enough to get him to leave the damn record store.

"Noted," the man winks, it makes your stomach churn, and you have to try your hardest to school your expression quickly, "I'll see you around then."

The smile you give him isn't in response to his terrible flirting or bad breath, but out of pure relief that he's finally left the building.

"God, that guy is insufferable," Steve laments from where he's reshelving this week's new release vinyls.

"Astute observation, asshole. Would it have killed you to throw me a lifeline?"

"Sorry, you know Cathy doesn't like me scaring off the customers with my charming disposition and devilish good looks," he shrugs, and you hurl a pencil cap eraser at his big block head.

"I just don't understand what I need to do for him to get the goddamn hint. I mean, this is ridiculous, right? Am I overreacting?"

"I mean, I don't know-- is it such an awful thing to be flirted with?" Steve asks, pushing the shelving cart to begin stocking closer to you.

"By that greaseball? Yes."

"Well, you know, you're cute so--" his eyes widen as he realizes the admission he's just made, "I mean-- ah-- i mean, not like that--" Steve stutters, practically tripping over himself. You narrow your eyes at him, gesturing for him to continue making a fool of himself.

"Not that you're not cute, I just mean. What I meant was." He leans against the CD shelf adjacent to him in an attempt to play it cool. Or maybe because suddenly his collar was too tight, and his armpits were sweating and had you turned the heat up when you went on lunch earlier?

"Geez, Harrington, tell me how you really feel," you try to joke though secretly your stomach sinks a little each time he recovers from saying he thinks that you're cute. Steve Harrington, the boy you've had a crush on since junior year, can't even admit that he might find you objectively pretty. Ouch.

With a sudden crash, the entire CD case becomes top heavy and spills its contents all over the floor. Steve's cheeks redden to a bright crimson; he wishes he could go back to three minutes ago and suture his lips shut with the staple gun you've been using for the packages.

"I'm going to just...stop talking. And clean this up." He says timidly, crouching down to collect the scattered merchandise. You abandon your station at the checkout counter to help him; there weren't customers inside anyway.

The two of you pick the shelf up and clean in silence for a few excruciating minutes, the tension brewing between your bodies like a tea kettle, until Steve clears his throat and says, "For the record, I do think you're cute. Beautiful, actually."

You're momentarily stunned at his confession, so he continues, "And if I didn't work here, I'd probably be another one of those losers coming in everyday just to see you," he chuckles, maybe a little self-deprecatingly though you can't understand why.

"You think I'm beautiful?" You breathe in partial disbelief. It's not that you weren't confident in your appearance but hearing it from someone you've admired since you were a teenager feels unbelievable.

"'Course I do," Steve says, deathly serious, "I have eyes. Plus, you're like, super funny. I used to think I was quick witted until I met you."

You're grateful for the wooden barrier of the shelf blocking the way you flush at his words. Once the shelf is picked up and properly arranged again, you make your move: "Hey, um, I was thinking about going to see The Princess Bride tonight? At The Hawk?" You're not sure why you're infecting your voice as if every statement is a question. Nervous habit, you suppose. "Would you wanna come with?"

Steve physically trips over himself again and you're nervous he's about to knock another display case over, "Uh, sure, yeah--definitely." He says, a little too enthusiastically, "Pick you up at eight?"

You can't seem to stop fidgeting with the loose strands of baby hairs curling behind your ears, twirling them around your fingers to give yourself something to focus on other than the way Steve's looking at you now with his big, hazel doe-eyes.

"Yeah, yeah that's perfect," you grin.

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 5

Chp. 4 - Chp. 5 - Chp. 6

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies(ish) to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers? (more tags will be added)

wc: 10.3 k (a lot happens)

chp warning: fluff, tension, angst, crack, toxic traits, mentions of violence, the kids being cute, LOTS OF TENSION

a/n: buckle up! we have a lot to un pack this chapter! enjoy! <3

It’s been two days since you asked Sukuna to go to dinner with Hiromi and his girlfriend. Two whole days since those ridiculous words slipped out of your mouth. Since you basically invited him on a date, even if it’s so totally not a date. But you asked, and he said yes.

On one hand, you’re relieved. Sukuna’s actually been really nice, surprisingly easy to be around. He’s been making jokes, texting you about random stuff, and generally being a pretty great “friend”—his own words, not yours, though it rings in your ears every time you remember it. You keep telling yourself it’ll be fun to hang out, to get to know him, to have backup at dinner with Hiromi and his perfect, intimidating girlfriend.

On the other hand, you’re freaking out. You’ve been denying this crush for a while now, stuffing it down every time it bubbles up. It’s so obvious, but you’re still pretending it doesn’t exist. Sukuna’s not the kind of guy you fall for. He probably has a girlfriend anyway. At least, you think he does? You haven’t really heard him doing anything through the walls in a while.

To make matters worse, it’s also been two days since Toji has said a single word to you. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Usually, you spend every other Sunday together. Sometimes you guys would just watch TV or make dinner with the kids. This week, nothing. Monday came and went and you figured maybe he’d text you first, but he didn’t. You didn’t even catch a glimpse of him around the complex.

Now, you’re just getting pissed. The anger simmers under everything you do, snapping at your nerves. If he’s actually mad about Sukuna, it’s ridiculous. Dumb as fuck, actually. Toji has no right to be mad at you for talking to your neighbor, for having your own life. You spend a lot of time with Sukuna now, sure, but Toji is a grown man. He could at least act like it and talk to you.

But this is different. This isn’t like your usual fights, the ones that blow over after a few hours or a night of sulking. You can always count on Toji to come around, to grumble an apology or make some half-assed joke that tells you it’s okay. But now it’s been more than 48 hours. This silent treatment is new, and it’s eating at you.

You find yourself replaying every conversation, every look, every tiny moment from the past week, trying to figure out when things shifted. The longer it drags on, the more unsettled you feel—like the ground under your feet is a little less stable than it used to be.

You’ve been working all day, fueled by a simmering anger toward Toji that somehow pushes you to get more done than usual. Every task you check off the list eases the stress a tiny bit. And you made sure to talk to Ino, because if you didn’t, he’d probably have exploded by now.

“So now it’s Toji? What the hell is up with the men in your life?” Ino teases, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the table to you with a grin.

You snatch it up and take a grateful sip. “I sure know how to pick ’em, huh? But I don’t get why he’s just ignoring me. Look at this.” You hold up your phone, revealing the fifty-plus unread messages sitting there.

Ino leans in, eyebrows raised. “You think he’s got his read receipts turned off?”

You chuckle softly. “Doubt it. The guy took forever just to figure out emojis and reactions. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even heard of read receipts.” You sigh and rest your head on your folded arms, feeling the weight of it all settle in your bones.

Ino’s face softens, and he reaches over to pat your head. “He’s probably just worried. Doesn’t want your new boy toy to hurt you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Not my boy toy,” you growl.

Ino bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Not boy toy. Friend. The friend you talk about nonstop.”

You roll your eyes but stand up, gulping down the last of your coffee. “Get back to work,” you tell him, trying to sound annoyed but not really mad.

He just laughs again, settling back into his chair to sip his coffee like he owns the place.

You shake your head and head back to your desk, the tension still simmering but somehow lighter from the brief distraction. The workday is finally winding down. You’ve spent the afternoon training some new staff, but you make sure Ino takes the lead on showing them how to close properly. He’s a natural at that kind of thing— bossy, confident, and just chaotic enough to keep things interesting.

You gather your tote, planner, and the basket of books you’ve collected for the kids and head toward the door. It’s just shy of three o’clock, and you’ve got to pick up Nobara before the afternoon melts away completely.

“Bye, Ino! See you tomorrow!” you call quietly as you step out.

He gives you a thumbs-up without missing a beat, pretending to know exactly what he’s doing with the new hires who are watching him like a hawk.

You breeze out the door and head straight for your car. It starts on the first try, and you smile a bit too hard, thinking of a certain someone who fixed it. You pull out of the parking lot and merge into the steady flow of traffic. The streets are busy but not overwhelming, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

As you drive, your mind drifts to Nobara— imagining her little face lighting up when you pick her up, how she’ll probably chatter nonstop about her day, about Megumi, and the adventures they’ve had. You glance at the basket of books on the passenger seat, knowing it’s probably going to be a challenge to keep her calm through the car ride home.

The school comes into view, a sprawling complex of brick buildings and playgrounds. Cars are lined up along the curb, parents pacing with tired kids, some chatting, others scrolling on their phones.

You ease your way into a parking spot near the entrance, kill the engine, and let the quiet settle over you for a moment. Time to switch gears from work mode to mom mode and face whatever the afternoon has in store. You step into the school hallway, offering warm smiles to parents gathering their kids. The buzz of laughter and chatter fills the air, a blissful soundtrack to the end of the day.

At the far end of the hall, you spot Kento— surrounded by a small crowd of mothers fluttering their lashes and trying their best to flirt. He stands like an unshakable fortress, politely but firmly brushing off their flirtations. His cool, unbothered demeanor only makes him more magnetic.

He’s so freaking loyal and perfect.

You approach slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, Kento!” You glance over to see Nobara and Yuji absorbed in the toy kitchen, the clatter of plastic pots and pans filling the space. Megumi is nowhere in sight.

Kento turns toward you, a soft smile brightening his face. “Hey, pretty lady. I’ve got something for you.” He pulls an envelope from his desk and hands it over.

You peel it open to find a wedding invitation inside. Your eyes sparkle with happiness as you give him a quick side hug. “Ahh! I’m so excited for you guys! I can’t wait!”

Kento’s cheeks flush slightly. “She told me to make sure I hand-delivered the invitation to you.”

You tuck the invitation carefully into your tote. “You better be careful, or I’ll snatch her up from you,” you tease.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Let me go get Nobara.”

You raise a hand to stop him before he moves. “Hey, did Toji already pick up Megumi?”

Kento hesitates, knowing technically he's not allowed to say, but it’s you and Toji so he’ll budge this time. He shrugs and exhales. “Yeah, Fushiguro picked him up early today. I didn’t ask any questions.”

Your eyes widen, and you nod softly. “Oh, uh, okay. Thanks, Kento.” You watch him walk toward Nobara, whose eyes light up the moment she spots you standing in the doorway.

Suddenly, a presence looms behind you. “Hey, baby.” Sukuna’s warm breath brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You jump, startled.

“Jesus, Sukuna! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you frown, trying to sound annoyed.

He laughs, low and teasing, as Kento approaches with Nobara and Yuji trailing behind.

“Hi, Mommy! Hi, Uncle Sukuna!” Nobara beams brightly.

You raise a brow at her calling him “uncle.”

“How’s my girl?” you ask, bending to hug her. She immediately launches into showing off the several art projects she’s proudly completed.

“Hi, Yuji!” you say, waving to him.

Yuji toddles up, yawning softly, and gives you a soft wave back, still looking very sleepy.

Kento leans close and mutters to Sukuna, “He didn’t take a full nap today.”

Sukuna sighs, bending down to ruffle Yuji’s hair. “Come on, brat. We’ve gotta go get Choso.” Yuji nods eagerly and gives you a quick hug before following Sukuna.

Nobara and Yuji clasp hands as they walk down the hall, and you wave goodbye to Kento, who stays behind talking with Sukuna.

You give them both a confused look. It’s weird to see those two conversing with one another. Sukuna seems like the kind of guy Kento would hate. But Kento loves Yuji, and so does Sukuna.

Maybe that’s how they get along.

Sukuna catches your expression and grins devilishly. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You frown, and Kento’s eyes widen in surprise. “Did he just call you ‘baby’?”

“Yes, ignore him-” you begin, but Sukuna cuts you off with a smirk.

“Yeah, she’s taking me out on a date this Friday.”

His smirk is lethal, and you fight hard to keep your face neutral.

“That is not what’s happening,” you say sternly.

Kento raises a brow skeptically while Sukuna laughs softly.

“Whatever. Bye, Kento,” you say with an eye roll, picking up your pace toward the kids.

Behind you, Sukuna and Kento’s laughter echoes down the hall, but you hold your head high as you leave the school, heart pounding faster than you’d like to admit.

Sukuna catches up behind you easily, his long strides matching your own as you both head toward the parking lot. You notice his car is parked right next to yours—which was not subtle at all.

The late afternoon light casts long shadows across the pavement, and the air is heavy with a silence that’s anything but comfortable.The kids trail between you two, their chatter replaced by quiet glances at the ground, fingers entwined as they swing their hands back and forth.

Sukuna’s gaze flicks over to you, his usual smirk softened by something more serious. “Hey,” he says quietly, falling into step beside you. “You okay?”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek before nodding. “Yeah... just tired, I guess.”

He doesn’t press, but you can tell he’s not fully convinced. The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread, taut and ready to snap. After a moment, you force yourself to shift the focus, hoping to break the tension before it suffocates you both.

“Have you talked to Toji lately?” Your voice sounds smaller than you intend, brittle with the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Sukuna’s eyes darken for a fraction of a second, a shadow flickering across his face. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to smooth out the knots inside. “Not since I drove him over to pick up his car Sunday.”

You glance sideways at him, heart tightening. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. “Did he… uh, say anything to you?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “Like what?” His tone is flat, but you catch the edge beneath it. Even if Toji had said something, Sukuna wouldn’t tell you. He knows it would only make you more upset. Toji should be open and honest with you.

You mutter a quick, “I don’t know,” and turn to buckle Nobara into her car seat. Sukuna’s brow furrows, but he moves quickly, strapping Yuji into his own car. When he shuts the door and turns back to you, his gaze lingers, sharp and searching.

He can see the tight line of your mouth, the way you’re holding everything inside like it might spill out and drown you if you let go. He wishes, with a fierce, sudden ache, that he could pull you into a hug and let you unravel all the frustration, the confusion, and the ache you’re stuffing down.

You let out a heavy sigh, fists clenching at your sides as the tension coils tighter in your chest. “I just wish he’d talk to me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Sukuna’s voice drops, low and almost a murmur, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “Sometimes it’s not about what you did. Sometimes people just shut down.”

You swallow hard, the knot in your chest tightening until it feels like your ribs will cave in. “Yeah... I just hope it’s not permanent.”

He glances at you, something soft and rare flickering in his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare. “Hey, whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

For a moment, the world narrows to that fragile promise, hanging between you like a lifeline in the dark. Your chest tightens so much you feel like you want to cry.

You take a deep breath and force a smile. “Thanks, Sukuna. With all this sucking up, I might just have to take you on an actual date one of these days.” You laugh, and Sukuna chuckles, trying to distract you from his blushing.

You both quickly say your goodbyes, waving to the other kids who are still buzzing with leftover energy. You get in the car and smile at Nobora before you pull off.

As you drive, a strange sense of déjà vu settles over you. Your thoughts drift back to Sukuna—how weird it is that he’s become such a normal part of your everyday life. It feels natural, almost effortless, for him to be there as a friend. A steady presence. Another guiding light in the chaos.

You take friendships (actually, any relationship) very seriously. Time feels too short, too precious, to waste on anything less than wholehearted. So it stings all the more that the best friend you adore and cherish is shutting you out over what feels like the dumbest reasons.

Now, by some twist of fate, you’re forced to lean even more on Sukuna. It’s a lot to process. Too much, honestly.

You turn up the radio, letting the music wash over you. Nobara sings loudly in the back seat, and you smile at her sweet little voice. Another moment you don’t dare take for granted.

Sukuna slides into the driver’s seat after buckling Choso in the back and helping Yuji settle in beside him. The boys start to talk about their day, and Choso shows Yuji his Pokémon cards he traded at school. Sukuna listens to the boys’ chatter and his mind wanders, drifting inevitably to you.

He catches himself thinking about you—the way your eyes light up when you smile, the effortless way you carry yourself even when the world’s weight is dragging you down. Gorgeous and perfect in a way that makes his chest tighten. Not just your looks, but the fierce kindness you hide beneath your tough exterior. It’s maddening how much you’ve become this constant in his thoughts, a presence he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries.

He blinks, shaking off the feeling. Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just…you.

Pulling into the apartment complex parking lot, Sukuna kills the engine and steps out. Choso and Yuji stumble out behind him, rubbing their eyes, clearly ready for bed.

As Sukuna starts up the stairs, he spots Toji coming down from his apartment, hands jammed deep in his pockets, jaw clenched tight. Toji tries to avoid eye contact, but Sukuna’s not about to let him slip by.

He steps in front of Toji, blocking his path. “Hey.”

Toji freezes, then tries to brush past him, already starting to say something like “Hey, I’m kinda busy right now-”

But Sukuna holds up a hand, cutting him off. “She’s worried about you.”

Toji’s eyes flicker with surprise, a flicker of guilt. He stands there for a long moment, silent, the words sinking in deeper than Sukuna expected.

Without another word, Sukuna turns and walks away, leaving Toji standing alone on the stairs, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

It’s now been another two days since Toji last spoke to you. That’s four days with no contact. You even stopped by his office, but he wasn’t there. Whatever’s going on, he’s really making the upmost effort to avoid you, and it’s driving you insane.

By now, you’re beyond pissed. You’re fuming, actually. What the fuck is his deal? Is he jealous? Or just having a meltdown no one can explain but him? Either way, you would’ve been a nice, understanding friend, but now you’re planning the inevitable screaming match you’re going to have with him.

Nobara has been begging nonstop for Megumi to stay after school with her, but you keep making excuses, dodging the inevitable. You even considered just picking Megumi up yourself the other day, but your guilt kicked in hard. You couldn’t shake the feeling you’d be crossing a line.

Now it’s Thursday. Tomorrow’s the night—your “date.” Not a date, really, just a hangout, or whatever you want to call it to calm your nerves. But you still haven’t told Hiromi. You planned on telling him right after you asked Sukuna, but you were still in such a state of shock from your boldness. Now, the week has gone by so fast you have to tell him, or you could just show up with Sukuna?

No, that would be bad. Hiromi would pick on you the entire time.

Plus, you have to ask Hiromi to get his parents to watch Nobara. Toji is nowhere to be found, and you refuse to tell him you’re going out with Sukuna—he’d probably start a war. So, you have to bite the bullet and tell your baby daddy you’re bringing your very hot, annoying neighbor on this double date—that is so not a date.

You pull out your phone, hesitating for a second before dialing Hiromi’s number. The line rings and he picks up quickly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Hiromi’s voice is bright, but you detect a teasing edge.

You clear your throat. “Hey, so excited for tomorrow! I am going to bring someone with me.”

“Found you a little piece to bring so we can have a double date?” He hums in satisfaction.

“No! I’m bringing my neighbor…..Sukuna. I honestly didn’t want to be by myself and I kind of owe him dinner for fixing my car.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Hiromi bursts out laughing. “Wait, you’re actually bringing him?”

Your stomach drops. “Wait, do you not want him to come? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

Hiromi immediately interrupts you, “Of course I do. I’m just a little shocked. You have never listened to me the entire time we have known each other. This guy must be doing something right.”

You groan. “Hiromi, don’t start.”

He chuckles again. “When you two are married, I’ll be the first to say I told you so. And we are both excited to see you. It will be a great night, don’t stress.”

You smile despite yourself. “Alright, and can your parents please watch Nobara tomorrow? Toji’s busy.”

Hiromi’s tone softens. “Yes, I will text my mother right now. They will be more than happy to.”

You breathe out, relieved. “Thanks, Hiromi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He laughs. “See you tomorrow.”

You hang up the phone and let out a deep breath, the weight of the conversation settling around you. Well, that’s one thing down. You tuck the phone away, a small flicker of relief mingling with the nerves still buzzing through your veins.

Nobara had Art Club until five again, and she somehow convinced Yuji to join. Without even bringing it up, Sukuna had offered to pick them both up, and you’d gratefully accepted.

Sukuna pulls up to the apartment complex with Nobara and Yuji buzzing quietly in the backseat. The sun is slipping low now, casting long shadows across the parking lot, but the warmth of the day still lingers in the air. Nobara’s fingers fidget with the straps of her bag, her latest art projects safely tucked inside, while Yuji watches the passing cars with wide-eyed curiosity.

Sukuna kills the engine and steps out, opening the back door with practiced ease. Nobara practically leaps out, chattering about the art club and how Yuji was surprisingly good at drawing. Yuji follows more cautiously, still clutching his crayon stained notebook as if it’s his most prized possession.

You’re standing just inside your apartment door when you hear the familiar thud of the car door closing. Turning, you see Sukuna approaching with the kids—his relaxed confidence somehow grounding even the chaotic energy of Nobara and Yuji.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nodding at you with that faint smirk you’ve come to recognize.

Nobara rushes forward, practically throwing herself at you. “Mommy! Guess what I made today!” You listen to her yap as you carry her inside the apartment.

Yuji tugs at your sleeve, shy but eager to show off his drawings.

Sukuna stands back, watching the exchange with a softness that’s easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

“Where’s Choso?” you ask as you set down a plate of snacks on the low coffee table—an assortment of cut up fruit, cheese cubes, and Nobara’s favorite animal shaped crackers, all carefully arranged on a colorful tray.

The kids bolt off, giggling and yapping, disappearing into Nobara’s bedroom like a little storm of energy.

Sukuna stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a faint smile. “The old man picked him up right at three, took him to get a haircut and some food.”

You nod, then notice Sukuna lingering, still standing just inside the door. You raise an eyebrow and grin, “Hey, you know you can come inside, right?”

He pauses, then smirks. “Oh? Drunky’s letting me in her house.” His laugh is low and amused, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics.

“Actually, scratch that. No Sukunas allowed. New rule.” You say in a mock-serious tone, and you both burst out laughing.

He raises his hands in playful surrender and steps inside, the moment awkward for a beat before he smoothly settles onto your couch like it’s his usual spot.

“You can have some snacks! Just don’t eat them all,” you holler as you change out of your work clothes and slip into some sweats and a baggy off-the-shoulder graphic tee.

You walk over to Sukuna, who is munching away on some cheese and crackers, and wittily take the plate away from him so you can have some fruit. Sukuna frowns as you take the plate away but almost watches you too intensely as you eat that strawberry.

“So, what should I wear tomorrow?” he asks, picking at the skin around his nails.

You plop down on the floor in front of him, smiling. “Honestly? I don’t even know what I’m wearing yet.”

Your eyes meet, and the tension breaks with a giggle. “Maybe skip the work clothes,” you joke, nodding toward his grease-streaked shirt. “You’re going to get my couch dirty.”

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs, sinking comfortably into the cushions.

“My poor couch.” You frown and toss a pillow at him.

He just smiles, and for a moment, you find yourself locked in his gaze. Just then, Nobara and Yuji burst back into the room. “Mommy! Uncle Sukuna!” they shout, rushing over and jumping onto your lap.

Nobara’s landing is light and quick, but Yuji’s enthusiastic hug nearly knocks the wind out of Sukuna.

Sukuna groans theatrically, clutching his ribs as laughter bubbles from all of you. Before you can catch your breath, he grabs a pillow and throws it right at you.

The pillow hits your side with a soft thud, and you immediately retaliate, grabbing the nearest cushion and smacking Sukuna across the face. His surprised laugh turns into a grin as he lunges forward and pushes you onto the couch.

Nobara squeals with delight, ducking behind the couch, while Yuji shrieks and dives at Sukuna’s legs. The living room erupts into a whirlwind of laughter and pillows being thrown in every direction.

You duck as a pillow sails toward your head, narrowly avoiding the blow, and fire back with a well aimed toss. Sukuna catches it midair, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re going down, Drunky,” he teases, voice low and playful.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” you grin, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

He nods, eyes locked on yours. “Absolutely.”

The kids cheer from their hiding spots, egging you both on. For a moment, everything else falls away—no worries, no unspoken words, just the pure, chaotic joy of the moment.

Pillows fly faster, laughter gets louder, and you find yourself drenched in the warmth of this strange, unexpected family you’re building.

After a few more rounds of pillow tossing and laughter, the fight starts to lose steam. Nobara collapses onto the couch, breathless but grinning ear to ear, while Yuji flops down beside her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You sink onto the floor, catching your breath and wiping the sweaty hair stuck to your face.

Sukuna sits back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches the kids settle down. Then, his expression shifts-sharp and focused. He glances at his watch and suddenly sits upright.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I need to get Yuji back to the apartment before the old man drops Choso off.”

You nod, already standing and gathering the scattered pillows. “Yeah, I need to make dinner and give Nobara a bath.” Nobara and Yuji pout as they realize they have to leave each other.

Sukuna stands, brushing off his pants and moving toward the door. “C’mon, Yuji.”

You smile tiredly and watch Yuji run to the door while Nobara leans up against you.

“Night, you guys! Tell Choso we said hi!” you and Nobara wave.

He looks back at you, eyes softening for a moment, with Yuji holding his hand. “Night.”

The kids wave goodbye as Sukuna leads Yuji out the door, the quiet settling back into the apartment once more. You take a deep breath, already counting down the hours until tomorrow’s “date”—whatever that might really mean.

“Is Uncle Sukuna your girlfriend?” Nobara asks suddenly, and your eyes widen in surprise before your mouth bursts open with a laugh.

“Sukuna is a boy, Nobara. And he’s not your uncle,” you say gently, watching her nibble on her snacks spread across the coffee table.

She raises a brow, considering your words, then nods slowly. “So he’s your boyfriend. ’Cause Daddy has a girlfriend, and they smile at each other just like you guys do.” She hums thoughtfully, shoving another piece of cheese into her mouth.

Your eyes widen again as she climbs up onto the couch beside you. “And Yuji and Choso call him uncle, so why can’t I? I call Toji uncle.” You can’t really argue with that logic-especially coming from a five-year-old.

You roll your eyes and stand up from the couch. “He’s not my boyfriend, baby. He’s just Mommy’s friend. Like Uncle Toji.”

Nobara nods solemnly, then walks over to you with a bright smile. “Can we go see him and Megumi?”

“We can soon, baby. They’re just busy right now.” Your gut twists at the thought of Toji, and you wonder when the silence between you will finally break. You’ve given up calling or texting. It’s just not worth the heartbreak anymore.

Changing the subject quickly, you pull over Nobara’s little kitchen stool and pat it. “Wanna help me make dinner?”

Her eyes light up, gleaming with excitement as she nods vigorously.

“I was thinking ramen sounds good,” you say, heading to the kitchen to gather ingredients and ramen packets.

“Yummy!” Nobara chirps happily, following you eagerly.

Together, you start preparing the meal-boiling water, adding noodles, chopping green onions, and stirring in broth packets. Nobara tries to imitate your every move, her small hands carefully helping where she can, occasionally stealing a noodle to giggle about.

You and Nobara settle at the small kitchen table, steam rising from the bowls of ramen warming your hands. She slurps enthusiastically, noodles hanging comically from her lips as she giggles every time you pretend to scold her.

Between bites, she chatters about her day—how she showed Yuji a new art trick, how Megumi was funny, and how she wants to draw a picture for you. You smile softly, heart swelling at her innocence and energy.

But beneath the surface, your thoughts keep circling back to Toji and Sukuna. The silence with Toji weighs heavy on you, like a knot tightening in your chest. You wonder when—or if—that wall will come down. And then there’s Sukuna, whose presence both comforts and confuses you.

You watch Nobara’s bright eyes, her carefree laughter, and remind yourself to hold onto this moment, this small pocket of peace. Tomorrow’s “date” looms ahead, and with it, a whirlpool of emotions you’re not quite ready to face.

For now, though, there’s just warmth, noodles, and the soft happiness that only comes from being here, now, with her.

After dinner, you gather the bowls and stack them in the sink, the warmth of the meal still lingering in the cozy kitchen. Nobara bounces on her toes, her energy barely contained, but you know it’s time to wind down.

“All right, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, taking her hand gently.

She giggles, skipping ahead as you lead her to the bathroom. You run the bath, adding a generous splash of sleepy time bubble bath. The scent fills the small space, wrapping around you both like a soft hug.

Nobara climbs in, splashing happily as you help wash away the day’s dirt and crayon marks. She hums a little tune, the bubbles tickling her skin and her eyes growing heavy.

“You’re gonna stay with Nana and Papa tomorrow, okay?” you tell her as you scrub her body.

She nods her head and continues to try and count every single bubble. “’Kay, Mommy.”

You rinse her hair carefully, avoiding the tears and the protests, and wrap her in a fluffy towel, rubbing her dry with slow, soothing strokes.

In her pajamas, Nobara curls up in your arms. You carry her back to her room, tucking her in under soft blankets. She looks up at you with sleepy eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Mommy, I love you,” she murmurs.

You kiss her forehead, heart swelling. “I love you too, baby. Sleep tight.”

As she drifts off, you sit beside her bed for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths.

Over on the other side of the walls, Sukuna is struggling to get the boys to bed.

Choso arrived home with Wasuke just as Yuji and the others were stepping through the door. Wasuke, always thoughtful, brought takeout, which everyone devoured in record time-no leftovers in sight.

After their grandpa left, the boys begged for some time on the Wii. They begged to play Just Dance, and the apartment quickly filled with laughter, shouts, and the sound of plastic controllers clacking against each other.

Somehow, instead of winding down, Yuji and Choso found a second wind. Within minutes, they were running wild around the apartment, shrieking with laughter—completely butt ass naked. Clothes lay abandoned in the hallway, a trail of shirts and socks marking their path.

Sukuna scowled as he watched Yuji and Choso chase each other around the living room, their laughter echoing off the walls. The takeout containers were already empty, stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. He’d barely finished cleaning up when the boys—now stripped down and shrieking—dashed past him.

“If you break something, you’re cleaning it up,” he warned, voice low and even. They ignored him, of course. “And put some damn clothes on!”

Sukuna prided himself on his patience with the boys. Sure, he could be a bit of an ass sometimes, but he usually kept his cool. Right now, though? He was one minor disaster away from losing it.

With a deep breath, Sukuna finally rounded them up, grabbing Yuji first and then Choso, who squirmed and giggled like little eels slipping through his fingers. He herded them toward the bathroom, his voice firm but calm. “Bath time, now. No more running.”

The boys protested briefly, but the promise of warm water and their favorite dinosaur bath toys softened their resistance. Sukuna filled the tub with comfortably warm water, just right to soothe and relax them after the chaos. He helped them climb in and let them tire themselves out in the tub.

The bath was short but effective, just enough to wash away the day’s dirt and burn off the last of their energy. When the bath was over, he wrapped them in fluffy towels and guided them to their beds. Yuji’s eyelids drooped, and Choso snuggled close, finally still.

Sukuna exhaled, a tired smile tugging at his lips. The apartment was finally quiet, the chaos of the day fading into silence.

He headed for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the exhaustion from a long day spent juggling work and wrangling the boys. After drying off, he slipped into a clean pair of boxers, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

He hadn’t checked his phone all day—too busy, too distracted. Now, as he picked it up, the screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. Most were from Yarozu. Her persistence was almost impressive. He’d thought ignoring her would be enough to send the message he was done fucking around, but clearly, she didn’t get the hint.

Rolling his eyes, he left her on read and scrolled until your name appeared. The sight of it made him pause, a small smirk crossing his face. He typed out a quick message: “See ya tomorrow for our date, Drunky.”

Satisfied, he locked his phone and set it aside. The annoyance he once felt over how much you occupied his thoughts had faded; now, thinking of you was oddly calming as he drifted off to sleep.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the screen. “Asshole,” the contact read, making you smile despite yourself. You typed back, “Not a date,” and set your phone down, the warmth of his message lingering as you slowly nodded off too.

Now it’s Friday morning. The day of the date—or whatever the fuck we are calling it—has finally arrived. Hiromi sent you a cheerful good morning message, telling you how excited he is for tonight. You lied and replied that you’re excited too, but in reality, your stomach is doing somersaults as you drive Nobara to school.

As you walk her inside, you spot Toji. He’s never here before you. That son of a bitch. You can’t help but frown as you keep walking. Nobara, however, doesn’t hesitate. She darts over to him immediately.

“Uncle Toji!” she cries, running straight into his arms. Of course, he picks her up and gives her a big hug.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says warmly. Nobara wriggles out of his arms and rushes toward the classroom to find Megumi, but then she suddenly stops, realizing she forgot something important.

“Bye, Mommy!” she calls, waving as you’re already halfway down the hall. You smile and blow her a kiss.

You pause for a moment, watching her disappear into the room, then glance over at Toji and Kento. You give a quick, polite nod to the blond, but you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge your so-called best friend.

You turn on your heel and march out, your mind racing with all the things you’d planned to say if you saw him again. You were ready to tear into him, but now your heart just sinks. Maybe it’s time he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Kento lets out a low whistle and clicks his tongue. “You’re in trouble,” he murmurs.

Toji groans, “Big time.” He waves goodbye to Megumi and Nobara, then gives Nanami a nod as he heads out.

As Toji walks down the hall, he spots Sukuna with Yuji. Sukuna grins, “Oh, you’re alive? I thought you’d died since you decided to ghost me. Honestly, my heart’s a little broken,” he teases.

Toji scoffs and ignores the jab. “Hey, Yuji.”

Yuji beams. “Hi, Toji! Is Megumi here?” Toji nods, and Yuji gives Sukuna a quick hug before sprinting to the classroom.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “Ya finally going to be a big boy and talk to us?” he says, waving at Nanami before heading out with Toji.

“You still up her ass?” Toji retorts, pulling out two cigarettes-one for himself, one for Sukuna.

Sukuna pulls out his lighter and lights both, taking a deep drag. “More than ever, since you haven’t been around,” he chuckles.

A heavy silence settles between them. Toji knows he messed up. It isn’t fair to either of them. He needs to face his problems and grow the fuck up. Well, that’s exactly what his wife would have told him.

Sukuna breaks the tension with a smirk. “You’d better talk to her before she decides to marry me,” he jokes, heading toward his Mustang.

Toji just nods, watching the gravel shift beneath his feet as he slowly trudges to his Camaro, feeling the weight of everything he’s left unsaid.

Sukuna pulls out of the parking lot, dread hanging over him. Toji is his friend—has been for a long time. Not as long as you, but Sukuna still considers their relationship solid. He respects Toji enough not to try anything underhanded here.

He thinks he’s been on his best behavior around you, even if you make his heart ache and his mind go blank. He’s terrified for tonight. He knows you aren’t calling it a date—he doesn’t even think of it as one—but he’s still nervous to be around you. It takes everything in him to keep up that façade.

When he arrives at his shop, his employees are already busy opening up and working on cars. Sukuna lets out a groan and heads into his office. He genuinely enjoys owning the shop, but the one thing he hates about being the owner is the endless paperwork. Most mornings, he’s stuck behind his desk, handling paperwork and answering phone calls, instead of working with his hands.

But when the paperwork is done, he gets to do what he loves: working on cars and talking to customers face-to-face. That’s when he feels most at home. As the day drags on and evening approaches, his nerves return. He can’t stop thinking about tonight.

Meanwhile, at the library, you’ve been dodging Ino all day because he won’t stop teasing you about the so-called date. He keeps asking for every little detail and just won’t let it go.

You finally find some peace at your desk, cataloging the last of the books before you leave. Ino is busy giving a tour, and the new hires are being trained at the front desk. It’s been a smooth day. You even approved an elementary school field trip for next month and sent a few emails.

As you pack up to leave, Ino waves and winks at you. You roll your eyes, wave back, and head out to your car, trying to swallow the nervousness as the evening draws closer.

You get a text from Hiromi’s mom letting you know she’s picked up Nobara, and they’re taking her to see a movie. You quickly reply, then head straight to your apartment.

As you step through the front door, you slip your tote bag off your shoulder and hang it neatly on the hook by the entryway. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Hiromi said you’d meet at 7:00 p.m., and it’s just now 4:00 now. You only have three hours to prepare. You’re determined to look and smell your absolute best for this evening, especially for this mystery woman—definitely not for anyone else

You walk into your bedroom and carefully lay out several outfit options across the bedspread, each one a possibility for the night ahead. Then, you make your way to the bathroom to begin your routine. You wash your hair thoroughly, letting the warm water relax you, then shave and exfoliate your skin until it feels smooth and refreshed. You massage oils into your skin and apply a soothing face mask, letting it work its magic while you brush and floss your teeth with meticulous care. Afterward, you check your reflection for any blemishes, quickly tending to any that you find.

Wrapped in a soft robe, a towel twisted atop your damp hair, you return to your bedroom and study the outfits you’ve arranged. Hiromi only said you were going to dinner, and you don’t want to be too overdressed. After some deliberation, you decide on a pair of light denim jeans, sleek black boots, a crisp black crew neck, and your favorite leather jacket.

For your makeup, you opt for a minimal, natural look: you brush your brows into place, dust on a bit of powder and blush for a healthy glow, and finish with a swipe of your favorite gloss. Then, you blow dry your hair making sure every piece is in place.

For accessories, you choose delicate gold earrings and the gold bracelet Nobara gave you last Mother’s Day—a sentimental touch that always makes you smile. You swap your bulky library tote for a sleek black purse, feeling the smooth leather in your hands.

Before leaving your bedroom, you make sure to slip your wallet into your purse because you promised Sukuna you’d cover dinner tonight. The clock just turned six, giving you plenty of time to get Sukuna and head to the restaurant, and Hiromi just sent you the directions.

You take one last look in the mirror and smile.

Okay, I’m ready.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp knock at the door. The sound jolts you out of your thoughts. Sukuna must be ready. Heart pounding, you grab your fanciest perfume and spritz it over your neck and wrists. You barely give yourself a second glance in the mirror before rushing to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole.

You unlock it in a hurry, swinging it open with a practiced smile, only for your face to instantly fall flat. Toji stands there, leaning against the doorframe, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, what’s got you all dressed up, pretty?” he drawls, eyes flicking over your outfit. His gaze lingers a second too long, and you scowl, tension snapping through your body like a live wire.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, voice low and sharp.

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but there’s something restless in his eyes. “I’m just worried about ya, pretty.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Yeah? So you ignore my calls, refuse to let me see Megumi, and then just show up at my door like nothing happened? What the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?”

He shifts his weight, jaw tightening. “I was stuck in my head. I’ve been meaning to talk to ya. I should’ve answered, but I didn’t want to yell at ya ‘cause I was upset.”

Your anger flares hotter. “Why the hell are you even upset? What did I do? Do you even realize the things you’ve done lately? I let it go because I love you, Toji! But you-” You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Toji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not right for ya, pretty. At least, I don’t think he is.”

You glare at him, in shock. “You have no right to tell me who’s right for me, Toji. And he’s your friend, too.”

“That’s exactly why I know he ain’t right. I know how him and Yarozu are.”

You arch an eyebrow, shaking your head in disbelief. “He’s a friend, Toji. And honestly? He’s been acting like a better one than you these past few days.” You shoulder past him, your anger simmering.

Toji’s face darkens, frustration etched deep in his features. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you spit back, voice trembling with hurt. “He’s even coming with me tonight to meet Hiromi’s girlfriend.”

He scoffs, bitterness creeping in. “You’ve barely even been with anyone before, so how the fuck do you know he’s just acting like a friend?”

You freeze, fingers tightening around your purse strap. “What did you just say?”

Toji exhales, voice softer but strained. “You’ve barely been with-”

“No, I heard you,” you cut in, voice icy. “Just making sure I wasn’t imagining it.” You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm.

He bites the inside of his cheek, regret flickering in his eyes. Fuck.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash another retort, but Toji interrupts.

“Look what happened with Higuruma. It was just one night and you didn’t even know him.”

Your eyes widen, the old wound reopening. “Are you serious right now?”

Toji sighs, looking away, trying to avoid your deathly glare.

“I was young, Toji. I barely knew what life was. I think I have a better grasp of things now. Sukuna and I are just friends. That’s it.”

He tries to speak, but you cut him off, voice trembling with conviction. “I’m not the same girl I was back then. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’m not a fucking kid you have to keep worrying about.”

He looks at you, pain flickering in his eyes. “I just don’t want something like that to happen again.”

“Something like what?” you demand, stepping closer, your voice cold as stone. “Me getting pregnant?”

He stands there, not knowing what to say. You see the sadness in his eyes, but you’re ignoring it.

You glare at him, every muscle in your body taut with anger. “Get out, Toji. I don’t want to look at you.”

His face goes blank, the smirk wiped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“Pretty-” he starts, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get the fuck out,” you repeat, voice shaking but unyielding.

He hesitates, searching your face for something—anything—but you hold his gaze, unflinching, until he finally turns and walks away, leaving you standing in the doorway, heart pounding and hands trembling.

You feel the hot sting of tears welling up, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them. Panic rises as you rush back to the bathroom, desperately dabbing at your face, trying not to ruin the makeup you spent so long perfecting. The last thing you need is for anyone to see you like this.

Suddenly, you here another knock at the door. Annoyed, you snap, “Toji, I said leave me-”

But when you yank the door open, it’s not Toji standing there. It’s Sukuna. He leans against the frame, looking unfairly good in a worn leather jacket, black jeans, his signature boots, and a crisp white t-shirt. His hair is styled just right, and tonight, his sharp features look even more irresistible than usual.

Your eyes widen as you immediately realize who it is. “Did you just called me Toji?”Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, but the moment he notices your tear stained face, his expression softens.

 “What’s wrong, drunky?” he asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. You close the door behind him, grateful for the excuse to hide your face for a second longer.

You wipe your eyes, glancing in the hallway mirror to check the damage. “Toji stopped by. I made him leave,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

Sukuna doesn’t buy it. He can see right through you, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.

He leans in, voice low. “Should we call your baby daddy-?”

You cut him off with a sigh. “No, I want to go. I need to meet his girlfriend. He’s always there for me, always does whatever I ask. It’s the least I can do.”

Sukuna nods, but you catch the way his eyes linger on you. Then you notice you both are literally dressed the same. “Hey, look! We’re matching,” you say, forcing a smile as you show off your jacket.

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes your heart skip. “I make it look better,” he teases, eyes glinting. He tries to hide how much he’s staring at you, how he could get lost in every detail of your face, but you catch the way his gaze lingers a little too long.

You roll your eyes and head for the door, locking it behind you. When you turn around, Sukuna is waiting, holding out two motorcycle helmets.

You groan. “We are not taking your bike.”

He just grins, ignoring your protest as he hands you a helmet. “My hair will get messed up!” you protest, but you can’t help but smile as you follow him down the hall.

Sukuna glances over his shoulder, eyes dark and playful. “You’ll still look good, even if it’s a mess,” he says, holding out a hand to help you onto the bike.

Your stomach flips, heat blooming in your cheeks. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips—or the way your heart races as his fingers brush yours.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your jacket warm and familiar against your skin as Sukuna steadies the machine beneath you. The city lights blur softly in the visor’s tint, casting a golden haze over the streets as the engine rumbles to life—a deep, steady growl that vibrates through your bones. 

When you finally pull up outside the restaurant, the engine’s growl fades. Sukuna helps you off the bike and secures the helmets in the bin. You take a deep, nervous breath and glance at him. “Okay, now I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Why the hell are you scared?”

You fidget with your jacket zipper, looking down for a moment. “I want to make sure she likes me. Hiromi talks about her like she’s amazing, and if she’s going to be part of my life, I want to make a good impression.”

Sukuna’s expression softens, and he mutters, “I think it’ll be hard for her not to.” You catch the quiet sincerity in his voice and can’t help but smile.

You quickly pull out your phone to check your hair from the stupid helmet you had to wear. “You look fine.” Sukuna tries to sound annoyed and you softly smile, feeling the fire forming on your cheeks.

Together, you step inside the cozy restaurant, the warm glow of amber lights and the murmur of quiet conversations wrapping around you. It’s not fancy, and you’re grateful for that. Your eyes find Hiromi, who stands and waves you over with a bright smile.

 Without thinking, you reach out and grasp Sukuna’s arm, tugging him close as you make your way to the table. Hiromi greets you both with a broad, genuine smile before turning to the woman beside him. She rises with effortless grace, her serene expression and gentle eyes immediately soothing your nerves.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she says, her voice soft but sincere. “Nobara and Hiromi have told me so much about you!”

You return her warmth, though your heart is pounding. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Hiromi’s only ever had the nicest things to say.”

But Sukuna’s presence looms at your side, impossible to ignore. You suddenly realize you need to introduce him—except, as what? The question sends a jolt of panic through you, but before you can act, Hiromi is already extending his hand to Sukuna.

“Good to see you again,” Hiromi says cheerfully, and Sukuna flashes a grin in return and nods. You can’t help but stare—kinda a bizarre moment for you. Hiromi turns to his girlfriend, gesturing toward Sukuna. “This is the neighbor friend I mentioned,” he explains, but you know his big mouth probably told her more than what he’s letting on.

Sukuna then takes Hiromi’s girlfriend’s hand. She blushes faintly as he offers a surprisingly polite, “Nice to meet you.” He literally had that effect on everyone.

As everyone settles in around the table, Sukuna and Hiromi quickly slip into conversation, their voices low but lively, punctuated by the occasional laugh. Meanwhile, Hiromi’s girlfriend turns her attention to you, drawing you into an engaging discussion about her work. She shares intriguing stories about the unique challenges of teaching, her passion evident in every word. Her warmth and genuine curiosity make it easy for you to open up, and soon the conversation flows naturally, leaving you both smiling and eager to learn more about each other.

As the server arrives with menus, everyone takes a moment to decide. Hiromi opts for a classic miso soup, while his girlfriend chooses a delicate seaweed salad and a light grilled salmon dish. You settle on a comforting bowl of udon noodles that looked too good to pass up. Sukuna, scanning the menu with a sharp eye, orders a sizzling plate of teriyaki beef. Which surprised you because you thought he’d get the most expensive item on the menu. With all the orders placed and menus set aside, the table feels even more lively, the anticipation of the meal blending seamlessly with the easy flow of conversation.

Soon, a waiter arrives, expertly balancing trays laden with beautifully presented dishes. Vibrant colors and artful arrangements catch your eye. The air is thick with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meats, fresh herbs, and subtle hints of ginger and soy that mingle invitingly above the table.

Everyone digs in, the first bites are met with appreciative murmurs. Laughter bubbles up naturally, breaking through any lingering awkwardness. Across the table, Hiromi’s girlfriend launches into a hilarious story from her latest psychology lecture. You can’t help but be drawn in by her and you honestly understand why Hiromi has fallen so hard for her.

You are pulled in by her gestures and infectious laughter. But beneath the table, something else demands your attention. Sukuna’s knee brushes against yours, just lightly at first, as if by accident. You glance at him, but his face is the picture of innocence, focused on the story.

A moment later, as the laughter around the table swells, his leg nudges yours again, firmer this time, lingering just a second longer. Your pulse quickens at the silent exchange, a secret current of energy passing between you. You try to focus on the conversation, but your heart was pumping so fast you were worried it would burst out onto the table.

Calm down. 

The evening continues lin a blur of lighthearted teasing, shared memories, and easy smiles. With each passing moment, the nervous tension that once knotted your stomach dissolves, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging. Between bites and conversation, you catch Sukuna’s gaze lingering on you. He decided on that instead of nudging your leg after you gave him a death glare.

As the hours slip by, the plates are picked clean and you’re all so full, stomachs about to burst. You all have now turned to a very expensive bottle of wine you all decided to share—Hiromi’s girlfriend insisted. The sweet red liquid coats your throat and the buzz is making you feel as bubbly as ever.

“So, how did you two meet?” She asks, swirling her wine and flashing a curious grin.

Hiromi stifles a laugh, and you shoot him a quick glare. “Oh, he’s my neighbor,” you reply, unsure how much to share.

She giggles, her cheeks flushed from the wine. “That’s so cute!” Her words slur just a bit, and you can tell she’s getting tipsy.

You smile politely while Sukuna and Hiromi exchange glances, both struggling to hold back their laughter.

As you all stand to settle the bill, she suddenly pipes up, “Do you guys wanna go play some pool?”

Hiromi raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. You echo his confusion. “Pool? You mean, like, at a bar?”

She nods enthusiastically and links her arm with Hiromi’s, already heading for the door. The rest of you look at each other and shrug, amused by her spontaneous energy.

As you walk out, you start chatting with her about a book you just finished, getting animated as you describe your favorite parts. In the midst of your conversation, you realize Sukuna and Hiromi have already paid the bill. You turn, ready to protest, but Sukuna holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” he says flatly.

You huff, crossing your arms. “I said I would owe you,” you mutter, but he just waves you off with a smirk.

You all thank the restaurant staff and step out into the cool night air. Right across the street, neon lights flicker above a narrow doorway—a hole in the wall bar you’ve never knew was there before.

Inside, the bar is dimly lit and smells faintly of old wood and spilled beer. A couple of regulars nurse their drinks at the counter, and in the back, a battered pool table sits beneath a buzzing fluorescent light.

You and Sukuna team up against Hiromi and his girlfriend, the two of you standing side by side at the battered pool table. The bar’s dim light casts a warm glow over the felt as the balls are racked.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles with a confident grin. “Alright, rookie, watch and learn.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I know what I’m doing.” (Even though you haven’t played pool in years).

He just smirks, chalking his cue. “Whatever you say.” He lines up the break, and with a practiced stroke, sends the cue ball smashing into the rack. The balls scatter across the table, and a striped one drops cleanly into the corner pocket.

“Guess we’re solids.” Higuruma states as he claps his hands together.

Sukuna glances over, nudging you with his elbow. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

You pick up your cue, trying to mirror Sukuna’s stance, but the awareness of his eyes on you makes your hands clumsy. “Alright, coach,” you say, forcing a playful tone, “What’s the secret?”

He steps in behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands slide over yours, gentle but firm, guiding your grip. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re holding it like you want to choke the life out of it.”

His breath fans against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The bar seems to shrink around you. His fingers linger a moment too long, his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leans in to adjust your arms.

You try to sound annoyed, but your voice comes out softer, almost breathless. “What happened to personal space?”

“Can’t help it if I’m a hands-on teacher,” he smirks.

You roll your, eyes ignoring Sukunas cocky remark as you watch the ball sink in. Sukuna gives you a proud smile and you suddenly have a burst of confidence in your pool skills.

Hiromi and his girlfriend take their turn. Hiromi moves with the easy confidence of someone who’s played before, while his girlfriend giggles, clearly a little more than tipsy now but just happy to be included.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is laser focused. You notice the way his jaw tightens every time he lines up a shot, and how his eyes narrow with determination. He hates losing and it’s obvious. It’s oddly attractive, though a little intimidating, watching him calculate each move with almost predatory precision.

The game flows with playful banter. When you suddenly miss an “easy shot”, Sukuna throws his hands up in mock despair. “Seriously? That was your shot?”

You glare at him, feigning outrage. “I’m tipsy, alright? Cut me some slack.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t blame everything on the drinks.”

Hiromi chimes in, grinning. “She does that a lot.” His girlfriend giggles, not quite following, and you shoot Hiromi a look. You would flip him off if you weren’t trying to make a good impression.

When your turn comes around again, Sukuna leans in, voice low. “Aim a little left. Trust me.”

You take a breath, line up your shot, and with guided ease, the ball drops into the pocket. You spin around, grinning. “Hey, look! I did it!”

Sukuna’s eyes light up. “Told you. You’re a natural,” he says, his tone half-teasing, half-proud.

Hiromi’s girlfriend claps from across the table. “You guys are killing it!”

You flash Sukuna a playful smirk. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

He just shakes his head, pretending to be exasperated. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the game goes on, Sukuna’s skill and your growing confidence help your team pull ahead. When the final ball drops, Hiromi’s girlfriend claps her hands, her smile bright and a little wobbly. “That was so much fun! You guys are seriously good.”

Hiromi stretches, looking genuinely relaxed. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I needed this.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of the evening settle over you. “Me too. We should do this again.”

His girlfriend laughs, swaying slightly. “Next time, let’s try something I’m actually good at.”

Sukuna grins, cocky as ever. “I’m ready to win again whenever you are.”

She winks back. “We’ll see about that.”

Then she leans in for a quick hug. “Take care, okay?” You give her a hug right back and nod.

As everyone gathers their things, Hiromi pulls his girlfriend close, giving you a grateful smile. “Thanks for tonight. It was great to see you both. I’ll call and check on Nobora when we get home!”

Hiromi waves as you and Sukuna head for the door. “Alright, text me and let me know how she is!”

Outside, the night air feels even cooler after the warmth of the bar. You and Sukuna walk side by side letting the city consume you both.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Sukuna says, bumping your shoulder with a sly grin.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re just lucky I was on your team.” He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels exactly right.

As you both continue your walk, a comfortable silence settles between you. The only sounds are your footsteps echoing in sync along the sidewalk. Above, the city lights shimmer and dance, casting a glow on the streets and painting your faces with flecks of gold and silver.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply share the quiet, each lost in your own thoughts, yet somehow perfectly attuned to each other’s presence.

After a few moments, Sukuna clears his throat, the sound breaking the spell of silence. He glances over at you, his expression uncertain but earnest, as if searching for the right words before he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

You turn to look at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the pavement for a moment. “I’m… sorry.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. “Sorry? For what?”

He lets out a breath, almost as if he’s been holding it in for days. “For when I first met you. I shouldn’t have said any of that bullshit. I was out of line.”

You stare at him, surprised by the unexpected apology. “Wait, what? So you do know how to say sorry!” A teasing smile tugs at your lips. “I thought you were just being nice to me because you’re the type who can’t apologize without it hurting your precious pride.” You giggle and give him a light pat on the back.

“It’s fine, Sukuna. Honestly, I got to let off some steam by yelling at you.” You flash him a genuine smile.

He stops in his tracks, momentarily breathless. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

This is bad. So fucking bad. He’s down bad—worse than he’s ever been in his life. Nearly two months have passed, and still, you haunt his every thought. He’d told himself it was just a passing crush, something he could shake off with a few cheap distractions and a little time. But now, standing here, staring into your eyes, he realizes just how wrong he was. He’s past infatuation—he’s drowning in you, pulled under by a tide he doesn’t want to escape.

You notice he’s no longer beside you and turn, confusion flickering across your face. Before you can even ask what’s wrong, he closes the distance between you with a few quick, purposeful steps.

Suddenly, he’s right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His presence is overwhelming, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The world seems to shrink, focusing only on the intense connection between you.

He closes the remaining space between you, every heartbeat thunderous in your ears. His hand lifts—fingers trembling slightly before they graze your cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. The air feels charged, your breath caught as his touch sends a shiver racing down your spine. He leans in, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, lingering there. Your pulse stutters as his lips hover, barely a breath away, the world narrowing to this single, suspended moment. All of a sudden, your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket.

You pull away, startled, fumbling for the screen. The electric connection with Sukuna snaps, leaving you breathless and disoriented. 

It’s Hiromi.

“Hello?” you answer, voice tense.

His voice is tight, urgent. “Nobora’s at the ER.”

summary: ahhhh! please don’t hate me for leaving it on a cliff hanger lmao. I promise everything will be answered and hopefully Toji can start acting right soon enough🙂‍↕️

I think I have a pretty good updating schedule planned for this. i’ll usually post by the end of the week. if not, i’ll try to update you before hand. your girl has the summer off and you bet your ass I’m going to try to write as much as I possibly can before I start work again. I will also be uploading this on A03! once I get it uploaded I will update my links.

as always, please let me know how you felt about this chapter. I really hope you enjoyed it. I love you all so much and I’ll see you next week for chapter six! I hope you all have the best week <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

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@bestwomanalive @nessca153 @puran-poli

[caught-in-the-infinite]

"You had sex with Bob?!"

John, Ava and Yelena are on the deck of Avengerz Tower. They are outside talking about - well, that didn't matter - they are talking about this now.

"Yeah," says John, reluctantly. "About six weeks ago."

"Six weeks!? Is that why he's been weird...er than usual?"

"No, yes, I don't know. I don't want to talk about this. Look, it happened, and it was not great, and here we are. I don't think he even remembers. He eyes went sort of - " John wiggles his fingers "- when he finished."

"Did you talk to him about it after?"

"Yeah, all he said was it was a 'crazy night' and then ran away from me. I'm pretty sure that means he doesn't want to talk to me about it. Or ever do it again. Which is fine by me."

"So are you gay now?" Ava asks.

"No."

"Bisexual then?"

"No. I'm straight."

"You just said you had sex with Bob."

"Yeah, and I don't think I need to adjust my sexual identity after ten minutes of mediocre love making."

"Love making," Ava snorts.

"Ten minutes," mocks Yelena.

"Mediocre?" says Bob.

"Hey...Bob, how long have you been there?"

"OK," Yelean says, taking charge - again. "You two should talk about this me and Ava will go inside now."

John and Bob both give her "don't leave me out here with him" looks but she ignores them and leaves with Ava.

They stand in silence for a mintue. And then a minute longer. Bob shuffles on his feet. John turns to look over the city.

"I'm sorry," John says. It seems the best place to start. "I shouldn't have. But we did, and it was not great. And now we're here. I miss being your friend, can we just go back to that?"

"It wasn't very good, was it?"

John, checking that the doors to the tower are closed and no one is lingering close enought to hear. "It was bad. It was just bad sex that we shouldn't have had. I didn't know what I was doing, you didn't know what you were doing, neither of us should have been trying to do anything."

"Oh, I know what to do. I just let you take the lead." Johns face does something at this revelation. "You seemed really keen, and I liked it when you kissed me up against the wall. And you seem to like it when I pushed you onto the bed. But then not so much for the rest of it?"

"How many men have you selpt with Bob?"

"Oh," Bob thinks for a moment. "You're probably the third straight guy I've had sex with." Johns face does something else while Bob is still thinking. "Fourth? Maybe?"

John wonders if he jumped of the tower if he would die if he hit the ground below. Instead he says the thing he actually has wanted to say for the past six weeks.

"Do you think we should try again?" John likes Bob, and he hates being bad at things.

Bob smiles, takes a step to press his side against Johns. "Depends," he shurgs, John can feel the movement. "How well can you take instruction?"

It's the fucking sexiest thing John has ever heard - and he'll examine that thought never. He turns to Bob. "Can I kiss you?"

Bob smiles and leans in.

The kiss is very good. John knows he's a very good kisser. He hopes to get very good at everything else.

[yvesssssssss]

HAIII I love ur writing sm it tickles my brain heh...could i rq blue lock (anyone it's ok!! but heh..kaiser kunigami, sae and bayou are my favs) x manager reader that's usually blunt forward n quiet but she actually got the warmest smile ever when she smiles??? idk if u have seen when life gives you tangerines but oh my gosh park bogums smile on the series Geniunely had me having a heart attack everytime he was on scene

Blue lock x manager! Reader

—Michael kaiser, sae itoshi, barou shouei, kunigami rensuke

Thank you so much! The way I wrote this is honestly so cringey, but I tried. T_T Still, I hope you like it💞

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser wasn’t used to being ignored.

Not when he walked into rooms like a spotlight followed him. Not when his smirk had fans screaming and cameras snapping. And especially not by someone who worked with him every day.

You were quiet. Not shy—just efficient. Calm. Blunt.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Kaiser asked one day during training, jogging up to you with that usual glint in his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re picturing how fast you could bury a body.”

You blinked. “Depends on the soil. You done flexing?”

His teammates wheezed behind him. He was left blinking for once.

You were the team’s manager—always showing up before the players, organizing their chaos into something functional. You gave out water bottles and brutally honest feedback like it was part of your salary package.

Kaiser thought you were amusing. And annoying. And kind of hot in a terrifying way.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

What got to him the most, though, was that he’d never seen you smile. Not really.

A twitch at the lips when Isagi tripped over a cone. A raised brow when Barou called himself royalty again. But never a full-on, warm, heart-hitting smile.

Until one afternoon.

The team was clearing out after a grueling match, Kaiser sprawled on the bench, shirt off, absolutely done—but watching you. As always.

You were checking gear, murmuring thanks to a junior staff member, and then—you turned slightly, eyes crinkling, lips curling—

And smiled.

Kaiser actually dropped the energy drink he was holding.

It was blinding. Soft and rare, like a dawn over war-torn fields. Your entire face lit up—calm, warm, kind. Not sarcastic. Not forced. Real.

It wasn’t even aimed at him, which made it worse.

“Who the hell was that for?” he demanded, walking up to you like a man betrayed.

“Huh?”

“That smile. The one that looked like it could end wars.”

You blinked at him, back to your usual deadpan expression. “You want one?”

He opened his mouth.

Paused.

“…Yes.”

You tilted your head. And slowly, like the sun peeking from behind storm clouds, you smiled again—just a little. At him.

Kaiser’s ears went red.

“I—uh. Okay. That’s illegal,” he muttered, pointing at you like you were a loaded weapon. “I’m gonna sue. Emotional damage.”

You were already walking away.

“Then stop acting like a victim.”

His heart actually did a backflip.

“…I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered under his breath.

Kunigami rensuke

Kunigami never minded blunt people. In fact, he appreciated them. It was better than the fake smiles and flattery he sometimes got from media staff or fans. But you? You took blunt to a new level.

“You look tired,” he said one morning, wiping sweat from his forehead, trying to make small talk during drills.

“I am tired. You guys don’t clean up your trash and I’m not your mother.”

“…Right.”

Still, he liked talking to you. He liked how steady you were, how nothing ruffled you—not the pressure, not the chaos, not even Kaiser being a diva. And when you did speak, it was short, snappy, and always honest. Refreshing.

But no one had ever seen you smile.

Not once.

Until that late night at the training camp, when everyone else had cleared out. Kunigami had stayed behind, double-checking his gear. You were near the bench, organizing towels and muttering about how someone left their socks inside-out.

He looked up from lacing his shoes—and there it was.

Your laugh. Soft. Sudden.

Someone had texted you, maybe. Or maybe something genuinely made you happy for once. Either way, your lips curled up and your eyes lit from within. It was quiet, gentle, and lasted all of three seconds.

But it knocked the breath out of him.

“…You smiled,” he said, almost in awe.

You turned, expression returning to normal. “Yeah. I do that sometimes. I’m not a robot.”

“I thought you were. Or like—part ghost.”

You gave him a long stare, and he realized too late how stupid that sounded. But then—

You smiled again. Just a little. Just at him.

Warm, unguarded.

“You’re not as dumb as you look, Kunigami.”

He coughed into his fist, ears going hot. “Y-Yeah? Well—cool. Thanks. I think.”

You chuckled—low and genuine—and went back to folding towels.

He stood there a moment longer, staring like a man hit by divine revelation.

God help him, he wanted to see that smile again. Every day. Forever.

Tomorrow, he decided, he was getting up early. Earlier than usual. Maybe you’d smile at him again.

Maybe, if he was lucky, you already liked him a little.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

Sae itoshi

Sae didn’t pay attention to most people. He had no reason to. Most were too loud, too fake, too eager to get in his space for the wrong reasons.

But you were different.

You were quiet. Not shy—just observant. Efficient. When someone forgot a jersey, you had a spare ready before they noticed. When the coaching staff missed a scheduling error, you were already fixing it. You rarely spoke unless necessary, but when you did, your voice was calm. Unshaken.

And your blunt honesty?

He respected it.

“You looked bored out there,” you told him one day after practice.

“I was.”

“I could tell. But if you're going to half-ass it, at least make it look convincing.”

He’d blinked. Once. Then laughed under his breath.

After that, he paid more attention to you.

You never hovered. Never smiled for no reason. You just worked—always a step ahead of the team, always unbothered by chaos. But you had this quiet way of looking out for people. You noticed when someone was limping and handed them an ice pack without a word. You stood in front of rookies when reporters got too pushy.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

But it was kind.

One day, he stayed behind after drills. Not for any real reason—just sat on the bench, watching the sky go soft with sunset. You were nearby, cleaning up the med kit, checking supplies.

“You always work this late?”

You didn’t look up. “Someone has to.”

“…You like this job?”

You paused, then glanced at him.

“I like helping people who don’t expect to be helped.”

He looked at you properly then. Not just the usual glance—really looked. You weren’t just efficient. You cared. In that quiet, unnoticed kind of way most people overlooked.

Then, for the first time, he saw it.

You smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But warm. Real. The kind of smile that slipped out when you weren’t thinking too hard. The kind that made your eyes soften, just a bit.

Sae didn’t react outwardly, but something in him stilled.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” he said.

You blinked. “…Probably.”

“You should do it more.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched again, like you were holding back another one.

“Then try being less boring.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Fine. I’ll work on it.”

And he did.

Not for the cameras. Not for his reputation.

Just maybe—for you.

Barou

Barou didn’t like being managed. Or ordered. Or reminded to hydrate like he was a child.

But you didn’t treat him like that.

You were quiet, direct, and didn’t waste time. If he forgot to stretch, you’d just say, “Your hamstring’s gonna snap,” and toss him a band. If he got too heated during practice, you handed him a towel and said, “Chill. You’re scaring the interns.”

You didn’t hover or nag. You weren’t afraid of his temper, either. You were… calm. Unfazed. Like you’d seen worse than a guy yelling about meat buns and “kingly” training schedules.

He respected that.

One day, after a particularly frustrating scrimmage, he kicked a cone halfway across the field and stormed off. The team gave him space. So did the coaches.

But not you.

You followed him to the locker room, carrying a wrapped rice ball.

“You didn’t eat,” you said, holding it out like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I’m not hungry,” he growled.

“Then be angry with a full stomach.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. You weren’t sarcastic. You weren’t mocking him. Just… offering him food, like it was obvious. Like of course you cared, even if you barely spoke half the day.

He snatched it from your hand, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t look away.

And then—he saw it.

You smiled.

Soft. Barely there. But it hit like a punch to the chest.

Not because it was perfect or dazzling. But because it wasn’t. It was quiet. Warm. Like it wasn’t meant to be seen. Like it slipped out because, maybe, you cared more than you let on.

“You’re not as scary when you smile,” you said, tone casual.

Barou blinked. Scowled. Looked away too fast.

“Tch. Don’t say weird stuff.”

You turned to leave.

He glanced back at the rice ball in his hand. Then at your back.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

You didn’t stop walking, but your voice carried:

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”

[mydearmando]

“it only leads to trouble” - john walker x fem!reader

summary: you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: thunderbolt!reader, reader has spider powers (similar to spider-gwen’s), physical fight scene, mentions of violence, idiots in love (but they don’t know it yet), tension, that’s it for now

author’s note: babes I’ve never posted a fic before. i’ve written a few, but they’ve never made it to actual posting. there are so few john walker fics and he gave me a brainworm, so I had to help fill the void. please enjoy. also this picture makes me laugh 🤭

The most annoying habit of John Walker’s was his tendency to touch people.

You saw it amid battle, when he helped Ava launch towards a target. Or when he and Bucky went back to back, spinning and folding around each other, each using the other to cover their back.

When he trained with Yelena, the two of them adjusting each other’s stances for improvement.

When he played video games with Alexei, and they celebrated a win, grabbing each other by the arms and shaking hard while yelling in victory.

When he interacted with Bob, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he looked over at what the quiet man was reading or eating.

It was natural to touch people when you worked together and lived together, you reasoned with yourself. You trained with Bucky, shared food with Yelena, cuddled under the same blanket with Ava during movie night, and listened to Alexie when he grabbed you by the shoulders and attempted a pre-battle pep talk.

You touched everyone on the team. And Walker did, too. So you don’t know why it bothered you so much when he did it.

Maybe it was the way that he touched people that bothered you. He wasn’t hesitant, like Bob; considerate, like Yelena; brief, like Bucky; or fatherly, like Alexei.

No, John Walker didn’t just touch people. He grabbed them.

With his militial history and the super-soldier serum, you figured it made sense that each action he took was underscored by a certainty and strength. When John Walker acted, it was with confidence, however false. Beneath his skin, there was a thrumming of power—a poorly-contained vigor that released in bursts of energy and might. He was like a spring mouse trap, both physically and verbally, constantly braced and prepared to launch fists or words.

The comfort and self-assurance in his actions bled over from battle into daily life, and his daily life happened to include the rest of the team, which also happened to include you.

Before John Walker, you never had a problem with touch. Before he made a habit of adjusting you in training, grabbing you without warning and moving your arm this way, kicking apart your legs that way, or correcting the way your hip was angled, all in the name of a better fighting stance. You’d stand there in shock, the heat from his hands—really, his paws—bleeding through your training gear.

Before he made a routine of stepping into your personal space, leaning down to mutter quips or snarky comments in your ear about something or someone in a low husky tone. You froze in the presence of his sturdy body, his chest milimeters from your back, squeezing the air out of your atmosphere.

You shivered.

There were other things that bothered you about Walker, too.

Like how he made a habit of being a self-confident asshole.

He bickered, took Yelena and Ava’s verbal bait that launched the three into never-ending arguments, and was incapable of controlling his words and volume when he was frustrated. Some days he tried—was able to bite his tongue—but you could see the lingering aggression in the way he clenched his jaw and flexed his large hands, neck twitching minutely to the side, blue eyes looking up to the sky as if to help himself calm down.

He was capable of having a shitty attitude that bothered most of the team on a good day, and on a bad day he was similar to an overly strong, downright petulant man-child.

And honestly, you were pretty good about hiding your… touch problem with Walker. You got along with him pretty well, all things considered, and had found it pretty easy to stay out of his way and have a somewhat congenial relationship with the blonde super soldier.

He was just annoyingly large, and he was fucking tall, and overall he made you very, very uncomfortable. As long as you avoided taking his snarky bait and stayed, as a general rule, about 5 feet away from him at all times, you were in the clear of all confrontation—verbal and physical—with John Walker.

*****

It came to a head in Nuuk.

The team had been sent to Greenland to investigate a distress signal coming from an old, underground, abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D. testing site. The quinjet, piloted by Bucky, was heading towards the uninhabitable north, the location of the testing site, when the radio started picking up local calls.

Something was happening in the capital city, and Bucky had to quickly re-route there.

You awoke to the creaking of metal as the quinjet took a sharp turn, rubbing sleep quickly from your eyes. It had been a rough night last night, plagued with nightmares that kept you in a continuous loop of falling asleep and waking up soon after, heart pumping too fast to be able to fall back asleep. Then, when you eventually would, it was back to a nightmare again. A vicious cycle that resulted in dragging yourself out of bed at mission call time with bags under your eyes and a drained body.

You scanned the jet to find Bucky and Yelena at the helm, discussing some form of approach. Alexei was sitting in a jump seat a few seats down, pumping his fist to what he called his “hype playlist”. Ava was asleep beside him, undisturbed by the movements and low singing of the oldest super soldier.

The final soldier you noticed last, standing towards the back of the jet, one arm raised and his fist wrapped in a fabric ceiling handle, stabilizing himself as he stood.

He looked every part of a weary soldier, you thought, as he stood there. There was a looseness in his form, as he swayed on his feet with the movements of the jet, but a tightness in how he clenched the handle holding him upright. As though his body was tired, but he wouldn’t allow himself to relax, forcing himself to stay up while everyone else on the team sought rest in the few moments before the inevitable battle.

You observed him in the low light, details difficult to make out, but his silhouette clear. The way he stood wide-stanced, his tactical gear emphasizing his lean yet sturdy silhouette. He was bulky, but not overly built—athletic with enough muscle to pack a finishing punch or jump 30 feet into the air. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the jet.

How annoying, you thought, that someone as frustrating as John Walker was allowed to be so tall.

It was only when your eyes decided to trail from his broad shoulders upwards that you noticed that he was looking at you.

Your eyes met briefly, his blue eyes darkened by the way his brow furrowed as he looked at you. How long had he been looking at you? More importantly, how long had he been looking at you, looking at him?

“What, is something wrong?” He asked, mouth downturned.

You blanched. “No, no. Just… tired.”

Walker scoffed. “Dunno how you can be tired when you slept the whole way here.”

And there it was. A snappy retort. Normally you wouldn’t bite, but sleep had been so hard last night, and you really weren’t in the mood, and—

“How do you know I slept the whole way here? Were you watching me?” You accused, leaning forward in your jump seat and resting your forearms on your knees, tone sharp.

You could see his bicep tighten as he twisted his wrist, re-wrapping his hand around the ceiling handle and tensing. Successfully baited.

“I didn’t have to watch you to know you were sleeping. Your snoring gave it away.” He clenched out from between his teeth, brow furrowing further.

Brain still riddled with sleep, you gave up on cleverness. “You’re such a—“

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” came Yelena’s uninterested voice from the cockpit. “Now please, stop bickering so we can plan what the hell we are going to do when we land.”

You sighed and leant back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from Walker.

He, however, had different plans.

You heard his heavy footfalls on the metal floor as he took a few steps closer to where you sat. You willed yourself not to look up.

“I’m such a what, Bug?” He asked lowly, teasing in a quiet voice, quiet enough for it to be missed by everyone else.

Blood boiling, eyes narrowed, and a scowl on your face, you looked up quickly. And you really, really shouldn’t have.

Walker stood above you, his head tilted to the side and slightly downwards. His lips drew into a mocking smirk when he saw your facial expression. Surely revelling in the fact that the immature nickname had successfully gotten under your skin.

Up close like this, you felt the air grow thinner. His mass nearly blocked out the rest of the jet around you, his shoulders taking up a stupid amount of space. His blue eyes—lighter up close like this, you noticed—flickered across your face, soaking up your rare show of frustration.

“Say what you were going to say,” he murmured teasingly, lips returning to his signature annoying smirk that had your fists tightening and your face flushing.

Your eyes flickered to Walker’s lips, pink and plush, and suddenly the air was too stuffy with the smell of him this close, and his breath was too warm across your face, and—

Cheeks burning, you lifted your forearm and used it as a bar to push firmly against his chest, attempting to put some space between the two of you. It did nothing, as he was built like a brick wall and hardly moved from your pushing alone. However, he backed away once your arm made contact with his chest, understanding your intention.

“Get out of my face, Walker,” you murmured, crossing your arms again and leaning back in your seat.

As you closed your eyes to avoid looking at him for too long, you missed the disappointed look that crossed his face. You had given up, and John found himself unsatisfied.

*****

The fight in Nuuk didn’t take long to handle. Jailbroken and reprogrammed Stark bots swarmed the small city and attacked the team upon arrival. They were fast and their guns were powerful, but they were fragile due to age and the many years they were left to rust.

After some initial fighting, Yelena and Bucky had left to intercept the control center, found by Ava underneath the city. Which left you, Alexie, and Walker fighting the remaining bots on the street level.

You shot a web towards a nearby window ledge 4 floors up, tugged, and launched yourself into the sky with your legs first, toes pointed, colliding with a bot and kicking its metal head clean off. Landing swiftly on the window ledge, you surveyed the field.

There was Alexei, barging into a crowd of Stark bots. He threw his arms outward as he stormed through, clotheslining most of them and ripping the others apart with his hands. A loud bellow, part laugh and part war cry, emerged from him.

A little closer, on the sidewalk in front of the building you perched on, you saw Walker fighting a different crowd of bots.

A group approached him from the front, unleashing their bullets upon him. He launched his shield in an arch, cutting through the group with minimal effort. You had picked up his shield before—that was no easy task, to throw it with that much power.

Another few bots approached him from both sides, causing him to unholster his gun and shoot one side down before swiftly jumping up and side kicking the remaining bots on his other side.

He landed on both feet and sharply shrugged his shoulders forward, huffing like a bull. He did that a lot during fights, you had noticed, almost as though he was re-igniting his adrenaline. His blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, helmet long gone. Wiping a hand across his brow, he smeared more sweat and dirt upon his forehead and face. He was covered in dust, and you figured you probably were too.

He looked like an animal.

You felt your muscles tighten.

Before you could get lost watching him, a trio of bots on a hoverbike approached you, firing bullets. You shot a web onto one, and grabbing the web with both hands, you pulled it away from the hoverbike before ramming it back into the unit, sending the whole group smashing into a building across from you.

You returned your attention to Walker, where he was fighting off a larger horde of bots, launching his shield, shooting his gun, and throwing his fists. You had to give it to him, despite your argument earlier—he was taking on double the bots you were in your tired state.

The bots around Walker began to multiply, swarming him from all sides and causing his movements to become slower. One grabbed onto his side, and swiftly Walker caught his shield, swung it around his chest, and, gritting his teeth, smashed the shield into the bot’s head.

They were gaining on him, and fast. He had resorted to grabbing them with his empty hands and breaking them anyway he could—smashing them into each other, over his knee, and crushing a few heads with his hands alone.

For a moment you were stunned by his movements, his brawny body a blur as he wielded his powerful hands.

Quickly from your position above, you started grabbing assisting your teammate—grabbing bots with your webs, using their bodies to yank some away and then knock others into each other a few at a time. Walker hadn’t seemed to have notice your positioning yet. Your webbing, combined with his calculated fighting, began knocking down the Stark bots’ numbers quick.

One of the last remaining bots latched onto his back, pulling at his face from behind with its mechanical hands. It covered his eyes, surely digging into his skin, and Walker let out a groan as he tried to rip the creature off his face with his hands, shield discarded.

Hurriedly, you shot a web at the creature, yanking it off of him with all of your might, and flung it into the building below you.

The super soldier turned quickly, looking for the source of his salvation. He tilted his head upward, blue eyes squinting in the sun as they found you above him.

For a moment you stayed there, staring at him as he stared back. The fight now finished, he stood—motionless, shieldless—his arms lax by his side as he stared.

Why was he staring?

As you pondered him, you spotted a bot approaching from behind. It carried a large blade, swung backwards over its head with two hands, prepared to strike down upon your ally.

Who was still turned away, looking at you.

Before you could spit out a warning to Walker, on instinct you slung a web at him, landing it right in the middle of his abdomen. He looked down, stunned, and then blinked back up at you as you grasped the web with two hands and pulled.

The bearded soldier stumbled forward a few steps, just enough to miss the blade slicing through the air and sinking into the ground behind him. He whirled around on the creature, accidentally yanking you forward a little by the web still connecting you, and punched it square in its center, sending the bot careening into a concrete wall.

For a moment, you paused—relieved—before glass rained down upon your head as a something slammed into your body from above. You crumpled into a pile with what you soon discovered was a bot, quickly attempting to throw it off. It gained on you, holding you down on your back, and for a few moments you tumbled with the creature, trying to stay on the ledge while keeping its hands from your throat. Eventually, you slammed your foot into its center, kicking the bot up and off of the ledge.

You heard a male voice shout your name—John—and turned to see a large hovercraft careening directly towards you and your perch from above, milliseconds from making impact.

Suddenly, you were jerked by your wrist and yanked from the ledge. Before you could make any sense of direction you collided with a solid surface, hard.

A grunt sounded from above you, and a heavy weight wrapped around your waist.

Head spinning, you looked up to see Walker staring down at you, dirty blonde hair askew from fighting and hanging over his forehead. There was a fine layer of gray dust covering his face, aside from his eyes where he had wiped a strip of skin clean.

His eyes shone even brighter than usual like this, cool glaciers amid the gray cloud around you. They flickered across your face, and up close you could see the results of battle on the soldier’s face. A few small cuts scattered across his face and jaw, interrupting his thick beard. One gash stood out on his forehead, cutting from his temple to above the middle of his right eyebrow. His nostrils were flared and his lips parted as he breathed, chest rising and falling harshly.

He looked tired, but alive. As though despite his weary body, he had more adrenaline to expel. Much more.

Enough to yank you across 30 feet and 4 floors.

As if suddenly realizing your position—your body held up against Walker’s, his left arm wrapped around your middle—you scrambled away hastily, pushing at his chest until he released you onto your feet.

You avoided making eye contact with him as steadied yourself and attempted to ignore the heat crawling across your cheeks. Brushing off your suit, you focused your attention on your waist—as though you could brush off the scalding ghost of his arm wrapped around you, and the way his hand had splayed across your side, his fingers lightly digging into your flesh to find purchase.

You looked up to find Walker glowering a little, eyes locked on to your hands as he watched you clean yourself, his brow furrowed and mouth set in a frown.

Maybe you were a little too hasty in wiping him off.

His foggy eyes flickered back to yours before he scoffed.

“Jesus, you’d think I groped you or something,” he said lowly, gesturing at your body vaguely before rolling his eyes and turning towards where Alexei was finishing off the last of the bots.

Speechless, and still a little shocked—or disturbed—you followed behind him. He rubbed at his neck for a moment and you stared at his hand. The same one that was currently branded into your side.

You wiped invisible dust off your waist again.

When the dirty blonde pulled his hand away from his neck, you noticed that a pink flush had taken its place, running from his neck up to his jaw.

Another moment before, “You’re welcome, by the way,” was thrown over his shoulder.

You stopped.

“What?”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, still walking forward. “Y’know, for saving your life?”

A laugh you couldn’t help burst forward sarcastically. “I saved your ass twice before that, so if you saved me, fine, but know that you were only able to because I saved you first.”

He continued walking. But you hated feeling like you had been ignored.

“Twice,” you added.

Walker stopped, causing you to nearly collide with his back. He whirled around and stared down at you with a scowl.

Damn his height and damn him, you thought, infuriated at his immediate attitude.

Two sets of narrowed eyes met, each flaming and daring the other to say something. He held your gaze for a moment longer before he faltered, glancing down at your mouth, which you were sure was set in an unattractive frown.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled sharply through his parted lips, your sight flickering to his pearly teeth.

“Whatever,” you watched his mouth form around the word, quieter than you had expected. Defeated. Then, “Sorry.”

And with that, John Walker stormed off, leaving you feeling both disgusted by him and his touch, and disgusted by yourself and your actions.

if you made it this far, ily 💙🫐

blog makeover to come soon

[babydoll372]

plsss can u write more girl!penis emily smut 🙏🏻🙏🏻 wanna see her feral over femme reader when readers on her period

Can’t Resist

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Word count: 2054

Warnings: Smut, period sex, intersex!Emily, alludes to a blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex, cum inside, begging, blindfolds, daddy kink (E)

Emily quickly yet quietly opened and closed the front door, kicking off her shoes and coat. She groaned in relief as she stretched out her shoulders, placing her go-bag on the floor and making a mental note to clean the clothes later on. She could smell the pasta sauce in the air and smiled to herself, rushing to the kitchen and urgently wrapping her arms around your waist, her head placed on your shoulder as she hummed to the classical music that played in the background.

“Mm, I missed you so much, baby,” She muttered, peppering kisses along your neck as you giggled, allowing for more access as you leaned your head to the side. One hand was used to stir the wooden spoon in the simmering pot, and the other fell on top of hers as you interlaced your fingers, your hips swaying back and forth gently in rhythm to the music.

“I missed you too, my love…” She leaned over to take a small slurp of the contents, moaning in response.

“And you welcomed me with Alfredo? Aren’t you perfect?” She turned you around gently in her arms after you put down the spoon, your hands resting on her shoulders for support. “Only one thing that could make this night even better,” She suggested, a small, sly smirk overcoming her face as her own hand placement came upon your butt, making you sigh in guilt.

“I’d love to, Em, I would,”

“But…?”

“But, I got my period yesterday. We’ll need to wait a few days, okay? I’m sorry, baby.” She instantly groaned dramatically, her head falling back.

“C’mon, you know I don’t care about some blood! I don’t even need to eat you out if that’s what you’re worried about.” She tried to bargain, biting her lip in eagerness. You could feel her warmth against you, her crotch pressing into your thigh as you glanced down, struggling to resist the temptation.

“I can give you a blow job or jerk you off, but that’s it. Maybe even a boob job if you’re that needy.” She debated the option for less than a second in her head before her mind was made up.

“As much as I love your mouth and boobs and even these beautiful, soft hands, I need to be inside of you tonight. I haven’t even gotten to fuck you in eight days! What if I forget how you feel? Do you know how serious that is?” You raised your brows, chuckling at her antics but still not giving in.

“I look like a crime scene down there, Em!”

“So? I work with crime scenes all the time!”

“No, you work with serial killers, even this will be too gory for you.” Emily then dropped to her knees, her hands fiddling with your waistband as you held them up forcibly.

“I will beg you all night if I have to, Y/N, I’m serious.”

“Emily! You are making this so difficult!” She grinned happily, as if that was meant to be a compliment.

“Good, then it’s working. Please, please, please, please-“

“Emily-“

“Please, please, please, please-“

“Oh my gosh, fine! Fine, we can have sex!” You threw your hands up in suite, but really you couldn’t be mad. How could you complain after so long? She quickly stood up, undoing the buttons on her shirt and then her belt loop.

“I hope I didn’t actually force you, it was only meant to be funny…and so I could have sex with you.” You responded with a quick teasing grin, moving to undo your own shirt as you double-checked if the stove was off. She went for your shorts until you stopped her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh, taking off your shorts?” You rolled your eyes, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the bedroom. She was pushed onto the bed as you reached into the top drawer of your dresser, hidden away in the closet. She eyed you curiously as you came back with a blindfold, but wrapped her arms around you when you sat on her lap. You then began to place the cloth over her vision and she gulped nervously, having only ever done this to you. She’d never really been on the receiving end of the toys, but apparently, today was the day. You kissed her lips passionately, her tongue exploring your mouth until you two parted as she fell into the new position you put her in. Now she laid on her back, her eyes blocked and your shorts finally coming off. You cupped her through her boxers, pressing a soft peck to the outlining of her cock as her hips jutted upwards.

“C-can I ask what the blindfold is for?” Your girlfriend's quiet voice came.

“You want sex, I don’t want you to see the blood. It’s a win-win, don’t you think, my love?” She conjured out a nod, whimpering quietly as your hips slowly rode her covered anatomy. She could feel you playing with the lining of the boxers, teasing its removal. But finally, you stood up to remove your undergarments along with hers. You glanced down at your thighs and peaked between.

“I-I’ll be back, okay?”

“Wait, where are you going?” She quickly called after you when she heard your footsteps going the opposite way of her.

“I just want to clean myself a bit first, I feel…gross, I guess. Stay there and don’t even dare try and touch yourself.” You quickly gained your confidence back by the end of the sentence and she agreed, lying back down and what felt like hours finally came to an end when she heard the door click again. You were back, and finally, she was going to be inside of you again…

“Okay, I-I’m gonna just sit on it, like usual.” You quietly reminded yourself, staring at the cleaned part of your body that felt dirty still. You hovered, unsure of yourself until Emily grabbed your hips, pushing you down so her tip protruded your entrance.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby, I- I just need to be inside you already. It’s been so long…” You whimpered, resting your hands on her biceps and nodding, but she couldn’t see it.

“Okay, I can do it this time. I was just a little scared, I’m not anymore.” She didn’t care to digest your words, her fingers searching for your clit which she couldn’t find due to the blindfold. You quickly tried to move it away but moaned quietly when she began rubbing in soft circles on the bundle of nerves.

“O-oh…oh, Em…”

“Please let me go deeper, I fucking need it so bad and I know you do too.” Her breaths were shallow and heavy, as if it took deep willpower not to thrust her entire length into you right now. But when you gave permission, she slowly eased it inside of you. Her long, slim cock filled you until you felt her balls against your ass. She could feel your walls tightly grasping her and couldn’t stop the spur of moans she let out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, you’re so tight, I need more!” Her hands now on your hips continued to guide you back and forth slowly, but once she could tell you were well-adjusted, she didn’t care to go at a controlled speed. Instead, the headboard could be heard hitting the wall, and the bed frame could be heard squeaking.

“Please, it feels so good!” You mumbled, biting your lip after to hide your loud sounds.

“Don’t even try to hide from me, baby, if I’m not allowed to see you then you bet your sweet ass I better be allowed to hear those pretty moans.” You squeezed your eyes shut, letting your bottom lip go and allowing free range, as requested. Her hand tapped all over you until she found the back of your head, guiding you to rest it on her chest as she breached a new angle. Your tongue swirled around her nipple, causing the bud to harden in your mouth.

“Mm, don’t stop, you’re doing so good for me - my good little girl.” She proclaimed through a series of heavy groans, her head being thrown back against the mattress as the vein in her neck was amplified in your vision. Your hand fell to her lonely breast and tweaked her nipple softly, grinning to yourself as your teeth gently glided over the one in your mouth. You pulled back with a pop, your forehead instantly falling to the soft fat in front of you as you spoke.

“Your cock feels so good inside of me, Daddy.” You whimpered, and you felt her hips pause for a moment before picking up pace. Clearly, you had an impact on her.

“Fuck! You can’t say shit like that to me, Y/N…”

“Why not? I j-just want my Daddy to feel- oh- oh, fuck! Right there, please, right fucking there!” Your attempt at teasing her was cut short with her hand placing itself on your ass to guide you up and down as you continued bringing yourself back and forth in a steady grinding motion. The motions matched perfectly, your G-spot easily being prodded at with her tip. Your lips wrapped around her nipple once more to ease the stimulation you felt, to guide your mind away from the overpowering sensation building deep within your core. Emily was the same way, yet she wasn’t trying to run from it. She was chasing it, if anything. Her slender fingers and warming palm collided painfully with your lower cheeks, causing you to falter before quickly regaining yourself. This repeated four times before she let you catch a break, knowing there was at least a small lingering shadow print of her hand.

“You gonna cum for me, Princess? Yeah, I know you’re close, why don’t you cum all over Daddy’s cock f’me.” She didn’t mean for it to come out as begging, but you could sense the eagerness in her tone. “C’mon, soak my fucking dick, I know you need it just as bad.” You nodded against her soft skin, tears brimming your eyes as you knew you’d last mere seconds now.

“I- I really- mhm! I really need to!” She smirked to herself, and despite the growing pain in her hips and thighs, she continued to drive into you, focusing only on the good that was to come.

“Do it for me, I want you to let go, pretty girl.” It didn’t take another word, you took mere seconds before release hit you like a train. Your limbs shook desperately, your warm body suddenly turning cold deep within you. And it took only a few more seconds before you felt her creamy liquid filling you to the brim, your womb begging for her sperm. She huffed out a heavy breath, her core tightening as you caught a glimpse of her abs that developed eccentrically under pressure.

“Oh, you feel so good, Y/N…I never want to let go of you, sweetheart.” Her throat was dry by now, and her voice was slightly raspier than before, but you desired it somehow even more.

“I love you so much, Em, I- I hope you know that.” She nodded with a smile, kissing your head.

“I love you too…so, can I take this blindfold off now or-“

“No! No, just wait a moment, okay?” She dramatically sighed, and you rolled your eyes but slowly removed yourself from the connection your bodies shared. She waited and waited, and a few minutes later you came back. You had cleaned yourself in the bathroom already and now had two washcloths, one damp with soap and water and the other with only water. You began lightly cleaning the area of her skin marking your recent appearance and once you spotted zero traces of blood left behind, you helped remove her blindfold, and she smiled as she met your eyes, but pouted when she saw you already wearing shorts.

“Seriously? I haven’t even gotten to see it all night!” She sat up now, and you shrugged as you cupped her cheeks, the washcloths now long forgotten from your hands and into the basket of laundry.

“Too bad, you’ll have to wait a few more days.”

“Fine!… But is that blowjob still being offered?”

[revelboo]

Can you do a roleplay scenario with combaticon brawl? 💕

Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Roleplay

Brawl

• “Are you sure about this?” Nose wrinkling as you reach to sink your fingers into the thick, soft fake furs in pastel shades of pink, red, and white before frowning at the pile of pillows. And picking up the sheer pink coverup with plush trim and the scraps of lace that will absolutely cover nothing at all. Raising an eyebrow at Swindle, the mech just grins at you. ‘Babe, would I lie to you?’ He purrs, dangling a little lace choker from a servo. ‘You wanna surprise Brawl? Wanna make him beg? You need this. But if you don’t want it-’

• Reaching out, you snatch the collar. “If you’re lying, I’m going to smack you,” you mutter. “What’s in it for you?” Because Swindle never does anything unless he gets something out of it. “Did you hide cameras in here?” And he looks genuinely offended, pressing a palm over his spark like you’ve wounded him. ‘So suspicious. Maybe I just want to do something nice for my best friend Brawl,’ Swindle says and you just stare at him. ‘Okay. He’s been unbearable lately after that last mission went sideways, so I need you to frag him senseless so he’ll go back to being slightly less annoying.’ And that, you can at least believe.

• Optics narrowing, Brawl growls as he glances from Vortex to Swindle and Blast Off. Just hanging out in the hallway near the door to their shared habsuite. “Do I even want to know?” He growls and Swindle grins at him, pointing at the door. ‘Got a present for you big guy,’ Swindle says and Brawl vents as he shoves past, letting himself in and hearing the door shut behind him. Because the last time Vortex had ‘surprised’ him, he’d found the other Combaticons had been daring you to do shots of vodka until you were a miserable, sick mess. If these slagheads have done something to you, he’s going to make them suffer. And he freezes spotting you sprawled among thick furs and pillows wearing something very lacy and revealing.

• Face heating as he just stares, you decide you’re going to kill Swindle. “What are you wearing?” He rumbles, loud voice rough as he approaches your little nest on his berth. And he reaches, servos fisting the furs near your hip as he leans over you, still full size. With his visor and battle mask, there’s no telling what he’s thinking. A servo of his other hand sliding from the collar at your neck down your torso stopping just short of where you want him to touch as he vents. “This for me?”

• Staring at your soft skin decorated in delicate lace that doesn’t actually hide anything, he leans closer, battle mask retracting to brush his lips against your neck and shoulder. Your belly. Venting against your skin. Watching you spread your thighs slightly for him. “Your favorite toy is feeling neglected,” you whisper. Shuddering at that word with a mix of arousal and embarrassment, because he hadn’t admitted that little fantasy to anyone. Fragging Swindle had probably snooped in his mind while they’d been combined into Bruticus.

• “You’re not a toy,” he growls, sounding offended, before using a servo to nudge your thighs open. And you arch in surprise when his big glossa slides against you. Hear his rumbling snarl before he’s vaulting up with you and mass shifting. Reaching up you cup his face in your hands.

• “What if I wanted to be your toy tonight?” You ask, giving him permission to pretend you’re his little frag toy. “Though, if you’d wanted to play with me, all you had to do was ask.” Watching hungrily as you slide a hand down your body and his spike stirs. Aching to claim what you’re offering. “What do you want to do to me?”

• Hear him snarl before he’s hooking an arm around you to flip you onto your belly. “Everything,” he growls, freeing his spike and driving into you. Fingers fisting in the furs under you as your big mate moves against you, he’s being rougher than normal. Careful to not hurt you, but not treating you like you’re made of glass and you moan pushing back to meet the hard drives of his hips. “You’re mine to claim.” Hips snapping as he ruts urgently against you. Hear him snarling that you’re his to fill, to breed and need has you coiling tight listening to his growled words.

[honeydippedfiction]

Can I get 10 from the smutty prompts ("aren't you such a tease? I'm jerking off to that picture of you, and it's all your fault.") with Justin Herbert? Idk just something about him with this makes me ferallll

I hate how this came out lowkey, I’m definitely redoing this later on and changing it but until then I hope you enjoy this😭

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#10. "aren't you such a tease? I'm jerking off to that picture of you, and it's all your fault."

Justin Herbert x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Touring had always come with its own rhythm: soundchecks, flashing lights, screaming fans, adrenaline rushes that came and went like waves. But nothing prepared you for the quiet moments in between—those hours after the encore, when the hotel room felt too still and too far from everything you actually cared about. Especially from him.

You and Justin had been together in secret for two years now. It wasn’t always easy, but in the past month, things between you had reached a new high—something deeper, more intense, more tangible than before. Before tour pulled you away, Justin had been staying with you in your New York apartment, the one you called home no matter where your passport had last been stamped. The off-season had given you a rare stretch of uninterrupted time together. Lazy mornings, impromptu trips upstate, cozy evenings spent tangled in each other on the couch, watching movies you'd never finish. It had felt...real. Like life.

Whenever he had a home game, you flew in. Sometimes he met you halfway in the middle of your schedule. Those were whirlwind visits, full of fast kisses and whispered promises, but they had kept the bond alive. Strong. Unshakeable, you thought.

But the day before he was due back in L.A. to start his off-season workouts, the atmosphere had shifted. That afternoon light felt softer, heavier. The laughter came a little slower. The truth of the goodbye you both had been pretending wasn’t coming now pressed in on both of you like fog.

You were lying in bed, your head resting on his chest, his arm snug around your waist. His fingers traced idle circles against your back. You hadn’t spoken in a while—neither of you wanted to be the one to break the moment.

“Babe, it’s okay,” he finally murmured, kissing the top of your head. “We’ll see each other soon.”

You looked up, your eyes glassy but still fighting the tears. “It’s just... been a while since we’ve had to be apart like this. And now, after everything, it just sucks.” You let out a breathy, almost-laugh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Justin gave you that soft smile—the one only you ever really got to see. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked it gently behind your ear. “I know, baby. I’ll miss you too. But it’s not forever. We’ll FaceTime. Text. I’ll send you dumb memes in the middle of the night.”

You let your head fall against him again. “I just... I don’t want to lose this. What we have. It’s finally feeling like—like something I could actually build a life around.”

His hand moved to cradle your jaw, turning your face toward his. His voice was firm, quiet, and steady. “Nothing’s going to stop us. Okay? Not distance. Not the schedules. Not the press. I’m yours. Always.”

You smiled through the mist in your eyes and nodded. “Always,” you whispered.

And that night, you fell asleep with your cheek against his heart, lulled by the steady beat that always seemed to calm you, even when everything else felt uncertain.

The next morning came far too fast. You tried convincing him to sleep in, to let one of your team members take you to the airport. But he insisted. So he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours tightly over the center console. The goodbye was short, like you both knew lingering would only make it harder.

“Text me when you land,” he said, pulling you into one last hug.

“I will. You get some rest. And don’t forget to ice that shoulder.”

He grinned and kissed you again, lingering just a moment longer than usual. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” you whispered, and then you turned, slipping through the airport doors without looking back.

What you didn’t know then was that it would be the last time you'd see him in person for weeks. Schedules didn’t sync, plans kept falling through, and before you knew it, a month had passed.

Now, you were back in a hotel room—this time in Chicago. Another sold-out show. Another roaring crowd. And yet, as you lay in bed in your barely-lit suite, wrapped in one of the plush white robes they always gave you, it all felt strangely hollow.

The FaceTime call had helped. For thirty full minutes, you and Justin had been you and Justin again. Laughing about stupid things, ranting about how your mic had cut out mid-song, how he’d missed his workout alarm that morning. Normal things. Things that reminded you of home. And things that turned very not-normal by the end of the call.

He’d pulled off his shirt while talking, showing off the results of weeks of relentless training—broad shoulders, tight abs, the muscles that made your heart flutter every time. You, never one to be outdone, stood up and let the camera pan your body, your favorite lace set still clinging to your curves from the after-show wardrobe change.

“You’re killing me,” he had groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned back on his bed, biting his lip.

“Good,” you whispered, then winked and hung up before either of you could take it further. It was dangerous territory, and neither of you needed to be caught in the middle of it.

Now, lying there with your heart still racing and the air still thick with desire, you debated what to do with the next hour and a half before soundcheck. You weren’t tired, and the energy from the stage still hummed beneath your skin.

Your gaze drifted to the full-length mirror by the closet. You were still in that lingerie—black lace with delicate details, the one that always made you feel like you. You walked over slowly, biting your lip as you examined yourself in the glass. The way it hugged your body. The way you knew he’d look at you if he were here.

You reached for your phone, heart pounding with equal parts nerves and anticipation. You angled it just right, letting the mirror do the work. The soft, ambient light from the lamp on the dresser gave your skin a warm, inviting glow.

Snap.

You checked the photo once, twice. Then opened your chat with him.

You: Thinking about you.

You attached the photo and hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

Almost instantly, a wave of second-guessing hit. Had that been too much? Too bold? But a voice inside you reminded you why you’d done it. Justin was a star athlete, young, ambitious, and beautiful. He could have anyone. But he had you. And sometimes, you needed to remind him that you weren’t just the voice in his phone—you were flesh, blood, longing, and love.

You set the phone down and waited. Minutes passed. Then more. You glanced at the clock. He was probably just getting out of practice. Maybe still in the shower. He had meetings today, and the time difference always made everything harder.

Somewhere across the country, Justin had just finished his cool-down stretches and stepped into the locker room, towel slung around his neck, sweat still clinging to his skin. His phone buzzed. You. He grinned automatically.

He made it through the shower, changed, and headed for the car. It wasn’t until he was seated, engine humming quietly beneath him, that he finally opened your message.

His thumb hovered over the screen. He tapped.

And there it was.

Your photo. The lace. The look in your eyes. The message: Thinking about you.

His heart stuttered, and a sound escaped his lips—half laugh, half groan. He almost dropped the phone.

“Damn, baby...” he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his seat, his thumb already poised to type.

Justin picked his phone back up and stared at the photo again, unable to help himself. It was like his eyes couldn’t tear away. The lighting, the confidence in her gaze, the way the lace hugged her body—it was enough to make the air in his car feel suddenly hotter, thicker.

His breath caught for a moment. His gray Nike sweats were starting to fit a little too snugly now, and he shifted in his seat, exhaling sharply. Damn. She was beautiful—his girl. And she knew it too. Not in a vain way, but in that way that made his heart ache with pride and desire all at once. She was powerful, graceful, and so stunning it almost didn’t feel fair. And she was his. That fact alone still blew him away sometimes.

The screen blinked. A notification from her popped up.

Y/N is typing…

Then nothing.

He waited a beat.

Still nothing.

Then the message finally came through.

Y/N: Are you still there, baby?

He smiled at the screen, that soft, private kind of smile he only ever gave her. He could picture the way she was probably biting her lip right now, second-guessing the whole thing. It wasn’t like her to be nervous—not about this—but he understood. Vulnerability had a weight to it, even between two people as close as they were.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to respond right away. God, he wanted to tell her exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But if he texted her now—if he let himself fall into the moment here and now in the middle of his car—he wouldn’t make it home. He’d be pulling over on the shoulder of the freeway trying to cool down. And the last thing he wanted was to have this conversation from the cramped front seat of his SUV.

So instead, he placed his phone gently in the passenger seat and muttered to himself, “Not yet.”

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, the hum of the engine doing nothing to drown out the images in his mind. His thoughts were already racing—playing over every inch of that photo, the way her skin looked against the black lace, the way her eyes locked into the camera with that perfect, sultry gaze she knew would drive him wild.

And then he started thinking about more than just the photo.

He thought about how it would feel when she was finally back home. The sound of her suitcase wheels clicking across the hardwood floor, the way she always tossed her bag down and kicked off her shoes before jumping into his arms. He missed her scent, the softness of her skin against his, the way her laugh filled the apartment like music.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

I’m gonna make it worth the wait, he promised himself. Every second she’s been gone—I’ll make it up to her tenfold.

The streets blurred past him as he drove, the city giving way to quieter roads as he neared home. His foot pressed a little harder on the gas. He wasn’t trying to speed, but he couldn’t get back fast enough. Every red light felt like a punishment. Every turn, a delay.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he pulled into the driveway of his place. The lights from the porch flickered on automatically as his car came to a stop. He threw it into park, grabbed his phone, and practically jogged to the front door.

Inside, the house was still, the kind of quiet that only made him miss her more. He kicked off his sneakers, tossed his keys into the bowl by the door, and made a beeline for the living room, phone already in hand.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, leaning forward as he opened her message again. The photo. That message. Her asking if he was still there. He could picture her now—still in that hotel room, sitting cross-legged on the bed in that impossibly sexy lingerie, checking her phone every few seconds, wondering if she’d crossed a line.

He needed her to know she hadn’t. Not even close.

His fingers finally moved, confident now, teasing and affectionate as ever.

Justin: Still here, baby. Just had to get home so I could really appreciate what you sent me.

He paused, then added:

Justin: You look so fucking good, I almost drove off the road. I don’t know how you expect me to focus on anything after that.

Then another message:

Justin: I’m gonna make you pay for teasing me like that when you get home. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you out of my sight for a full week.

He hit send, then leaned back on the couch, exhaling slowly, a satisfied grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Back in Chicago, you were staring at your screen, your heart beating faster with every second that passed. You saw those bubbles pop up and disappear three times now, and you had no idea what to make of it. Was he typing? Not typing? Was he too tired from practice? Or maybe you had gone too far this time?

You opened your mouth, about to take a sip of water, when your phone vibrated in your hand. A notification from Justin flashed across the screen. Then another. Then another.

You swiped, and there it was—his response. Three of them, actually. The first one made your smile widen. He’d made it home safe. And then the second one… your eyes scanned the words, and you felt that familiar heat spread through your chest, down your spine, pooling in your core. Oh, he was into it. More than into it.

You glanced at the time. You still had an hour and fifteen minutes before you had to leave for soundcheck. And suddenly, you had an idea—one that made your pulse quicken and your skin flush even warmer. You sat up straighter on the bed, your mind already racing with possibilities. He wanted you to pay for teasing him, huh? Well, maybe you weren’t done teasing just yet.

With steady hands and a newfound confidence, you moved your phone to the side slightly, the perfect angle for what you were about to do. You hit record on the video, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw yourself appear on the screen—still in that black lace lingerie, the soft light of the room giving your skin a warm glow.

“Hey, baby,” you began, your voice a low, sultry murmur. “I see you got my message.”

You stood up slowly, turning to give him the full view, your hips swaying just a little as you moved. You bit your lip, holding the camera steady with one hand, and ran the other down your body, following the curves that you knew drove him crazy.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t forgetting about me out here on tour,” you continued, your voice dripping with that playful challenge he loved. “And it looks like I succeeded.”

You let out a soft laugh, and with a flick of your wrist, you hit send. The video disappeared from your screen, sent into the ether on its way to him.

The anticipation was almost unbearable. You paced the hotel room, phone in hand, waiting for his response. Every second felt like an eternity. And then, finally, your phone buzzed with a notification. You swiped it open, your heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Justin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he watched the video you’d just sent. He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling a string of expletives under his breath. She wasn’t just teasing him—she was absolutely killing him.

He stood up abruptly, phone still clutched in his hand, and started pacing the living room. His head was spinning, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t been expecting this. Not that he was complaining, but fuck… she was pushing him to the edge in the best way possible.

“God damn it, baby…” he muttered, his voice low and gruff with need. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”

He stopped pacing and sat back down on the edge of the sofa, his free hand raking through his hair. His eyes never left the screen, replaying the video for the third time now. The way she moved, the sound of her voice, the way she bit her ip right before the screen cut to black—it was seared into his mind now. Burned there. Permanent.

He groaned, head falling back against the couch as he stared at the ceiling, trying to get his breathing under control. But it was useless. His body was already lit up like a fuse, and she was the match that struck it.

Justin ran a hand down his face, then over his jaw, still trying to think clearly—trying being the key word. But there wasn’t much clarity to be found when the woman you loved had just sent you a video like that. And the way she looked… God. She had this confidence, this magnetic pull that always left him on the brink. And now she’d practically declared war.

He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then paused.

No. This needed more than a text.

Instead, he switched to video mode, flipped the camera toward himself, and hit record.

The screen showed his face first—slightly flushed, dark curls falling over his forehead, jaw tight. Then he leaned in a little, voice low and steady, laced with hunger.

"You think I forgot about you?" he said with a slow smirk, eyes burning with something primal. “Baby, I can’t think about anything else.”

He let the phone drop a little, catching the way his T-shirt clung to his chest, still damp from the shower, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the cut of his lower abs, a tease of the bulge in his sweats.

"You really think you can tease me like that and not get a reaction?" he continued, eyes locked on the camera. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

His voice dipped even lower, almost a growl. “But I promise you this—when you get home, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week. That’s a guarantee.”

He smirked again, a slow, wicked thing, and then ended the recording. He watched it once—just to make sure he wasn’t being too much—then shrugged to himself. Screw it. She started it.

He hit send.

Back in Chicago, you were still pacing your hotel room when your phone buzzed again. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you snatched it off the bed, thumb swiping across the screen with a mix of anticipation and pure, electric tension.

Video from Justin.

Your breath hitched.

You pressed play, and there he was.

He looked good—sweaty curls, that dark, intense stare that never failed to make your knees weak, and a voice that sounded like it had been made just for you. Every word that fell from his lips made your stomach tighten, your legs feel a little less stable.

When the video ended, you had to sit down. Your skin was flushed, every nerve ending tingling like it had been brushed with static. He wasn’t playing anymore. He was serious. And that promise?

You replayed it again, eyes wide, biting your lip to keep in the quiet moan that threatened to spill out.

You looked at the time.

An hour before soundcheck now. Sixty minutes. It felt like a joke. How were you supposed to perform tonight when your body felt like it was about to combust?

You grabbed a pillow and flopped back onto the bed, half-laughing, half-dizzy from the adrenaline rushing through your system.

Y/N: If I miss this soundcheck, it’s your fault.

Y/N: Also… keep talking like that, and I might just book the next flight to L.A.

You sent the messages and tossed your phone onto the mattress, trying to focus—trying. But your body had other plans.

Across the country, Justin was now lying in bed, phone still clutched in his hand, and sent her a voice message.

“Aren’t you such a tease? I’m jerking off to that picture of yours, and it’s all your fault.”

You had been waiting for him to reply for about 20 minutes, and you figured he was either busy with his teammates or in the shower. You got a bit worried he might not like it. Maybe it was too much, too soon.

You were about to give up when you got a notification. It was a voice message from him. You hit play and felt your body grow hot. You could hear the rasp in his voice, and it made you wet.

You texted him back, wanting to tease him.

You: Prove it

You knew that was a risky thing to say to him, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to prove he was thinking about you, that he was stroking himself to the thought of you.

You waited for a minute and then got a video. You hit play.

He was stroking himself slowly, and your breath caught in your throat. You heard his breath hitch, and you wanted him in your mouth.

You were about to text him back when your phone rang. It was a FaceTime from him.

You answered and were immediately met with a shot of his cock.

“Baby…”

You smiled and tried to act innocent. “What is it, baby?”

“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you? Look what you’ve done to me.”

You bit your lip and looked at the shot again. “I think I know what I did.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

You looked at the clock and knew you had enough time to do this. You smirked. “Show me what you would do to me if I was there.”

He groaned and started to stroke himself faster. “God, I wish you were here.”

“Why?”

“Because I would be ripping those panties off and bending you over.”

You moaned and felt yourself get wet. “Justin…”

“I would be spanking your ass for teasing me. I’d make your pussy drip for me.”

“God… Justin.”

“Baby, are you touching yourself?”

You didn’t answer and just moaned.

You had your fingers in your panties, and they were soaked. You started to rub your clit and threw your head back.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You opened your eyes and realized he had stopped stroking himself. He was just holding his hard cock in his hand and smiling at the phone.

“Justin, why did you stop?”

“I want to hear you beg for me, baby.”

“Justin…”

“Beg for me.”

You let out a whimper. “Please, Justin.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stroke your cock until you cum for me.”

 He smirked and started stroking again. He made sure to get the perfect view for you.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip. He looked so good, and you wished you could be there to do it for him. “Justin, you’re so hot. I want your cock inside of me.”

He groaned. “Baby, don’t say that. Fuck, I’m close.”

“Take your panties off. Now.”

You bit your lip again and obeyed. You took them off and spread your legs for him. He groaned.

“You’re so wet for me, baby. I love it. I want you to fuck yourself for me. Be a good girl and do it.”

You obeyed him and moaned loudly as the sensation went through you. You started fucking yourself, feeling him watch you on FaceTime.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself like I fuck you. God, I want to be there so bad.”

“Me too, baby.”

“I would have my cock inside of you right now if you were here. I’d be fucking you so deep, baby. Do you want that? Tell me.”

“I want it, Justin.”

“Say it.”

“I want your cock.”

“You want my big cock inside of your tight pussy?”

You moaned louder and felt yourself get closer. “Yes, Justin. God, yes. Please. I want your big cock.”

He let out a moan and continued. “Fuck, baby. Keep talking to me like that.”

“I want you to fuck me until I scream. I want you to use my pussy and cum inside me.”

“I would make you beg for it, baby. You know that.”

“Please, Justin. Please. I need it, daddy.”

“Fuck. Hearing you call me daddy is making me come.”

You heard his breath hitch and knew he was about to come. You wanted to come with him. “Come for me, Justin. Please.”

“Touch your clit, baby. Come with me.”

You did as you were told and moaned his name as you came. You heard him moan yours, and you wished you could kiss him right now.

“Justin…”

“Baby…”

The two of you were trying to catch your breath when you looked at the time. You had about 15 minutes until you had to be at sound check. You smiled, feeling satisfied.

“Hi.” You giggled.

He chuckled. “Hi.”

“You good?”

“I’m great now, baby. What about you?”

“Very great.”

He laughed. “That’s good.”

You smiled. “Good boy.”

He laughed. “Come home so we can do that in person.”

You felt yourself grow wet again at the thought of him inside of you. God, you wanted him. “Soon, I promise.”

“Okay, babe. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hung up and cleaned yourself up. You felt great and couldn’t wait until you saw him again. You went to the sound check and got everything done for the night’s show. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and you couldn’t wait to talk to him again.

You knew that this would make the relationship stronger, and you knew you would have a fun time being apart from each other.

You just couldn’t wait to be back in his arms.

[dumbgoondog]

Jealous, Much? (P1)

Cw/Tw- Jealousy, possessiveness, threats

Tags- GN!Reader, pre-established relationship

Ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, and Choso

First chunk is exposition, then it’s the boys. What happens when your man sees you being flirted with?

PRELUDE

When a guy slides up next to you at the bar, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, you didn’t immediately brush him off. Mostly because he wasn’t annoying—yet—and partly because you were curious to see how far he'd go before he took the hint.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from heaven,” he clarified, finger-gunning with zero irony. You actually laughed—not with him, more at him, but he didn’t seem to notice the difference.

“Wow,” you mused. “That’s vintage. Do you dust that one off for special occasions?”

He chuckled like you were flirting back. “Only when I see someone who makes it worth it.”

You rested your elbow on the bar and gave him a look, still smiling. He wasn’t threatening, just... kind of ridiculous. He probably meant well. Or maybe he was just drunk enough to think he stood a chance. Either way, it was easier to play along with a few sarcastic quips than to go full shutdown mode. You figured he’d get bored eventually… He didn’t.

“I’m serious,” he went on. “You’ve got this whole mysterious vibe. Like... someone with stories. I could listen to you talk all night.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Then tell me.”

You tapped your fingers on your glass, swirling the last bit of your drink. “That’s usually how conversations go, huh? I tell you my name, then what? You try to guess my favorite color?”

“Let me guess—black,” he said confidently, eyes flicking to your outfit.

You snorted. “Wow. You cracked the code.”

He leaned in a little closer, clearly not getting the hint—or maybe refusing to. “You’ve got a great laugh, y’know that?”

You smile and roll your eyes, your boyfriend should have been here by now, and glancing to the clock? Oh he should’ve been here 10 minutes ago! Where is that-

SATORU GOJO

“Hey baby.”

The hand snakes around your waist and you feel that familiar sensation of what you’d describe as wind whipping past when riding a bike. Infinity. You’re straightening up though now, the nickname a giveaway that Toru isn’t as amused as you are with this guy.

“Huh? Who’s this, Angel?” The guy asks maybe starting to realize or maybe thinking it’s another guy to hit on you. Toru’s cursed energy prickles and spits at the nickname, like a mosquito just bit him. You were going to say anything but Satoru is already speaking, looking this guy over with a raised brow and his lips in a unamused pout.

“Who’s this?” Satoru repeats, his voice deceptively light. The kind of light that means someone might be about to have a very bad night. He doesn’t even glance at you, all his attention zeroed in on the guy like he’s calculating how many ways he could erase him from the planet—and which would be the most entertaining.

You recognize the look in his eye. It's not rage, not jealousy exactly. It's territorial. Protective. That unshakable confidence wrapped in smug arrogance that only Satoru Gojo can carry without getting punched in the face—most of the time.

The guy’s smile falters. “I was just talking to them, man. Didn’t know they were taken.”

“Mmm,” Gojo hums, pulling you tighter against him. “They are taken. Very taken. As in, point and home run taken.”

You elbow him in the ribs for that one, but it only makes him grin wider.

“Hey, no hard feelings,” the guy says, holding up his hands and starting to back off. “They didn’t say anything about a boyfriend.”

Gojo’s head tilts. “Well, maybe they were enjoying watching you crash and burn in slow motion. They do have a sense of humor.”

You bite your lip to hide your laugh, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And for the record,” Gojo adds, slipping off his blindfold so the guy gets a clear look at those glowing blue eyes, “next time you use a pick-up line like that, make sure the person you’re talking to doesn’t already have the strongest sorcerer in the world wrapped around their finger.”

“Wha—?” the guy mutters, clearly confused now, staring between the two of you like maybe he missed a step.

“Oh,” you say, finally speaking up, resting your hand over Gojo’s. “This is Satoru Gojo. He’s... complicated. And very dramatic.”

Gojo gasps. “Rude! I bring you flowers once and now I’m dramatic?”

“You got them from Italy, Satoru.”

“Romance isn’t dead!”

The guy is already gone by now, muttering something under his breath as he retreats. Gojo watches him go with narrowed eyes, then finally turns to you, lips tugging into a pout that’s almost convincing.

“I was only ten minutes late,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And look what happens. My sweetheart gets hit on by guys with middle school flirting skills.”

“More like fifth grade,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling again. “You’re lucky I was just bored and not tempted.”

“Tempted? Tempted?!” Gojo gasps again, hand clutching his chest like he’s been shot. “You wound me, angel.”

“Keep calling me that and I might actually leave with someone else next time.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “No you won’t. Because no one else makes you laugh like I do.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers lace with his anyway. He's right. And he knows it.

“C’mon,” he says, dragging you off the barstool like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go somewhere less... pedestrian. I owe you a real date.”

“You owe me two.”

“Fine. Two dates. And dessert.”

“And flowers?”

He grins. “You drive a hard bargain.”

You don’t look back. Neither does he. And the night, finally, starts to feel like yours again.

SUGURU GETO

“Hey.”

The voice behind you is calm. Unhurried. But it settles like a weight in your chest, immediately familiar—low, smooth, and with just enough edge to make your skin prickle.

You glance back, and there he is: Suguru Geto, dressed down but somehow still managing to look like power incarnate in a black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair tied back like he hadn’t rushed at all… even though he absolutely did.

His eyes flicker past you to the guy at the bar, not bothering to hide the calculation in them. And just like that, the easy buzz of the night turns thick. The air shifts. Tense.

You open your mouth to say something—maybe a casual “Hey, you’re late,” maybe a warning not to hex the guy into another plane—but Suguru moves first. Not with violence. Just presence.

He steps in close behind you, hand sliding around your waist like it belongs there—because it does—fingers splaying firm over your side. There’s nothing showy about it. It’s not possessive. Just final. Like a signature.

“Oh,” the guy says, straightening up, smile faltering. “Didn’t realize you were, uh… waiting on someone.”

“I was,” you nervously chuckle, “And he’s very late.”

Geto doesn’t break eye contact with the guy. His mouth curves into something polite, but the warmth doesn’t reach his eyes. “Traffic.”

“Traffic,” you echo dryly.

“There was a... delay.”Translation: Gojo. You sigh internally.

The guy shifts awkwardly. “Well, uh, I wasn’t trying to step on any toes.”

Suguru smiles now, slow and knowing. “you stepped on mine anyway.”

The man goes pale. “Right—uh—yeah.” He slides off his stool and makes a hasty exit, muttering an apology to no one in particular. Silence lingers for a beat after he’s gone.

“You were late,” you say, turning slightly to face Suguru, your hand resting on his chest. “And you missed the pick-up line of the century!”

“Let me guess,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle under your chin, lifting it just enough to meet your eyes. “Something about heaven?”

You laugh. “You did hear him!”

“I didn’t like how close it was,” he murmurs into your ear. “Didn’t like the way that monkey was looking at you.”

“You don’t like anyone looking at me.”

“Touché,” he laughs, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what, if he hadn’t backed off, you were gonna sick curses on him?”

Suguru hums, noncommittal. “Wasn’t sure yet. I was weighing options.”

You laugh now giving a smack to his chest, “You're lucky I was bored and not tempted!”

His gaze flickers to yours again, sharper this time. “I’m not worried about temptation.“

You search his face for a second, and something softens in you. He doesn’t need to say it aloud, but you knew if you asked—“You're mine. I’m yours. That doesn’t change.”

“Good,” you chirp, kissing his cheek. “Because next time you're late, I’m making that guy buy me two drinks.”

Suguru grins. “Next time let’s just have Larou or Miguel cook for a home date hmm?”

Then he pauses. “Actually… next time, I’ll just bring you with me.”

You smile. Yeah. That sounds more like him.

KENTO NANAMI

“Apologies.”

A new voice cut through the noise. Calm. Deep. Precise.

You didn’t need to turn around. The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Your shoulders relaxed. Your drink suddenly tasted better.

The guy blinked in confusion as Kento stepped into your space, not quite brushing you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. His hand resting on the back of your chair.

Nanami adjusted his tie with one hand, gaze directed firmly at the man beside you. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just... done.

“I believe you’re in my seat,” he said simply.

“Wha—?” the guy stammered. “I was just talking to them.”

“So I gathered.” Nanami’s expression didn’t change. “And now you’re done.”

The guy laughed, weakly. “Hey, look, no offense, man. I didn’t know they were with anyone—”

“They are.”

You didn’t even need to say anything. Nanami was already calmly intercepting, laying down the boundary like it was protocol. Professional. Efficient.

The guy raised his hands and stood up, clearly deciding not to argue with someone who looked like he could file a tax return and break your wrist in the same motion. “Alright, alright. Chill, man.”

Nanami didn’t respond. He waited until the guy disappeared into the crowd before turning to you. His expression softened marginally.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You gave him a dry look. “That was almost twenty minutes, Kento.”

“There was a call from the higher-ups,” he said, and you could already hear the disdain layered into the words. “It ran longer than necessary.”

“You didn’t pick up when I called.”

“I didn’t want to answer in the middle of a meeting just to say, ‘Yes, I’m still being held hostage by incompetence.’”

You huffed a quiet laugh, then let your fingers slip over his wrist, tugging him into the seat beside you.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he noted as he sat. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, absolutely. He was this close to asking me my name after 15 minutes of failed pick up lines.”

Nanami arched a brow. “Wow.”

You raised your glass in mock toast. “And he still didn’t even get it.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he reached for your hand under the bar, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Next time,” he said, “you’re not waiting alone.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

You didn’t argue. Not because you agreed, necessarily—but because Nanami didn’t say things he didn’t mean. And behind every calm word, every small gesture, there was always care. Consideration. The kind that said: you matter. I saw you. I came for you.

And just like that, the rest of the night felt right again. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just... steady. Safe.

CHOSO KAMO

“Your name, is it Mine?” he added, leaning in like that would help his case. You were seconds from telling him your very large, very intense, sometimes-blood-covered boyfriend would be here any minute, when—

“Back away from them.” The voice wasn’t loud. But it didn’t need to be. Low. Flat. Final.

Your shoulders dropped in relief even before you turned. The guy next to you froze, his smile faltering as Choso stepped into view.

He wasn’t glaring. Not exactly. But something about his presence—the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his eyes never left the man’s face—spoke louder than any threat could.

“Uh,” the guy said, eyes flicking between you and Choso. “Hey, man, we were just talking—”

“No.” Choso's tone sharpened like a blade. “You were talking. They weren’t interested.”

You placed a hand on Choso’s arm, trying to gently keep him from escalating. Feeling your hand his gaze flickers briefly down to you, then back up like he was recalibrating how mad he could get with you so close.

The guy laughed nervously. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realize they were taken.”

“You did. You just didn’t care.” Choso’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cursed energy rolled off him in a low, unseen pulse. Not enough to draw attention—but enough to make the man shift uneasy.

“Okay,” the guy muttered, backing off. “I’m gone.”

Once he was gone, Choso turned to you, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over the fabric of his sleeve. “He was just annoying.”

Choso nodded slowly. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“You’re late,” you said not to accuse, just to shift the mood. “I thought you got lost.”

“I didn’t,” he said, glancing down. “I stopped by the market. I thought you’d want these.”

He pulled something from his vest—a little bundle of dried flowers. They weren’t pretty in a traditional sense. No roses. No bright colors. But they were carefully chosen: yarrow, mugwort, something fragrant and earthy you couldn’t quite place.

“Protection,” he murmured. “Old ones. For wards.”

You blinked. “You brought me spell herbs instead of regular flowers?”

“Yes,” he said, completely sincere. “Why would I not?”

Your mouth twitched. You took the little bundle from him and held it to your chest, “I love them,”

Choso visibly relaxed. The last of the tension left his shoulders as he pulled you in gently, like you were something he could still break if he wasn’t careful.

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he whispered.

“You’re here now,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “And you brought me anti-creep herbs. I think that evens it out.”

He didn’t smile exactly—but his eyes softened and when his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the bar, the world finally felt quiet again.

[bluedandylyon]

Rewatch Rambles (tm)

Season 1

Flowers for She-Ra

Ok I do have to admit that this is a really funny moment, but the cool part about most jokes on Spop is that you can actually learn a lot about the characters from them.

Adora legit panics at being in front of an authority figure she has no idea how to please. You can see Angella actually feel really bad for her for a second: she sees that little kid trying desperately trying to stay on the authority figure's good side so she doesn't get punished, but eventually, the hurt she feels over the Horde's actions override this compassion and she dumps it unto Adora, bc she is a product of the Horde.

I always forget the rebellion is so recent. Like we're talking about a one generation war here, and I also forget that Angella and Micah were the founders. It's kind of a nice nod to Micah wanting to fight against the Horde ever since he was training with Light Spinner, but after seeing what the spell of obtainment did, he went another route to do it after becoming disillusioned with magic.

My blorbo absolutely blaming herself for the death of Micah even tho she was like 3 when it happened and blaming herself for not knowing when she arrived to bright moon like a day ago. (quite literally a day ago, we know this is her first night in the castle)

Adora looks absolutely TERRIFIED, and like honestly, Angella is kinda absolutely threatening her here, so I don't blame her. It's just a repeated pattern in Adora's life: authority figures expecting perfection, otherwise she'll get punished for it.

She also internalizes "do not disappoint her as "do not disappoint me "

Which is one of the things I love about this show. There is SO much miscommunication due to trauma in this show, it's actually insane. Like I've said it before, but the entire conflict in Catra and Adora's relationship can actually be boiled down to how they each misinterpret what the other is saying over and over and over again due to their upbringings.

Another thing I love about this show: how they subtly show character's upbringings and social manners.

Glimmer freaks the hell out bc Adora just appears on her bed, but Adora doesn't really see the big deal bc there was no privacy in the Horde. It makes sense for her to just go up there. She was also probably like "well Catra and I were best friends, and Glimmer and Bow seem to like me a lot and also I feel really freaking isolated right now, so Glimmer won't mind if I just sleep on the foot of her bed like Catra used to do for me right?"

This poor girl is just trying so hard to get on Angella's good side and be of service. Knowing about her traumas and how deeply she has internalized that she has no inherent value, these scenes become really hard to watch.

I'm sorry, as a fandom, we truly do not talk about Catra's mrrp here enough. It is the best noise she ever makes in the show and that's counting all the "hey adora"s and purring. THERE I said it.

You know what's fucked up? The fact that Catra is so optimistic that SW will finally recognize her worth now that Adora's gone. She misses Adora like crazy, but she's also felt like she's lived under her shadow for so long, that it's also really nice to have a chance to prove herself, even if it isn't enough, bc it's never enough for SW.

I always wonder what the hell this drawing is??? Is it a drawing Adora made when she was a kid?? Like did she draw this when she was younger as like a dream she had and just glued it to her locker? Or is it a drawing the horde soldiers made mocking Adora and belittling her betrayal? Maybe the latter makes more sense. Either way, lots of questions.

I do like the show, don't tell of "I've told you everything I know about Adora" and then noticing that drawing and crumpling it, bc Catra is still trying to protect Adora by not telling SW about She-Ra.

The way she FLINCHES :c It breaks my heart to think of how many times Catra has been physically abused.

AND THEN SHE IMMEDIATELY GOES TO CHECK ON HER WHEN SW's IN PAIN, GOD.

It's a mix of Catra genuinely having a really big heart, but also wanting your caretaker to care about you so badly that you're willing to try just about anything to get that affection. This all happens so fast that it's very unconscious though, Catra can normally pretend that she doesn't care about SW's affection or recognition.

Loaded ass phrase in the middle of a gay ass buff jock moment, this is peak She-Ra right here.

Ppl don't really understand that when I say "she-ra is the gayest show I have ever watched" I not only mean "the protagonist is a lesbian and she saved the universe by loving her catgirl gf and kissing her" I also mean bc of moments like this. Like this is gay culture. As a certified buff dumb jock, seeing Adora do shit like this and constantly challenge Sea-Hawk to arm-wrestling literally means so much to me bc I be doing that shit unprompted at any given moment.

Again.

Gay culture.

Also I think about that She-Ra close-up constantly, I love how androgynous she looks here. Absolute gender.

Honestly, rewatching S1, they got away with so much shit. Like pretty much every woman who sees she-ra has a crush on her, it is SO funny. You can tell that after princess prom, the execs were like "please,,, you can't keep getting away with this"

The implications of this are really interesting actually. If this isn't a myth and it's instead a legend, I wonder if Mara and squadron Grayskull actually did go to beast island at one point and tried to dismantle it or something. Would make for a cool one-shot.

It’s interesting Glimmer says to concentrate really hard bc it’s the opposite of how she ra gets her healing powers. She gets them by relaxing and moving through her fear, almost entering a meditative state instead of directly focusing on them.

It's so upsetting how she is unable to recognize how unfair it is for people to be placing all of these responsibilities on her when she discovered she was She-Ra like, yesterday. And Bow and Glimmer eventually recognize this and reassure her, but they're still not the best at it. She will probably always ask herself if they would have become her friends if they met her as Adora, not She-Ra.

She has been raised to be perfect at everything she did, on the first try, or get love and recognition taken away from her, so the only thing she can do is get mad at herself, because she has been taught that she deserves it.

Rare Adora acting W.

Completely obsessed at how Bow is mimicking her to appear intimidating LMAO

Glimmer looks so hot in armor, that is all.

I love the intentional dealing-with-a-homophobic-parent language choice here.

This is genuinely so sweet and thoughtful of them honestly. It's really painful to see the juxtaposition between Catra's isolation and loneliness with Adora becoming closer with new friends, though. I know she meets Scorpia (who is a bit too enthusiastic), but it's not like she is in a position to truly accept new friendships outside of Adora anyway.

Oops I thought this was going to be a shorter one bc I was like "it's flowers for she-ra, how trauma packed can it be, really?" I should know better, I've watched this shit 10 times dude.

[that-sudsy]

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader

Nobody bought the house because it was claimed to be haunted. It didn’t bother you when the owner insisted that the place was new but haunted by a ghost. You were never one to believe in spirits; if you did, you wouldn’t mind, because you thought there were too many troubles in the world to deal with the invisible.

The owner handed you the keys the same day you bought the house. It needed repairs here and there, but that wasn’t a problem for you. You were a girl who knew how to fix anything. You grew up taught to be independent for life.

As you entered, carrying a box of kitchenware with your handwriting on the front, you stood at the entrance. The house wasn’t big nor small; it was just right for someone like you to maintain. It had high ceilings and a wall where a rope was attached, as if it were meant for climbing, like at a gym.

But the owner said it was used to hang things.

You placed the box in the kitchen and moved to the living room. A strange feeling washed over you, as if you were being watched. You shrugged it off and went outside to grab your belongings before the rain started.

Later that night, thunder clapped loudly, making you jump out of your skin while cooking dinner in the kitchen. The counters seemed unused, the cabinets looked new, and the stove was working perfectly.

As you finished cooking, you settled in the living room, taking a seat on your sleeping bag near the fireplace while you ate. You watched an episode of *Supernatural* to cope with your fear. Maybe the owner was right; this place was haunted because you could feel eyes on you when no one was around.

CRACK!

The thunder clapped again, and suddenly the power went out, leaving you blinking in the dark. Only the fire illuminated the room. You quickly finished your food. “Just great, first night and now no electricity... I’ll contact the—”

You heard furniture move. You knew you hadn’t bumped into anything. Frozen in place, you didn’t want to look back, just in case something was actually there. Deciding to wash your plate in the kitchen, you tried to shake off the unease.

Afterward, you headed to the bathroom for a shower. You made sure to close the door tightly. But as you hopped in and closed the curtain, you caught a glimpse of a dark, tall figure. Swinging the curtain open, you found nothing but the door wide Open.

“Oh gosh, is anyone there?” you called out, swallowing your fear. Reminding yourself it was just a house, you finished your shower and returned to the living room, lying down on your sleeping bag. As you glanced at the TV reflection, you saw a man standing behind you. You sat up quickly, but there was nothing there.

“Oh, cut this crap! I’m not doing this. I’m going to bed,” you said out loud before lying back down. Then you heard the scraping of metal. Sitting up again, you were met with a pair of blue eyes peering at you from behind a skull mask, his hand covering your mouth.

“Shhhh.”

You looked at him in fear. “How did you get in here?”

Suddenly, his creepy and intimidating aura turned playful as he sat down beside you in your sleeping bag. “Oh, I live here.”

“No, I live here! I bought this place!”

“Oh, I know you did.”

“Are you a spirit? A ghost?”

“That’s a no and a yes. I go by the name Ghost, and this is my house. What are you doing here?”

“Wait, wait!” You waved your hands in front of you. “Time out! This is your home? Are you Jacob Jackson, the owner?”

“No, I’m not Jacob Jackson, whoever that man is. But this is my house, and I don’t know why that man sold it to you.”

“Oh... I just bought this house today.”

“I see. Are you really going to sleep on that?” He pointed to the sleeping bag.

“What do you mean? It’s soft!”

“A pretty girl like you sleeping on the floor? Nu-uh.”

“What do you expect me to do? I don’t have money to buy a mattress!”

He stood up and huffed, walking upstairs. The next thing you knew, he brought down a mattress for you. “Lie on this. I insist,” he said, making you roll your sleeping bag away before lying on the mattress he had provided. The two of you lay together, staring at the ceiling.

“It’s been a while since I lay on a bed,” you admitted.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you’re not a bad ghost, better than I thought.”

“Some ghosts have a good heart,” he replied with a grin, his playful demeanor easing your fears.

Now you understood why the house was haunted there is really a ghost living in it.