#and even then they only want to treat for a handful of things

[gremlingottoosilly]

Forced engagement with König? Reader trying to beg their parents and collect evidence on how weird and creepy he is to prove it to them-don’t let me marry this guy! But your parents just brush it off and tell you to just give him a chance.

Being engaged to a colonel twice your age wasn't in your dreams. Or even thoughts of all the future possibilities, either. He is scary - giant, brooding, looks at you like you're the newest war prisoner in his house. His house is big and uncanny, too many empty rooms and locked drawers with god knows what. He doesn't even show his face, mumbling something about the safety of both you and him to your parents - a bunch of lovestruck puppies they are, so, so eager to get their daughter off their shoulders and onto some rich guy who definitely knows how to protect her. Unless he decides to be the one to hurt her, of course. You don't want to marry Konig, and you made it obvious - it's just that your parents simply couldn't care less. Oh no, they didn't care that you, perhaps, wanted to choose a life for yourself instead of being treated like someone dumb and fragile. Konig follows you like a dog, always looking somewhere around and putting his hands all over your neck and shoulders like you're already his wife - like he is even allowed to touch you like this. You hate the ownership in his actions, the clear threat whenever you're trying to mingle yourself out of his affections. You know how he sees you - a dumb and pretty thing, just a pathetic little thing in need of protection. You know he looks at you and sees a trophy wife, much too young for him - and you hate every second, want him to stop staring just so you could rest and- Your parents are useless, obviously. They adore him, already making plans of how many grandchildren they will get - the colonel is a righteous but lonely man who is often away on missions and dangerous training; he would most definitely leave you with a litter of children at his desolate house, so you won't feel as lonely. Or you could travel the world with him, a pretty trophy dangling from his arms, with everything you could ever want - he has money, even if he doesn't show it immediately. You're almost excited at the prospect of never having to work anymore, up until you remember that this will come with a dangerous psycho betrothed to you. Your engagement party is weird - he only brought two or three of friends from his side, not even enough for a proper groomsmen introduction, and they all are the same sort of brooding masked men who barely fit in standard suits because of the muscles. He holds your hand the whole time, nodding at the way your mom chirps about your pretty dress and little makeup, and the marriage contract you have to sign - because of course you had to sign it. He holds you like you're already his prized possession, and you almost find yourself getting flustered at the attention, complete and devoted. You're not falling for him, of course, there is no way - but you kind of enjoy having an expensive diamond ring slide to your finger. Maybe, you could postpone your escape plans until after the wedding. Maybe.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch1: fallen angel || r. sukuna

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 12.1k.

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

You make a point of not judging a book by its cover. So, when paired with the college’s resident bad boy for the literal most important project of the year, you just nod to yourself. Of course, you’re aware of his very poor attendance record among other things you’ve heard about him. At the end of the day, the rest is all hearsay, so you’ll treat him the same as you would any other group project partner.

Searching around the lecture hall until your gaze lands on him, you shoot him a kind smile. You don’t expect him to return it, he practically always sports a disinterested or aloof expression and now is one of those times, it would seem. He’s wearing his usual oversized but fairly stylish shirt, baggy cargo pants and a leather jacket, even though it’s quite warm inside. One airpod sits in his ear, only half paying attention.

The two of you are practically polar opposites. You, who shows up to class ten minutes early, jots down every note you possibly can, and turns in projects a week early, not to mention your fairly preppy style, makes the two of you about as different as it gets. On top of that, there were moments where Sukuna would dip into a room late and you would wonder why he bothers paying for college at all. Does he even want to be here?

Turning back to your laptop, you decide you’ll set up some documents for your project to get ahead of everything and stop worrying about someone else’s life. You’ll just have to make the most of the project. Besides, Sukuna could be the best project partner you’ll ever work with.

Upon dismissal, you wait a moment for the room to clear before slinging your pale pink bag over your shoulder, holding your books to your chest and making your way up the lecture hall to where Sukuna’s seated.

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m-”

“I know who you are,” he sighs. “I’m Sukuna.”

Rude. “Right,” you swallow, blinking twice as you attempt to clear your mind of the less than ideal first impression. “So, I was thinking since we need to analyze three paintings, I can choose one, you can choose one and we can do the work separately and then work together on the last one-”

“Sure, whatever.”

You purse your lips. That was easy. Or does he just not care? Brushing off the thought, you nod slowly. “Okay. Great,” you mumble somewhat nervously, unsure if the reason your voice is wavering is out of fear that you’re doomed from the project, or the fact that Sukuna is hardly giving you the time of day and it’s somewhat imposing.

Finding the nerve to meet his gaze, you find that it seems he’s barely paying attention. His deep near-crimson eyes accented by tattoos are trained off to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other is fiddling with an unlit cigarette. You have half a mind to wonder if he’s heard a damn thing you’ve said given the airpod still hanging from his pierced lobe.

“Do you, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth as you mentally reset to stop yourself from stammering. “Do you want to go over anything before we do our parts?”

“Nah.”

Nah? Oh my god, you’re doomed. 

“Okay. No problem. Um, why don’t we just meet after class next Friday?”

Sukuna balances the unlit cigarette between his lips, shuffling to pull out his phone and open his calendar. “Sure,” he agrees, his words muffled by the cigarette.

“Great! I think we’ll want to start working on the third piece next week so I’ll choose the first painting and get started on it and then we can choose the last painting next week,” you say, putting the date in your calendar as well. “Oh! And we should exchange numbers.”

He hums in agreement, not even giving you the time for words now but he does give you his number. Realizing you aren’t about to get anywhere else with him, you shoot him a wry smile and make your way out the door.

Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.

–

Before you know it, next Friday comes around and when you turn your gaze to where Sukuna usually sits, you realize he just isn’t there.

Well that’s… lovely.

Leaning forward on your elbows, you groan with your face in your hands. This project was sure to be a nightmare at this rate. You could already see yourself going to talk to the professor about how Sukuna hadn’t done an ounce of work and it was all done by you.

Opening your laptop, you stare at the document you’d put together for Persistence of Memory, which may be an obvious choice but you love the painting too much to choose a different one.

Maybe you should just choose the third one on your own.

Maybe you should just choose the second one on your own…

Fuck.

You sigh, glancing back at Sukuna’s empty seat once more, and to your surprise just as you begin to give up hope upon seeing his seat empty, he ambles through the door in an oversized hoodie and sweats as though the lecture didn’t end fifteen minutes ago.

His gaze meets yours and he tilts his chin upwards at you, a silent message for you to take a seat near him.

Gathering your belongings, you take your laptop over to him, setting it on the table beside him in the mostly-empty lecture hall.

“Hey,” you greet him, receiving a grunt in response. “I was starting to think you were gonna flake out on me,” you joke with a somewhat nervous laugh when you meet his striking gaze. His disinterested eyes bore into you as he examines your nervous expression, and it’s then that you notice that- “are you okay?”

He sighs, heavy with exasperation, running a hand over his sharp features. His hair is still damp, not spiked up as usual as it hangs over his forehead, he has dark circles that make him look like he hasn’t slept in years, and his leg is shaking up and down like he’s got somewhere else to be.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, unimpressed that you’ve noticed how horribly disheveled he looks, but he brushes it off. “You got somethin’ to show me?”

“I, um-” you pause, casting him one last uncertain glance at the fact that oh my god, he looks sick? “Yeah, so I chose a Salvador Dalì piece,” you tell him, nudging your laptop towards him so that he can see your analysis.

He casts a glance at it, and it’s then that you realize that he doesn’t seem to have a laptop on him. Hm.

He seems to have noticed your confusion as he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment or two before setting it in front of you. “Had to do something before our meeting, so I don’t have my computer right now, but here’s what I’ve got so far.”

You flash him a curious glance before staring at his phone screen, reading through his notes quietly. The Fallen Angel painted by Alexandre Cabanel. You can’t say you’re shocked, but it’s a good choice. His analysis is short and needs more detail, but it’s a good start and fairly insightful. Sukuna lacks elegance with his words, but this is just the research phase anyway. Okay, not a bad start.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

To your surprise, although he’s mostly quiet, he gives you some input on your analysis and hums in agreement when you ask him to write a bit more in certain areas to match your research. He doesn’t even seem that bothered by it, only mildly inconvenienced. You would almost argue that he was agreeable if you couldn’t feel the side-eye you were receiving from him.

When you finally settle on C. Allan Gilbert’s All is Vanity for your final piece, Sukuna excuses himself quite quickly and makes his way out, grunting in agreement when you ask him to meet you at the same time next week. You had hoped to get some research done with him but this would have to do, and hopefully you would have more time next week.

Only… when next week comes, he doesn’t show. You lean over the desk where Sukuna usually sits, figuring maybe he’s just late again, but as the clock rolls past the thirty minute mark, you begin to lose hope. Tapping your fingers rhythmically over the desk as you stare at the clock, you resign to texting him.

3:39 PM || You: hey! just wondering if youre on your way

Another twenty minutes of staring at the sent text does you no good and you can’t really get much done without Sukuna’s portion, so with a sigh, you push yourself up and call Shoko to go out with you. At least now you can make the most of your Friday night, even if it’s a bit earlier than intended.

–

“He just completely no-showed, huh?”

“Not even a text,” you confirm with a groan, keeping your attention on the road as you make your way to the bar by Shoko’s house. The afternoon sun glints on the windshield of your car, warming the interior of the vehicle rather comfortably for the early autumn day.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Shoko hums at the thought.

“I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean honestly his research wasn’t too bad,” you sigh, casting a glance at your best friend.

“Could still be salvageable. Maybe try asking him what works for him?” She suggests with a shrug, leaning back in her seat as she stares blankly out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I think if I leave things up to him, he just won’t do it.”

“Oh, because he’s been so good at showing up when you organize things?” She chides with a raised brow.

You suppose you can’t really argue with that, so you groan in response. “At least he has a good taste in art.”

“Yeah?”

“A little edgy, but yeah. He chose The Fallen Angel, you know the one that-” you pause, moving your arm over your face to mimic the famous painting while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel.

“Oh yeah, I think I know the one,” she agrees with a chuckle at your description. “I think I’ve seen-” she pauses as your car comes to a slow halt at a stop light. You shoot her a questioning glance when she remains quiet. “Speak of the devil. Isn’t that him?”

“Sukuna?” You question, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever Shoko’s looking at.

Sure enough, the pink-haired man in question is on the sidewalk along with two young kids. He seems frustrated, his hand flying in the air in obvious exasperation and you wonder what his relation to them is. Your first thought is that they could be his, but the older of the two kids is just a bit too old to make that assumption.

Still, you didn’t take Sukuna as someone enthusiastic at the thought of being a babysitter.

“Shit, that is him,” Shoko confirms for herself. When the light turns green, the car jolts forward as you pull through a lane abruptly to turn and grab street parking very suddenly. “Woah, what are you-? You can’t be serious.”

“I-” your words die in your throat. Are you serious? What are you doing? It’s not like you’re friends. Are you here to confront him about not showing up? No, you aren’t really even mad, just frustrated at most. Your mind flashes back to how he’d looked the week before, like he could pass out at any moment, and you wonder if you’re here out of concern. “I don’t know,” you mumble, parking your car and hopping out.

“You are serious,” she mutters more to herself than you as she watches you leave the car with a sigh, following a short distance behind you.

The day is relatively warm for the early fall, the sun shining high overhead and providing a comfortable escape from the brisk breeze. Leaves are losing their vibrant green colors overhead, replaced with beautiful hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, and the sound of them rustling in the breeze is refreshing.

From around the corner, you can just barely make out Sukuna’s words. You were right to assume he was frustrated.

“Give it back to your brother,” he instructs, his voice a near-growl, but as the younger of the two kids whines in complaint, you can tell neither kid seems all that intimidated even by the almost seven-foot-tall man made of pure muscle who towers over them.

“No!”

“C’mon brat, I don’t have time for this,” he hisses out, voice rife with irritation. As you round the corner, lightly jogging up to Sukuna, you watch his gaze slowly turn to land on you and Shoko, his eyes widening for a moment as his expression shifts to surprise. For a moment you even think you see horror flash through his eyes, but he masks it all with his usual disinterested expression before you have time to think much about it.

“Sukuna?”

“That’s me,” he grumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” The younger of the two boys bounds up to you, blatantly ignoring Sukuna as he waves to Shoko behind you.

You grin at him, kneeling down to his height as you greet him with your name. His eyes are filled with delight and as you get back to your feet, you put the pieces together. These must be Sukuna’s little brothers. Although the older of the two doesn’t particularly look like him, the youngest is a near carbon copy of Sukuna, only lacking his tattoos, piercings, and his signature attitude.

“What a cutie,” you coo at the little boy, who can’t be any older than five. The older of the two boys doesn’t resemble Sukuna in the same way Yuji does, with sunken eyes and unkempt long brown hair, he looks to be about eleven… and he also looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“Don’t feed his ego,” Sukuna huffs, watching you interact with Yuji with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Look! Look!” Yuji excitedly holds his hands out to you. You recognize an old GameBoy in his hands, something you’re sure you have hidden away somewhere in your own apartment from your childhood.

“I had one of those when I was young,” you tell him, glancing up at Sukuna whose left brow slowly raises.

“Really? Do you like Pokemon?”

“Yuji, that’s enough. Leave her alone and give it back to your brother,” Sukuna instructs, his frustration laced within his words.

“No! Choso’s playing it wrong,” he argues.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to burst. If he were a balloon, he’d be floating dangerously close to a pin, and it’s in that moment that you finally get a good look at him. If you thought he looked sickly last week, he looks like he’s about to collapse now.

His eyes are sunken, skin pale, and although he’s making an effort to mask it, his focus seems as though it’s drifting while he simply stands there. His hair is disheveled in a way that doesn’t look intentional and there’s a stain on the abdomen of his shirt. Which, to your surprise, is also a uniform for a local food distribution warehouse. He’s wearing cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a blue polo shirt. It’s a strange look for him, but you’re more concerned about the fact that he seems to be swaying, he’s so tired.

“I wasn’t playing it wrong!” Choso argues back, leaping at his brother as they get into a scuffle, and it’s barely a split second before Yuji is in tears alongside Choso.

“Fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off, taking a step forward.

Instinctively, you step in before Sukuna needs to. “Hey, hey!” You coo softly, leaning back down to them. “Why don’t you both play together?” Yuji’s sobs don’t stop at your suggestion, although Choso backs away from the younger boy, listening to what you have to say with a heartbreakingly sad expression over something so simple. Life was so much easier at their age.

“How?” Yuji asks through sobs.

“Why don’t you take turns? It’s Pokemon, right?” You ask, earning a nod from Yuji as he sniffles and wipes his face, his sleeve absolutely covered in tears and snot already. “Why don’t you pass it over between each battle?”

Yuji stares at you skeptically, as though the little boy cannot possibly fathom sharing. Choso quietly waits for his brother to come to a conclusion as his sniffles subside, all the while Sukuna just watches the entire scene unfold with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Yuji finally agrees in a small voice. “But I go first!”

To your surprise, Choso seems fine with this as they both crowd around the game.

When you stand back up, you’re happy to find that Sukuna looks absolutely relieved.

“Fuck, thought I’d never hear the end of that,” he mumbles, making you wonder if that’s his begrudging way of thanking you.

You chuckle quietly, crossing your arms over your chest with a small shrug. “I’m good with kids,” you tell him. He eyes you for a moment, humming, but doesn’t say anything. After a brief silence, you glance back up at him to find the tall man’s tired gaze still boring into you.

“Ask,” he instructs.

Your brow raises. “Ask?”

“You wanna ask where I was today, right?”

That obvious, huh? “I did wait for an hour.”

A hint of a smirk graces his lips as he snidely comments, “y’know, I’m sure I’ve had other women wait longer.” You aren’t sure how he expects you to react, but the way you raise a brow and don’t entertain his lewd implications clearly doesn’t encourage him to continue. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he clicks his tongue and turns his head away from you. “Had to pick up a shift at work. Was gonna text but the little brat broke my phone yesterday.”

“Sorry, Kuna,” Yuji’s voice is small as you realize he’s been listening the whole time now that Choso is holding the GameBoy. His cheeks are puffy and red still from crying, but god he sure is a mini Sukuna.

“Kunaaaa?” You coo teasingly at the absolutely adorable nickname.

“He can’t say my name,” Sukuna grumbles, suppressing his irritation as best as he can, given that you did save him from further arguments with his brothers and he did already test his limits with you anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles in distaste at the nickname as he stares at the ground with a huff.

“That’s so cute!” You practically squeal, eyes bright as you grin at the hulking mass of anger and maybe even embarrassment as his cheeks heat up before your eyes.

“Shut up,” he hisses, still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s alright, by the way. We can figure out another time to meet.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll text-” he cuts himself off, blinking at the realization that he has no phone. “I’ll email you or some shit.”

“Email. Right,” you sarcastically tease with a tilt of your head. A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw visibly twitches and he huffs.

“Take it or leave it.”

You raise your hands in the air defensively, unable to help your amused smile. As silence falls over the both of you, interrupted only by Choso’s quiet commentary to Yuji about their game, you let your expression morph to one of concern again. Your lips part to ask if Sukuna’s alright, but he beats you to it.

“I’m fine.” His voice is low and strained and you both know you don’t believe him.

“You look it,” you challenge him sarcastically.

Sukuna’s jaw tenses as he stares you down as if daring you to challenge him again. Luckily for him, you’re willing to let it go.

“Do you guys need a ride somewhere?” You ask, glancing back in the direction of your car. Shoko is probably itching to get to the bar, though surely she won’t mind your offer given that the man in front of you looks like he could melt into a puddle if it only meant he could sleep.

“No.”

“Yeah!”

Sukuna and Yuji stare at one another as they both respond at the same time.

“No. We’re fine,” Sukuna growls, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.

“I don’t wanna walk anymooooore,” Yuji complains, shooting Choso a pleading look. Catching on, Choso shoots Sukuna a pair of puppy dog eyes. God the two of them are just adorable.

“No, both of you. Cut it out. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops an octave as he hisses the last word.

“I really don’t mind,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him in an attempt to keep your words between the two of you.

“I don’t need your help,” Sukuna protests, taking a step towards you with massive muscular arms folding over his chest as his polo shirt is pulled taut from the movement.

“So if I give you a little push, you won’t fall over and pass out?”

“No.” He scowls defensively as he stares back at his two brothers, not noticing the way you slowly reach your hand out before shoving him lightly. He sways backwards slightly, catching himself before he actually does fall over as he swats at your hand. “Fucking- What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grouses, voice dripping with irritation and anger, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He just looks tired.

“Let me drive you where you need to go and I’ll stop,” you taunt, moving your hand forward to shove him again.

Now paying attention, he grabs your wrist before you can push him. “Christ, you’re almost as much of a brat as my brothers,” he huffs, fiery eyes hyper-focused on your cheerful demeanor in spite of the fact that he’s been nothing short of snappy with you since you first showed up. “You’ll stop because I said so, not because I’m agreeing, got that?”

You shrug, shooting him a smile that says you won. “Whatever you say, Sukuna.”

He drops your wrist with a dramatic sigh before ushering his brothers after you as you turn to make your way back to your car.

“Can’t say I know what just happened,” Shoko whispers in your ear as she walks alongside you to your car. “But I’m surprised he agreed.”

“I’m not. He’s barely awake,” you tell her as you both cast a glance back at him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he bickers with his brothers, telling them to keep up if they want a ride from you.

“Yeah, he looks like shit,” she chuckles with a shake of her head. Never one to beat around the bush, but she is right.

Unlocking your car, you open the back door as Sukuna lifts his youngest brother into the backseat, grumbling about the two boys needing to behave before he climbs in himself, completely blocking your view through your rearview mirror.

He huffs and puffs as he gives you his address, choosing not to say a word throughout the ride as he listens to you chat with Shoko, muttering only the occasional “cut it out” or “stop that, brat” to one of his brothers.

Rolling up to what you assume is his apartment, you put the car in park and turn your attention back to the boys, putting on your best radio voice.

“Thank you for riding, please exit to your left and have a greeeeeat day!” You earn a sweet laugh from Yuji and a calm smile from Choso for your antics. You can practically feel Sukuna’s exasperation as it comes off of him in waves, clearly done with the world for the day, but you don’t miss the silent relief gleaming in his eyes.

“What do you say?” Sukuna gruffs, nudging the youngest of his brothers who you’re obviously putting on the show for.

“Thank you, miss!” He grins brightly as Sukuna opens the door and lowers him to the ground. He hands Choso a pair of keys, nudging them along to the door of the run-down building. To your surprise, he shuts the door and comes around to your side, knocking on the window.

You tilt your head as you roll down the window.

“Thanks…” he trails off as though the word is sour on his tongue, shooting a glance at Shoko in a silent gesture of thank you to her as well.

“No problem. Go get some sleep,” you tell him softly. Frustration flashes through his eyes as you tell him what to do but he’s not about to lash out at the person responsible for his grade who also gave him a ride home. Even he’s not that much of an asshole.

He sets a hand on your hood, pausing for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up more than it already was. “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone, yeah?”

You tilt your head, exchanging a glance with Shoko as he looks between the two of you. “Yeah. No problem.”

His hand slides off your car as he rounds the vehicle to follow after his brothers. He pauses to cast a glance at you, before pushing into the front lobby of his apartment building and out of sight.

Silence falls over both you and Shoko as you watch the tattooed man disappear into the building when Choso holds the door open for him.

“That was fucking weird,” Shoko comments.

“Hm?” You hum as you pull out of the apartment, unsure of what she means. Of course Sukuna would have a life Shoko had never thought about, it’s not like they were close, you aren’t sure what she was expecting.

“He wasn’t a complete dick.”

Shooting Shoko a confused glance, you purse your lips. “Is he known for that? I thought he was just a bit of a delinquent.”

“Yeah, that too, but he’s pretty well-known for being snappy with people and snarky to profs.”

“Oh,” you blink twice in thought, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know. He’s pretty quiet in Art History, this project is the first time I’ve ever talked to him. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Huh,” Shoko shrugs, “guess you’re on his good side, then.” She sighs, leaning back in her seat once again. “Oh well, you have blackmail on him anyway, so there’s no way he’s bailing on you now,” she grins with a teasing smirk.

Your eyes widen and you move your elbow to nudge her. “Absolutely not, and don’t you think about it either!”

Shoko chuckles, though you know she wouldn’t anyway. Much like you, she’s too kind to spill Sukuna’s secrets to the school, regardless of her opinions or thoughts on him.

–

As you return home from the bar late that night with a comfortable buzz that had left you needing to keep your car at the bar overnight, you pour yourself a glass of water and open your laptop on your bed, letting it boot up while you change into an oversized cozy beige hoodie with little bows adorning the sleeves.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands and throwing on a pair of shorts, you run a hand through your hair and log into your laptop, pulling it onto your lap to browse social media, when something catches your eye.

You don’t pay much attention to your email inbox most of the time. Maybe you should, after all the college sends you a fair amount of emails and you’ve missed some in the past, but what catches your eye is certainly not from the faculty.

It’s a response to the document you sent Sukuna via email last week.

Oh shit, he was serious about sending you an email.

Maybe it’s because you're drunk, or maybe it’s because the idea of the nearly seven foot tall tattooed man who you’d watched leave class once just to smoke sending you an email of all things is a truly funny thought, but you snicker to yourself as you open it.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 1:17 AM hey. you around this weekend

Your snicker turns to a full laugh as you read the message. You can’t decide if the message feels like a sad attempt at a booty call, an old man attempting to text via email, or an embarrassing attempt to save his bruised ego since he can’t text you.

You’d learned from Shoko at the bar earlier that Sukuna has quite the reputation. Supposedly he’s known for bringing a woman home at every party, for being able to smooth talk his way into the bedroom in spite of his usually grumpy and ill-mannered demeanor, and for being able to always get what he wants even though he has a reputation for being an asshole. So it’s hard not to laugh when that same man is the one who just sent you the most awkward email. At one in the morning. On a Saturday.

Oh my god.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:12 AM Hey Sukuna! I’m around tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday. Did you have time to work on the project?

You hit send and shut your laptop, deciding to brush your teeth and begin getting ready to get some rest. Taking off your makeup and brushing your hair, you finish up your nighttime routine and decide on a whim to see if your project partner has responded to you.

Getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard of your bed, you open your laptop again. To your surprise, your inbox has gone up by one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:19 AM cool. come by mine tomorrow whenever

You snicker to yourself as you read the message again. He’s certainly not fighting either the sad booty call or old man texting via email allegations.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:23 AM Had to leave my car at the bar, did you wanna come by my place?

To your surprise, it’s only a couple of minutes later when he replies.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:25 AM uhhh i gotta watch over the brats

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM Bring them!! They’re so cute :)

You can practically feel his irritated grumbles through the screen when not even a minute later he responds.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM fine. address and time

With a satisfied smile, you let him know to drop by at two in the afternoon and send him your address before shutting your laptop.

As you lay down in bed, you can’t help but wonder what a strange little world you’ve somehow managed to squeeze your way into. Sukuna’s world. Maybe it’s because he’s easy to tease, maybe it’s the undeniable fact that he’s a good looking guy, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually surprised you more than once now and you’re somewhat enjoying the project more than you initially thought you would, but you can’t help but find yourself fascinated by him.

Come to think of it, you wonder if maybe Shoko’s comment has something to do with it. You think back to the way that she mentioned that he was oddly agreeable and, well, not a dick, and you wonder if it’s a curiosity to get to know this side of Sukuna that no one seems to know that compels you to be laying in bed at two in the morning thinking about the situation.

Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.

–

Glancing at the clock, you have half a mind to wonder if Sukuna will actually show up. Sure, he was the one who reached out, but maybe you should have just bussed to your car rather than waiting on Shoko to drive you to it and gone to his place on your own given that you can’t text him to ask where he is and it’s almost two thirty in the afternoon.

You could email him.

No… no. You aren’t about to email him.

You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.

Returning to your coffee, you keep at your work, refining your notes until you have something you think you can confidently write a full thesis about, when finally there’s a buzz at your door.

Speak of the devil. You buzz him up and there's a knock at your apartment door a few moments later.

“Cut that out,” Sukuna hisses practically the moment you open the door. You raise a brow at him and he sighs. “The brat, not you,” he clarifies, nudging Yuji.

You shoot him a sweet smile, suppressing a chuckle. Sukuna is dressed in a leather jacket, a plain white V-Neck and a pair of ripped jeans. In comparison to his usual baggy cargo pants and hoodie, he almost seems like he’s dressed up a bit and you can’t help but smile at the thought. More importantly though, the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a bit faded in comparison to when you had spotted him yesterday and you can tell he was able to get a bit of rest.

Yuji is excitedly looking up at you and attempting to tug on Sukuna’s hand while Choso stands behind his brother silently, his expression neutral.

“Hey guys, c’mon in.” You grin as you open the door for them, watching Yuji bound in ahead of his older brothers. He begins looking around with wide eyes, so full of wonder and excitement that you can’t help but smile.

“Such sweet kids,” you comment as Sukuna stands beside you, sighing as both brothers practically run to the sofa, looking around your little apartment excitedly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You giggle at Sukuna, nudging him playfully. The glare he shoots you as he grunts seems to lack the usual malice his expressions hold and he runs a hand through his well-groomed hair, motioning for you to lead the way.

You show him to your little desk at the back of the apartment, pulling up a kitchen chair for yourself as you give him your office chair. He silently obliges, sitting down with his legs spread.

“One moment,” you mumble, heading into your room briefly before reappearing with none other than your old GameBoy, complete with a copy of Pokemon Ruby. Sukuna’s gaze is tethered to you and although his expression doesn’t change, you see surprise flash across his crimson irises as you walk up to the boys, kneeling in front of them.

“Choso, do you want to use my old GameBoy?” You ask the brown-haired young man, holding it out to him. His eyes are wide with surprise as Yuji’s jaw drops open. Choso nods, not saying a word as he flips the device and eyes the game. If it’s even possible, his eyes widen further and he smiles shyly.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure. I bet there’s some neat Pokemon on that file,” you tell him.

The two boys exchange a grin and Choso thanks you profusely as he turns on the system.

“No problem. There’s a TV in my room, why don’t you two hang out in there and you don’t need to listen to your brother and I talk about boring art, hm?”

Yuji nods excitedly, bounding to his feet and grabbing your hand. Your heart swells at the action as you lead him and Choso to your room and hand them the remote. It takes all of a moment for both of them to begin bickering about what to watch, though you notice their arguments are fairly one-sided, with Choso being much quieter than his younger brother.

Leaving the two of them to their own devices, you make your way back out to Sukuna, who’s set his laptop on your desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He’s wearing a white band tee with a deep V-neck for a metal band you aren’t familiar with, though the sleeves are torn off. With arms crossed over his chest and tattooed muscular arms on display, it’s undeniable just how attractive he is.

The real surprise is when he turns his head to look at you and his sharp eyes are, strangely, filled with… well you aren’t quite sure. Uncertainty? Confusion?

You subtly tilt your head when you take a seat on the kitchen chair beside him. His chair spins to face you as he examines you.

“Is something wrong?”

Sukuna’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, before shaking his head. “Nah. Let’s just get this shit over with,” he grumbles, opening his laptop and turning his research document towards you. He’s clearly taken a look at yours, because his notes are in a similar format and he has about as much written as you, not to mention he’s put some work into research on the third painting you two had chosen.

Your brows raise as you read through it. “Wow, this is really good.”

He scoffs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

You chuckle in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to come off that way, I just-” you pause, leaning back in your chair. Aside from the subtle sounds of Pokemon and the TV in the background, the only sound that breaks the silence as you pause is the squeaking of your chair. “I don’t know. When you were late and then you just didn’t show up, I…” you trail off, not wanting to accuse him of something that clearly isn’t true.

“You assumed the worst.”

Your mouth opens but any words you had in your defense die on your tongue, casting your glance to the side as you search for something, anything, to explain your thought process. No matter what way you try to word it, you’re definitely the bad guy here.

“It’s fine. Everyone does.”

Your brow furrows but before you can ask what he means, Choso is surprising you as he taps on your arm. You turn your attention to the young boy, who’s looking up at you with gleaming eyes.

“You have Rayquaza,” he states, arms outstretched to show you a serpentine creature on the GameBoy.

Your curiosity twists to easy mirth as you smile at him. “I guess I do, huh?”

Choso’s arms fall back down in front of him as he stares down at the Pokemon. His eyes flicker up to you briefly, then back down. “You have Groudon too.”

You can’t help your amused laugh. He’s such a sweet and shy little boy, but he talks just like Sukuna. Straight to the point, blunt, and rather short. He may not look like Sukuna like Yuji does, but his speech is just like his older brother’s.

“Leave her alone,” Sukuna mumbles gruffly from beside you. Choso smiles up at him before bounding back to your room. You can hear the two of them gearing up to play the games together from across the apartment, the game’s music heard in mismatched double as they both turn up the volume.

Turning back to Sukuna, your trail of thought is completely gone. “What was I saying?”

“You got any music? The brat’s game’s been drivin’ me crazy,” Sukuna mutters. “Yuji broke my laptop’s speakers,” he sighs.

“He’s on a hot streak for breaking things, huh?” You giggle.

“Don’t get me started.”

You turn in your seat, pointing towards the wall where a table sits with a fairly nice record player on it, and a shelf of records. They’re organized by artist and their sleeves range from new-looking to clearly well-loved.

Getting to his feet, Sukuna follows to where you point, curiously staring at the spines of the records. He’s not exactly shocked by most of the choices, but a few of them do stand out to him, and you’re thankful when you hear him sliding something off the shelf and putting it on the player.

You recognize the melody in the air instantly, and grin when Sukuna sits down beside you again. “The Eagles?”

Sukuna doesn’t move as his eyes slowly trail to you. He hums after a moment. “It’s a good album. You have… alright taste.”

In truth, he doesn’t mind your taste in music. Sure, he may not be fond of all of your choices, many in fact, but it would seem the two of you are making a habit out of surprising one another as he has his next album choice in mind already.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckle at his dry attempt at being nice. The corner of Sukuna’s lips twitches up into a hint of a smile. It suits him.

As Hotel California blankets the air in warm strings and simple drum beats, the two of you are able to get a good amount of work done, putting your research together into one well-written and coherent thesis, one to be proud of.

Of course, you still need to put together an actual visual presentation to go with the thesis to be presented, but at least the bulk of the work is over with and you can feel confident in your project without concern anymore.

You have half a mind to get started on the visual portion now as well to get it all finished, but one glance at Sukuna tells you he’s tapped out, and either way you’ve gone through three records at this point as the final track on a Pink Floyd album comes to a close.

As silence falls over your project group, Sukuna lets out a sigh. It’s fairly dark in the room too as the sun sets, and when you check the clock to find it’s already six, you realize that’s likely why your stomach’s been making noises for the last twenty minutes.

“Why don’t you guys all stay for dinner?” You suggest, mostly out of politeness, but you can’t help but feel as though you’re drawn to him. You want to get to know him, know why he’s late so often, why he stays in school just to not show up for classes when it’s his money being blown. After all, it can’t just be his brothers or work, he likely only takes care of them while his parents are at work, surely.

Sukuna wearily glances between you and the door where his little brothers are, before shaking his head. “Nah, I can just make us somethin’ when we get back.”

“I insist,” you grin at him, watching the way a muscle twitches in jaw. “There are some great places nearby, we can just grab takeout while they play games, we’ll only be gone for a moment.”

He remains silent, arms crossed disdainfully over his chest before grimacing, giving in to your overly kind grin.

You settle on a curry restaurant just down the block and grab the boys’ orders, letting them know you’ll be right back. You’re sure you can trust Choso to look after his younger brother for twenty minutes.

As the chilly evening air hits your face, you let out a content hum, peering curiously back to see Sukuna falling into step with you. The two of you are a sight to behold, your appearance preppy and sweet decorated with autumnal colors fitting for the season, while he’s clad in leather and punk attire, the tones of his clothing purely grayscale.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his mild gaze locked in front of him.

“How old are they, your brothers?”

“Five and twelve,” Sukuna replies, fighting off a yawn and failing.

Amused, you smile up at him. “I’m glad you got some rest last night. I was worried about you.”

His brow twitches as he meets your kind smile. “Worried? About me?” He shoots you an incredulous look, scoffing. When you pout at him, he’s unable to hold back a smirk. It’s the first time you’ve seen him truly at ease and now that you’re alone with him, you notice that he actually seems to be somewhat relaxed.

“Yeah, maybe I was. Shoot me,” you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes.

He snorts, entertained, growing silent although the air that settles over you is comfortable now. Sukuna’s presence is surprisingly calming now that he isn’t constantly regarding you with disinterested gazes and irritated huffs. His expressions remain mild, but his brooding is more infrequent and the tension in his gruff voice has dulled. You would almost think he likes being around you.

As you come up to the curry restaurant, you lean into Sukuna with a point of your finger, silently telling him to enter the restaurant to your right. He pulls the door open for you, trailing closely behind. The atmosphere of the restaurant is busy, the employees behind the counter moving quickly to fulfill orders. Sukuna can only imagine how good the food must be given the line waiting to order, though you assure him it won’t take long.

He casts a glance up at the menu and frowns as he takes in the prices. He can afford to pay for himself, Yuji, and Choso, but not you. He has half a mind to say something, but his pride causes him to choke on the words. He inconspicuously pulls out his phone to take a look at his bank app to see if he can swing anything, but catches a glimpse of an employee not paying attention as he moves quickly towards you, all the while you’re not paying attention either, idly staring at the menu.

The employee about to barrel into you is holding a massive steel bucket and while Sukuna can’t see what’s inside, he doesn’t love the idea of you covered in water or worse.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he lowers himself slightly, locking a strong arm around your middle and lifting you off the ground. You yelp in surprise, eyes wide as you latch onto his arm for purchase, head whipping around in confusion until you find the employee now walking past the exact spot you were in with boiling hot oil in a bucket.

Your lips purse, a shiver running from the base of your spine up to your nape just as Sukuna drops you to the ground unceremoniously in front of him. Your heels land with a clack on the ground as you catch your balance, your eyes still trailing after the employee that hadn’t been able to see you over the jug of hot oil they carried.

“Pay attention,” he scolds you with a frown.

“Oh my god,” you mutter mostly to yourself, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally look up at your savior. Your eyes flicker down to his arms. Even covered in leather, the way his muscles ripple beneath the fabric with each movement he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Thank you, S’kuna.”

He shoves his hands in his pocket, nodding. The way you abbreviate his name is painfully close to the nickname he avoids as much as he can, but he can’t bring himself to correct you and in all honesty, he’s not sure why. He lets it slide, clearing his throat as he clears his mind of the way the name seems to shake him.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

His words feel like they should be scolding, but his tone doesn’t hold the same meaning. As he stares back up at the menu with a stitch in his horribly handsome brow, you can’t help but find yourself confused by the meaning of his words.

You don’t have much time to think about it as your turn to order comes and you find yourself at the counter, giving the employee your order before glancing back at Sukuna. His mouth parts and he hesitates.

“I- uh-”

You’ve never seen him dither in such a way and you tilt your head, blinking in confusion.

“I can’t-”

Frustration flashes through his eyes and you can see his jaw clench as he trips over his words. Flustered isn’t the right word, but his pride is certainly hurt as he finally manages to force out the explanation you need.

“I can’t afford to- uh-”

Again he pauses, his expression burning with irritation as his cheeks heat up, the admission coming at the cost of his ego.

Your face softens in understanding and your soft fingers wrap around his tattooed wrist, pulling him up to the counter.

“I’ve got it. I invited you to stay, it’s on me.” You hold your card out with a kind smile, but Sukuna doesn’t share your sentiment, anger flashing across the crimson of his eyes as he grits his teeth at you.

“I don’t need help,” he hisses, eyes narrowed as his walls go back up right before you.

“That’s not-” your eyes widen as you try to salvage the situation when Sukuna recoils suddenly. You hadn’t intended for him to take your words so personally, you’d just felt it was the right thing to do given that you had invited not only him, but both of his brothers over as well, and suggested the place to begin with. “You can get the next one,” you tell him in hopes of mending the bridge between you.

He examines your expression, finding no traces of malice or ill-will in your features. Frowning, he huffs as he turns to give his order to the poor employee who’d had the displeasure of witnessing Sukuna’s outburst. In his silence, you order for his little brothers as well.

With a dour sigh, the tattooed man moves along to the side to wait for the order, the fact that you paid leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You make your way over to him, leaving a small distance between you.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.”

“Really, I- I-” you stumble over your words as he glares at you. You suppose Shoko had warned you that Sukuna was notoriously an ass, but you hadn’t witnessed it first hand until now. Still, you can’t help but feel like what you’re witnessing isn’t that. At the end of the day he isn’t lashing out for no reason, it’s clear you struck a nerve and you can’t blame him for being hurt by it, even if it’s not what you intended and you don’t fully understand where he’s coming from.

“Drop it,” Sukuna growls, though his anger has subsided somewhat, his gaze cast to the wall.

You blink up at him, hating the way the world seems to hold its breath around you.

You can’t deny that the man who towers over you, covered in tattoos and piercings is intimidating. Between his gruff voice, his mild mannerisms and his disinterested demeanor, he’s tough to read and you really can’t afford to let a rift come between you when you still have to work on your project.

Your lips part to say something but one striking glance from those crimson eyes has the words dying in your throat. Your mouth goes dry as you wrack your brain for anything to stay, but draw a blank.

Sukuna’s brow knits together at the sight of your anxious expression and he shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing.

It takes him a moment to fully cool off and collect his thoughts, but he can see in your eyes that you genuinely meant no harm and he supposes it’s the right thing to do to give you a break for that. You’re just naturally kind and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that.

“It’s… fine,” he murmurs in a strained voice, nudging you with his elbow. You crack a smile at him, thankful when his body language seems to relax somewhat again.

You don’t dare say anything as you wait for your food, fiddling with your phone in your hands as you contemplate his reaction. You obviously hurt his pride unintentionally by offering to pay, but between skipping school for work and the fact that this restaurant isn’t by any means expensive, you have a guess as to why he might have been so affected, one that makes Sukuna’s entire demeanor and his exhaustion click into place like a puzzle.

Before you have a chance to ask him, unsure if you even want to, your name is called and Sukuna is grabbing your order. You reach out to grab one of the bags but Sukuna swiftly holds it overhead with a smirk that doesn’t quite meet his eyes as you pout playfully. He continues to hold the food overhead as he leads the way outside. Watching you trail closely behind him, standing up on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the bags, he raises a brow.

“Walk, brat.”

You shoot him a look, brow furrowed, before giving in and falling into step alongside him. He brings his arms down, holding the bags on his arms opposite you.

With your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sukuna’s earlier outburst, you bring your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals, taking note of the way you’re deep in thought. “Just fucking ask your question.”

Much like yesterday, Sukuna easily notices the way you glance at him uncertainly, the question on the tip of your tongue. It catches you off-guard how easily he reads you and you fall out of step with him, taking longer strides to catch up after you falter.

“I- um- do you-” you hesitate, casting a glance at his aloof expression. He seems at ease again and you don’t want to burn the bridge you’ve only just managed to mend, out of fear that another fire wouldn’t be put out so easily.

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise with pursed lips. Sukuna raises a brow at you, only a short distance ahead as he stops too, turning to face you. You can’t read his expression as it remains mild, his questioning brow the only sign that gives away any hint of his thoughts. In a few short strides, you’re back at his side.

“You’re… their guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Sukuna chews on his tongue piercing mindlessly as he watches the gears turn in your mind, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that had been laid out for you.

Of course Sukuna’s tired if he’s taking care of two young boys, going to college, working, cooking, cleaning, god the list can only go on. You wonder if the reason he seems so at ease right now, so quick to forgive you, is because he’s thankful for the break. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had time to himself.

“That’s why you missed yesterday.”

He shrugs. “You knew that already.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your turn to shrug. “I just thought it was a temporary thing.”

Sukuna lets out a humorless laugh. “Well it’s not.”

You’re not really sure how to react, in all honesty. You don’t want him to think you pity him, you can’t offer sympathy, you certainly can’t offer help. In your uncertainty, you find yourself continuing to fiddle with your phone, avoiding his gaze.

Sukuna quite simply… turns to leave, deciding to spare you of your discomfort, and him of any more blows to his pride. You jog after him, falling into step again. There are questions left unanswered and sympathies you want to extend, but you can’t bear the thought of hurting him again, even if it’s unintentional, so you bite your tongue.

The sounds of the city surround you, filling the silence. Sirens blare in the distance, trees rustle above you, and casual chatter comes and goes as you pass other groups of people on the way to your apartment. It’s all a welcome distraction as you continue to fiddle with your phone, the air between you two neither tense nor comfortable. It lies somewhere in between and you don’t dare tip the scales out of fear of making your counterpart uncomfortable.

“You play a lot of Pokemon growin’ up?”

Your eyes light up as Sukuna starts a conversation, finally tipping the scales back towards being comfortable.

“My best friend growing up really liked it, we played a lot of Ruby and Sapphire.”

“Same as the brats.” He scoffs playfully.

“Are you gonna pretend that isn’t your old GameBoy?”

He tilts his head in your direction, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And if it is?”

“Dunno, I might think you’re a bit of a nerd,” you tease, mindlessly chewing on your lip.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker down to your lips. He catches himself immediately, averting his gaze. “Tch.”

You giggle when he doesn’t refute your claim. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, your takeout bags dangling from his forearm.

As you arrive back at your apartment, Sukuna lets you unlock the door before grabbing and holding it open for you. His eyes trace your figure as you tread ahead of him with a skip in your step. When you turn back to him, realizing he hasn’t followed you yet, he blinks in surprise as he realizes exactly what he’s doing, shaking his head to clear it.

Why in the hell was he checking you out anyway? He doesn’t make a habit of hooking up with people who know him beyond face value. He mutters a ‘sorry’, relieved when you don’t seem to notice the way he’d so shamelessly checked you out.

Closing the door behind him, he sets the food on the table, tossing his jacket aside as you call his brothers, setting up a little dinner around your coffee table. Sukuna groans as he slips down onto the floor to eat, remaining quiet as he simply watches the way you cheerfully entertain both of his brothers’ antics.

Shoveling rice into his mouth, Sukuna stares down at his curry, contemplating the strange sense of warmth blooming in his chest. The feeling is so unfamiliar to him that he can’t place it. He has half a mind to drown the emotion in nicotine and the need to smoke grows quickly.

He’s so preoccupied in his thoughts, Sukuna doesn’t realize his little brothers have both run off back to your room, leaving the two of you alone.

“S’kuna?”

Striking pupils suddenly meet yours. He straightens from where he sits across from you on the couch, taking notice of the fact that you’ve already finished your dinner.

“Are you alright?”

Sukuna nods. “‘M fine.” Yet he can’t help but to drink in the sight of you, the way you look at him with so much care and he can’t understand why, the way your lips move so softly when you speak. The way your figure and curves would feel under his hands, the way you keep biting your lip… Sukuna shakes his head suddenly, getting to his feet as he chalks it up to lust. He’ll get over it at the next party he goes to. “Balcony?” He asks suddenly, pointing at the door at the back of your apartment.

You nod, watching in confusion as he rises suddenly and rushes out the door, pulling out a box of cigarettes. You hum to yourself, deciding to give him a moment. You’re not sure exactly what came over him, he seemed flustered even if only for a moment, but there was something else you noticed in his eyes, something darker you couldn’t identify.

Pushing that aside, you put the lid back over his food to keep it warm and check your phone to find Shoko’s been trying to reach you to go pick up your car. You let her know you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow since you’re with Sukuna as you wait for him to finish smoking.

After a few messages back and forth, you glance back outside at Sukuna. The way the muscles along his back ripple just from the act of breathing is eye-catching enough, but when he stubs out his cigarette and leans over the railing of your little balcony, your eyes trail to his shoulder blades protruding from the white material of his shirt.

Catching yourself holding your breath, you take a step forward and decide to check on him, closing the balcony door in your stead as you slip onto the small overlook behind him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you even as you lean beside him, his tired expression fixated on the street below. You rest a hand on his bicep as you tilt your head quizzically. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Ever aloof, you aren’t able to tell what he’s thinking as he turns to look at you. You, completely unaware that your touch has set his skin alight. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes have darkened a shade as his pupils dilate at your touch. Unsure what’s come over him, he simply hums affirmatively as an answer to your question.

Your brow knits together but you accept his response. He wonders if you know that you’re rubbing circles into the skin of his bicep and it’s driving him crazy. What the hell is it about you that’s got him horny like it’s his first year of college again? It frustrates him beyond belief, but maybe it’s just been too long since he’s slept with someone. That has to be it. It’s just lust. He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the action when you finally bring your attention out to the road in front of you both, removing your hand from him.

“Hey, um, what do you do at the supermarket?” You ask in an effort to create conversation with him.

“Stock,” he replies shortly, his tone as stoic as his expression.

“That’s not too bad,” you murmur thoughtfully, giggling to yourself suddenly. Sukuna’s brow raises. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you as, like, a cashier or something.”

“Why not?” He sneers, standing up straight and facing you, offended.

“Come on,” you giggle, “you’re not very talkative.”

“I can be,” he insists, taking a step towards you.

“Is that your way of proving it?” You provoke him with a grin.

He scoffs. “I just don’t have anythin’ to say,” he grumbles with a tense jaw, staring down at you. “‘Sides, I work with customers at my other job.”

Another job? You frown at his admission. How the hell is he managing this? How hasn’t he flunked out? “What other job?”

“Mechanic,” he states blandly.

“Really? Are you a big car guy?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Sukuna’s somewhat taken aback by the way you lean in, your full attention directed towards him. You seem to take such a genuine interest in him and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

A smirk pays at the corners of his lips as he decides to mess with you, loving the idea of keeping you on your toes and pushing your buttons. “Nah. ‘M just good with my hands,” he drawls as you present him the perfect opportunity to tease you back given how much of a hard time you’ve been giving him.

Your eyes widen at his euphemism, cheeks heating up as you grip the balcony railing harder. You avert your gaze in an attempt to save face, willing your heart to slow down to no avail.

You clear your throat. “I-I um, th-that makes sense,” you stammer, mentally facepalming at just how nervous your words come out. He has no right to be this hot.

“Not so talkative now, are ya?” He chuckles lowly, sliding from his position leaning on the railing beside you to rest his opposite hand on your other side, effectively trapping you.

You flip over to face him, leaning back against the railing with pursed lips. Sukuna grins at your mousey behavior, thrilling in the way you squirm trapped between him and the railing. “Sukuna?”

His heart pounds in his chest at the sound of his name coming from your lips and his smirk falters. Why the hell is his heart beating so fast? He forces his smirk again, moving his face down to your level in an effort to push away the strange feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, woman?”

Focusing on anything other than the man in front of you, you can only manage to mumble out a few ‘um’s and ‘uh’s. Sukuna chuckles at just how flustered you are, freeing you from the cage of his arms as he rests against the railing beside you again.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore your spiraling thoughts. And boy are they ever spiraling as you stare out at the street beneath you, attempting to focus on the passing cars and not your pounding heart. “Why are you in Art History?”

Sukuna’s lit another cigarette in the time that you’ve used to recover your thoughts. He looks calmer once again as smoke spirals from the glowing embers. “Required class.”

“R-Right.” You swallow, moving past your stammer. “What do you want to do?”

He pauses for a moment, taking a languid drag from the cigarette. A puff of smoke leaves his lips before he replies. “Dunno. I’m a history major.”

You wouldn’t have imagined the college’s resident bad boy to be a history major, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you remind yourself not to judge a book by its cover.

He runs a hand through his hair as you contemplate the idea of Sukuna as a history major and what he might do with that major given that you can’t envision him as a historian or a museum curator, and certainly not as a teacher.

“I’m thinking of swapping majors,” he admits. You examine his expression as he taps the edge of the cigarette with a finger. He shrugs, shifting his gaze to stare at the sidewalk beneath the both of you. “Starting to think history doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Sukuna?”

He casts you a glance, examining your attentive face. You’re so wholly invested in his words that it causes a pang in his chest. He subconsciously brings a hand up to his chest, scratching at it as if to cast the strange feeling away.

Setting the feeling aside, he finds himself scowling in thought. When he was considerably younger he’d wanted to pursue graphic design but he hadn’t had the luxury of thinking about his future for a while now. In truth, he’s not even sure why he’s in history right now. It interests him enough to keep him attentive but the career options are… few and far between and he can’t exactly afford to fuck around and swap majors constantly.

His minor in business makes more sense, at least he can do something with it, but… in truth, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s another page filed under ‘uncertainties’ in the book that is Sukuna.

You take his silence as an answer and shoot him a wry smile. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry to pry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I just dunno that either.”

Admitting to it feels shameful, almost, and frankly, Sukuna thinks he’s had enough of making a fool of himself in front of you today. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stands up and makes his way back inside. You follow after him, blinking as he begins packing up.

“I should go,” he mumbles, shutting his laptop and tossing it into his bag. He picks up his keys from your desk, shoving them in his pocket as he zips up his backpack. “Oh,” he stops his movements, hesitating for a moment. “I… Appreciate dinner.”

Your expression softens and you smile wholeheartedly. “No problem. You can take your leftovers, too. They’re still on the table,” you point over to the box you’d set the cover over. He nods, shutting it and tucking it in his bag as well.

With a tired sigh, he gathers his brothers, ushering them towards the doorway.

“Got anything to say?” Sukuna utters, staring down at both kids expectantly.

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, miss!”

You grin at both kids, kneeling down. “I hope you two had fun. You know, maybe you can convince your brother to come over again and I’ll pull out my old GameCube.”

With the expressions of jaw-dropping awe you’re getting right now, you would think you’d revealed to them the secret to happiness or something. Yuji leaps into your arms immediately, nearly toppling you over as he shoots a pleading stare at Sukuna.

Sukuna’s expression shifts to one of irritation as Yuji pleads with him, “Kuna! Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” that has you giggling at the way a vein in his forehead seems to pulse.

“Brat. Brat! Shut up, I’ll think about it, alright?”

Yuji nods cheerfully, counting straight to Sukuna’s leg to hug him, and the clear irritation on your classmate’s face immediately falters. Maybe he’s a bit of a softie after all.

Sukuna sighs heavily, reaching a long arm down to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Yeah, alright, kid. If she invites us.”

His voice is tired, albeit strangely soft. It’s almost like he’s a different person, and suddenly you can see why it is that he’s pulling such a terrible schedule. Despite the clear stress being a twenty two year old parent to two young kids is, he clearly loves them.

But this is Sukuna we’re talking about, so he doesn’t always know how to express that.

It’s sweet, really, and your heart melts at the sight.

“Go wait outside, you two.” Both kids run down the hall to the elevator as they excitedly ponder what games you might have, leaving you and Sukuna alone as he leans on the doorframe.

“You free next Saturday?” You ask once his attention returns to you.

“I can let you know. Depends on the auto shop’s schedule.”

“We can always do another day, whatever works best for you, Kuna.” Your voice holds a teasing lilt as you mimic Yuji’s entirely too adorable name for him.

“Don’t start with that,” he snarls, mumbling something about the name being annoying. Before turning to walk away, he decides to pay you back for all of your teasing with a jab of his own. “Don’t make a habit of getting oil dumped on you, yeah?”

What Sukuna isn’t expecting is for you to be able to match his teasing without a second thought. “What, I can’t email you for help?”

He snorts, smirking at the ground as he pushes himself off of the doorframe and begins to turn away. “See you around,” he says, raising a hand in farewell as he follows after his two brothers. Your eyes trail curiously after him until he’s out of sight, shutting and locking the door quietly.

In truth, you don’t expect to hear from him until maybe next Friday if you’re lucky, but to your surprise when you check your email later that night, your inbox has a new email from Sukuna. It’s still funny, to think that you’re communicating via email, but at least you aren’t giggling to yourself as you open this one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:04 AM brat stole your gameboy. meet at the fountain at noon monday

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:23 AM That’s alright!! He can keep it :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:27 AM no he needs to learn. noon at the fountain

With a sigh, you realize he isn’t about to relent and give in.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:28 AM Okay I’ll see you then Kuna lol

And oh if you could see the way Sukuna is guffawing and huffing at his screen, slamming his laptop shut as you call him the nickname he doesn’t want anyone to know. Yet here you are, barging into his life on all fronts and learning more about him than he wants.

The way his heart stutters, it actually stutters when he sees his inbox go up by a notification because he just knows it’s you and fuck why is it actually cute when you use that nickname?

Sukuna rubs a hand over his face and pulls his comforter up over his shoulder, sinking into the plush of his mattress as he tries to get some rest before his shift the next morning. He’ll deal with his other issues later.

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

❦ a/n ; hello!! thank you so much for reading i've been having an absolute blast with this. i've been working on this for a long time and it was initially intended to be about 25k, but after working on it for a month straight it hit that pretty quickly and i'm nowhere near done. aaaanyways, thanks for all the love and support and as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

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

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While Bradley thought it was unfair of the Navy to mess with him while he was still in his honeymoon phase, he certainly did love getting mail from you.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, Bradley being husband material, 18+

Length: 1700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

That autumn....

As soon as you led Bradley inside after he drove the two of you home from Salvatore's, you ran your fingers along his cheek and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You had a lunch picnic with Thai food on the beach. And then you got pasta for dinner. Do you have any other requests?" you asked, using your strict classroom voice which made Bradley's mouth water. 

"I do, actually," he whispered, melting into your touch. "How about some of that lingerie you picked out in Paris?"

The honeymoon was almost three months ago, but not an hour went by where Bradley didn't reminisce about the days he got to enjoy the view of the Eiffel Tower and the view of your ass while he fucked you. It always left him with a smile on his face. But his smile started to falter when he remembered that he was shipping out tomorrow, and he wouldn't return until after the New Year. At least he would be allowed to communicate with you this time. That was the only thing saving him from almost certain despair.

"I think that can be arranged," you told him with a smile, unbuttoning your top as he stumbled along after you. "But you have to wait out here until I'm ready."

Bradley groaned and leaned on the wall in the hallway, watching you bounce along to the bedroom without him while you laughed. He didn't mind waiting a few minutes, because he was going to love whatever you were about to do. He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

He hadn't even finished packing his duffle yet, because he didn't want this to feel real. He was planning on doing that tonight with your help, kissing you as you folded up his shirts and lined up his socks on the bed. But that was going to have to wait a few minutes. You opened the door to reveal the sheer nightie hugging your body as you pressed your thighs together and bit your lip.

Bradley was pushing away from the wall, heading right for you. "Gorgeous," he murmured, pulling you against him and walking you backwards to the bed. "Baby, I'm going to miss this too much."

His heart was pounding in his ears, hands full of your lace covered ass before you dropped to the bed on your back. "I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back.

"No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby." You grinned as you turned your head to the side, and Bradley stepped out of his remaining clothing before he climbed in bed. He was hovering above you, lips pressed to your ear as he whispered, "You'll wear the goodies for me, too. And you'll email me every mouth watering photo that you take of your fingers shoved deep in your pussy."

"Bradley," you whined, bucking your hips up until he had to hold you in place with his big hands on your body.

"I want a little treat every time you touch yourself. And I want to know that you're thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

Your words were an ego boost. Just the kind of thing that would get him through this work assignment and back into your arms. "When you're alone and thinking about me, I want some pictures, pretty girl. A whole inbox full of them. Some sweet ones," he crooned, kissing his way along your jaw to your lips. "And some dirty ones," he added, mouth teasing your skin until your nipple was between his lips and you were whining. He sucked gently, tugging until his lips popped free, leaving you begging for more with your fingers in his hair.

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

"I'm going to miss my wife," he crooned, guiding his cock inside your slick perfection as soon as you spread your legs. He rocked in and out of you slowly, enjoying the feel of your body and your voice and your sweet scent. Memorizing everything. Telling himself he could get through the time away from you as long as he could come back to this.

It was so late when Bradley finally left the bed. You and he were wrung out and fucked out. Fingers laced together, barely moving, unable to go for a fourth round. "That was wild," you laughed when he finally rolled away from you, dizzy as he stood and looked at the wrecked bedding around your naked body.

"Shit, Gorgeous." He was laughing, too as he said, "I still need to finish packing in the next five hours."

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?"

"Then I would say I love you."

----------------------------------

Waking up for work in a bed that was half cold was not your idea of a good time. You shivered every morning that Bradley was gone, especially when November brought with it a chilly bite to the air. The commute from Coronado to Mira Mesa and back each day felt like a punishment when you knew you weren't going to arrive home to a husband who was excited to see you and hear about your adventures in teaching.

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime.

And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

While you made it a point to spend time with Natasha, Edith, Ruby and Marty, the loneliness was somehow worse now that you had rings on your finger. The best thing to happen was the arrival of the day when your new fourth grade class started their unit on aviation.

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

Later that week, you had a sizable cardboard box packed up with letters and snacks for your husband. Instead of telling him exactly when the first package would arrive, you left it as a surprise for him to stumble upon.

-------------------------------

Bradley was exhausted. The mechanical crew on this deployment was nowhere near as kind or competent as Marty, and he found himself constantly visiting their shop to work through issues with his aircraft. He missed his friends and his home and his wife. He missed you so fucking much. All of the letters and emails you sent him were fantastic, but he even missed having a bunch of pen pals to converse with at the end of the day.

Every happy thought that entered his mind seemed to be pushed aside when he realized he was still a long way from returning to San Diego. He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall. 

The cabbage rolls were disgusting, but at least the aircraft carriers were consistent. He picked at his meal and then ate two plates of dessert to make himself feel a little bit better. When he was sorting his dirty dishes and tray into the appropriate place, he was surprised to hear his name being called amongst some others.

"Bradshaw! You've got unclaimed mail!"

He perked up immediately. How did he have something else to claim? He picked up an enormous envelope from you the other day along with a card from Edith. Did you send him a handwritten note again already?

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips. He could have some regular pen pals to correspond with again. His smile grew wider when he looked at the way you addressed the box to him in your tidy handwriting.

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

---------------------------------

Bradley has the ultimate pen pal in his wife. Thanks for reading this series which ended up being so much longer than originally intended! Thanks for all of the love and feedback along the way! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.9

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: prepare urself. next chapter may or may not be crazy. once again (the usual) spam of thank yous. all of your kind words both in replies and reblogs makes my heart sing. to those who said they want to be part of the taglist-- i reopened it! i might have missed those who recently asked to be on it so pls reply to this chapter so i can get you :( so sorry for my lack of meticulousness.

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Saturday

You had to call out the following Thursday and Friday. 

The cold you manifested was wreaking havoc on your body, the constant shivering now straining your muscles and bones. You couldn’t even find comfort in your bed, as you’d sneeze and cough, or dash to the bathroom during the waves of nausea. You were grateful to not have gotten frostbite, but damn this cold bites! 

It was nice to have some space away from work, and Nanami. You deduced that this cold was inevitable, as the stress that loomed over since your confession (and second rejection). But this wasn’t fun either, as you could barely make yourself a cup of coffee while also having to answer Haibara every few minutes, who wanted to make sure you were doing well. It was bittersweet to say the least. 

As you cuddle your heating pad meant for your tummy, you begin to scroll carelessly on your phone. Although it was your day off, and you were sick, you often liked to check your work emails. You like to be extra prepared for Monday, as those were the days when you have bigger workloads to tackle. As you scrolled, you stumbled upon an email directly from Takada shacho. Before you could open it however, there was a gentle knocking at your door. 

“Coming…” you say weakly, quickly finding a mask on your bedside table. Comforting the straps around your ears, you make a slow walk towards your door. You get on your tiptoes to look through the peephole, only to back away in shock and slight embarrassment. “N-Nanami kacho? What are you… doing here?” You proceed to cough. 

“I came to check on you,” Nanami hums from behind the door. “I know you’ve been sick due to my shortcomings. I wanted to see how you were faring.” 

“A-ah, I see,” you stammer nervously. You were hoping not to see him until Monday, but luck still remains anywhere but your side. “You could have just called me as well…” 

“I felt… that it would be best to come in person,” Nanami begins shyly. The sound of plastic shuffling joins. “I, um, also brought some things to treat you. If it’s okay with you, may I please come in?” 

You go a bit pale, “um… I don’t really want to get you sick. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come in and–” 

“I don’t care. I’d like to see you, and make sure you are well.” Nanami interrupts you with a stern tone. His words sounded non-negotiable, and you didn’t want to [fuck around and] find out if you refused his entry. Reluctantly, you unlocked your door and slowly opened it, revealing the tall man before you. 

His hair was once again messy, lazily pulled back with his fingers. He was covered in snow,  of course, but had gloves on to protect himself from potential frostbite. You look down at his two large bags he got from 7-Eleven. You move out of his way and let him place the bags down. He closes the door behind him, and begins to untie his scarf from around his neck. As he did, you offered your hands out to take it from him. 

“Let me,” you offer in a hoarse voice. 

Nanami looks down at you, “you’re sick. Thank you, but I can hang it myself. Please feel free to go back to bed.” 

“A-ah, but you’re my guest,” you insisted through weak coughs. “My mom would reprimand me if she saw the way I was hosting you right now. I haven’t even boiled tea…” 

Nanami, now just in a sweatshirt and his joggers, quickly puts on his slippers and offers his hand to you. You look up at him confused. “Come and sit down,” he coos, taking your hand and guiding you towards your living room. He gently allows you to take a seat on the couch, which is quite the relief considering you were exasperating just from answering the door. 

Through small coughs, you watch as Nanami brings his bags to the kitchen, and begins to unpack them. He silently takes out a few vegetables and cartons of broth. A pool of pill bottles also leave the bag, along with other cold suppressants. “Can I,” you start hesitantly, your index fingers looping around one another, “can I offer you a cup of coffee?” 

“No,” Nanami shot you down quickly, “I’d rather you rest than concern yourself with me. Though, the offer in your condition is very touching.” 

Your cold now felt like a fever, as your cheeks went completely hot. You looked crazy, your hair and makeup undone. Your pajamas were ornate with little ducks, and you don’t even have tea prepared. And here was this effortless, handsome man in your house, with a pot in his hands and his eyes navigating your tiny kitchen. It was an honor to see him outside of his work clothes, as it still made your heart run. 

“Are there any vegetables you don’t like?” Nanami asks gently. 

You sit up promptly, staring distantly towards the pot that was now full of water and preparing to boil. “I’m not a big fan of daikon in my soup,” you reply awkwardly. “A bit too strong for me.” 

Nanami looks over at you and gives you a small smile, “I would have never expected that you didn’t like daikon, Y/N.” 

“In soup, I’m not a fan,” you quickly mend the confusion, “soups are meant to be calming, not crazy.” 

“Daikon makes soup crazy?” Nanami continues, amused by your detest. 

“It’s a bit much,” You exclaim weakly. “Just me personally, I can’t deal with all that sass.” 

“Sass?” Nanami finally lets out a chuckle, “what a way to describe a vegetable you don’t like.” As he cleans the vegetables he provided, he couldn’t help but continue to smile. “So this is what you’re like outside of work,” he whispers to himself. But your ears catch his words quickly. 

You feel your cheeks burn from shyness. But as you stared at the back of Nanami’s head, you remembered all the tears you’ve shed these last 2 weeks. Your heart still hurts, even while sharing a warm conversation like this. He was still the man who you confessed to, and broke your heart twice. You look distant towards your window, seeing the snow slowly fall over the city. 

“You don’t have to cook for me, Nanami kacho,” you say quietly, “you have done enough, so thank you. I can do the rest from here.” 

Nanami purposely ignores you as he begins to chop a carrot. “What do I have to do in order to stop you from calling me kacho?” Your neck snaps back to look at him, noticing Nanami’s seriousness from his side profile. 

You drop your hands to grip the end of the couch, squeezing it to calm you down. “You’ve made it very clear what kind of relationship we have. It’s inappropriate otherwise, so from your perspective, I should proceed with calling you kacho.”

“Y/N, please.” 

“Please what?” A bit of attitude left the tip of your tongue. You jump in fear. Just because you were hurt doesn’t change the fact that Nanami is still your boss. The man that signs off your hours. ”Ah, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to use that kind of tone. I just… think it’s best that we revert back to honorifics.” 

“I disagree,” Nanami hums from the kitchen. He begins to look through your spice pantry (which you were surprised he knew where to find it) and pulls out your pepper. “How spicy would you like your soup?” 

“You told me that you are my boss, and I am your assistant,” you repeated his words from the night before. “You want comradery but don’t see me as anything beyond your colleague.” You tighten your grip on your couch. “And...not so spicy, for the soup.” 

You were sick. Having to bring this conversation up once more was making you even sicker. 

“Y/N, I misspoke,” Nanami says firmly, closing the pot with a lid to allow the soup to simmer. He grabs a glass from your cupboard and goes over to pour water from the pitcher. Pouring the water generously, he makes his way over to you with a few of the pills he purchased. “Here, I have a few supplements you can take now. The painkillers will be for after you eat.” 

“I know how to take care of myself,” you murmur. Nanami takes a seat next to you, pouring the pills into one hand while carefully handing you the water in the other. Lowering your mask, you swallow the pills like morsels, and follow it with sips of water. “Feel free to go after this. Thank you for setting up the soup, I can take it from here.”

Nanami eyes your face, making you blush even more. You were thankful that you were sick, as the hue on your cheeks can be explained by your current health. Putting the cup down, you quickly busy yourself once more by taking the decorative blanket on the couch and covering yourself with it. As you did, a finger appears before your face. You halt, watching as Nanami begins to drag some sort of salve on your lips. His middle finger gently drags the petroleum-like substance against your bottom lip, before swiping the rest against your top lip. 

You could explode right then and there. Your nausea wave was a bit more intense, but more so from the intensity of Nanami’s gaze, and his touch against your chapped lips. Your heart was beating hard, and you couldn’t move. Like yesterday, you were frozen. His touch, despite his muscular stature, was gentle, soft. It felt like butter. 

“S-sorry,” Nanami immediately pulled his hand away. He quickly looks away from you, hints of pink at the edge of his cheekbones. “I overstepped. I’m very, very sorry Y/N.” 

“It’s fine,” you quickly spew, “just… wash your hands before you touch anything else or yourself. I would hate for you to get sick because of me.” 

“A-ah, right,” he concurs, quickly jogging to the kitchen to wash his hands. Drying his hands with a towel, he once again joins you on the couch. “I will admit, I didn’t just come here to care for you. I wanted us to… discuss more about our conversation the other night.” 

Here he goes. Opening a wound that is long but healed. “What else is there to talk about?” You say, coughing a bit to clear your throat. You felt light headed from how congested you are, especially since talking so much. And now, Nanami was forcing you to engage in a conversation that led to your feelings being hurt more. “We both expressed our feelings to one another, and came to the conclusion that our relationship should strictly stay as a coworker dynamic.” 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Nanami begins quietly. His eyes keep at your coffee table, with fingers weaving together slowly. He looks pensive, like he’s looking for the right words to say. But even within those thoughts, he was uneasy. “Hold on.” In a moment, he pulls off his sweatshirt, revealing himself in a black, skin tight shirt. This would be the first time you truly saw his physique, seeing as the shirt hugs into the dents and divots of his pecs and abs. The short sleeves give temptation to his muscular arms. His torso was enough to make any woman submissive. 

You look away, but still hold your ground, “if that is the case, then I’d like to apologize again for my feelings towards you. I’m working on letting them go so they no longer pose as a nuisance or discomfort for you. And if need be, I understand if you’d rather distant our work relationship, or transfer me back to Sales.” 

This is when Nanami faces you again, “Y/N, look at me.” 

His tone wasn’t aggressive nor strict, but you felt submissive to his request. You slowly turn, your eyes finding their way to his own. Hazel eyes bore into yours, and you noticed his bottom lip snug between his teeth. 

“That night when you confessed to me, I didn’t quite understand what it all meant for me,” Nanami begins quietly. He tightens his hold on his hands. “I’ve never really known what to do when people confess to me. But I was so used to not reciprocating those feelings that rejecting them was as easy as breathing.”

“You’re a little too good at it,” you let out, your heart jolting from the memory of the rejection. 

“And for that I apologize,” Nanami quickly spews, “not only for hurting your feelings, but for lying to you.” 

“Lying to me?” You felt your forehead going hot. “About what?” 

“About my feelings towards you,” Nanami’s tone hinted at a dash of embarrassment, “Admittedly, not even I knew I was lying to you until I finally gave it some thought.” 

You could only stare at him, trying to find some sense in his face. But as you stared at him, you noticed a break of conviction in his hazel eyes. His usual professional demeanor was absent, leaving you with a Nanami you’ve never met before. His confidence wavers, and before you was a red-faced, shy man. 

“Kento,” you begin, causing him to jump from his first name leaving your tongue. “I’d feel worse if you’re feigning liking me for the sake of making up with me. I told you, it is my fault for liking you.” 

“If you’re taking fault for that,” Nanami begins, his eyes diverting away from you, “then it is also your fault for making me like you back.” 

Huh? You felt hot, cold, and dizzy. His words were nauseating, and you were confident you were green in the face. Your hands and arms shake with nerves, goosebumps ornate all over your body. Before you could even utter another word, you feel yourself going faint. 

“Y/N?” Your name sounded distant. Before you knew it, your eyes flutter shut, pitch black surrounding you. 

Taglist:

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

[nezuscribe]

you try not to get jealous. it does you no good. but sometimes you get a little miffed when it comes to how women treat your husband, arranged!gojo.

you see how the women giggle at him, how they bite their lips whenever he walks by. you see them giggle to each other, way they try to catch his attention.

and though most ladies of the high society act this way, some of the servants around the estate, the women of the town, and others behave like this too.

they act as if he’s not married, as if that ring on his hand is purely for decoration. and sure, maybe a couple months ago it was for show but now things have changed and you don’t appreciate those ladies all that much.

and gojo notices.

he knows you’re getting better at talking to him about what ails you, but he also knows that it’s a a lot to get used to at once. he sees the way you tense up at their whispers, the glares you throw their way when you hear his name in their conversation. he understands because he’s the same as you, his feelings mirroring yours.

so he decides to comfort your worries a bit indirectly.

“what…” you whip your head around as gojo stops at a corner, taking you away from your fear time with shoko as he fails to give any explanation for his hurried responses, “what are you doing? you have that meeting with your counsel and-”

“missed you,” is all he’s able to say as he slams his lips onto yours, earning a surprised yelp in response.

your back hits against the stone wall, one of his hands against your head to protect it from bumping back as your gasp in surprise, letting him slide his tongue in your mouth as he sloppily kisses your lips.

“satoru, w-wait,” you try to stop yourself from whining out loud, your fingers cuing into his artic strands as his hands move down to hold your waist, “it’s daytime, p-people, people can come…” you can’t speak anymore because he doesn’t let you, lips slotting against each others as your eyes screw shut, heartbeat in your throat as he hands squeeze as your skin.

“i missed you,” he just repeats, nipping slightly at your bottom lip as you mewl, feeling his lips trail down your chin to your throat as you tilt you head upwards to give him a better angle.

you almost want to laugh because it’s only been hours since you’ve seen each other, but for gojo it feels like days since he’s seen you.

you peek slightly too look at him, see the way his lips attack your skin, sucking and biting, surely leaving marks as he makes his way down. you love the way his hair is slightly wavy, most likely from his bath after sparring.

you’re almost too intoxicated from his feverish kisses to notice the sounds of incoming footsteps, but the loud overbearing giggles is what pulls you back to reality.

you tense up, scrambling to push him away from you but he won’t budge. if anything, he seems to be motivated, moving back up to your lips to steal your words away.

“t-there’s people coming!” you try to warn him but he doesn’t seem to care, his blue eyes gleaming with a different look as your whine from one of his hands moving upwards to your chest, giving one of your breasts a light squeeze.

“so?” he murmurs, lips hovering against the corners of yours as his brow cocks upwards.

you go to say something else but he tilts your chin upwards to meet him, one hand balancing on the wall behind you, one on your hip, his hair messy from your fingers gripping at him.

you don’t feel like moving, too drunk off of him to even notice the ladies as they round the corner, not looking their way as you hear their squeals of shock, the way they try to hurriedly leave.

you glance slightly to the right as gojo moves back down to your neck to get a look at them, your fingers still tangled in his hair, one hand draped over his neck, squinting slightly as you remember their faces from last week, when you overheard them talking about your husband.

there’s a slight tilt in your lips as you hear their scrambled apologies, the way they try to leave as fast as they can. you try not to gloat too much in their looks of envy and jealousy.

and if you focused just enough, you could feel the smile on his lips.

“you missed me?” you ask a little breathless, a coy tilt to your voice.

“so much,” he mumbles as he glances up at you from his white lashes, his pupils blown wide, lips messy with spit, red and swollen as he presses a slopping kiss to the slight skin showing of your chest.

“you’re so immature,” you chide, trying to look away, the hide the bashfulness in your face but his hand cups your jaw, pulling your face back down to see his.

“they had to see for themselves,” he tells you, his voice wavering on something darker, “had to see who the only lady gojo is.”

and you smile, eyes a little hazy as your fingers slightly tug on his soft strands, reveling in the way his eyes roll back and his lips find their way back up to yours.

yeah jealousy wasn’t the best. but thank the gods your husband was just as petty as you.

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances as his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him, and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and give a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There’s voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There’s some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night, a fighter, crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[gilbertscurls]

Treat You Better ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt could treat you better than your current boyfriend. he's sure of it.

It’s raining, of course.

Matt pulls his hood tighter around his face, eyes cast down as he trudges through the wet pavement on his way to class. The rain isn’t that heavy, just a slow drizzle, but it feels heavier with every step, like the sky is mocking him. The world around him feels gray, blending into the dull ache he’s been carrying for weeks now, ever since you started dating him.

Matt clenches his fists in his pockets, trying to shake the thought away, but it clings to him, relentless. It always does.

He imagines you now, sitting in his car, laughing at some joke as the two of you drive to class together. He picks you up every morning, without fail. The perfect boyfriend.

And Matt? Well, Matt walks alone.

He can picture it so clearly: the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, like you don’t have a care in the world. He can almost hear your voice, light and carefree, filling the silence of the car, a sound that he’s only ever heard from a distance.

Because you’re not his.

In his head, though, you are. In his daydreams, in the moments when he allows himself to think about you—and God, does he think about you all the time—you’re his. You’re sitting next to him, your hand in his, your head resting on his shoulder as you talk about everything and nothing. You’re his, not some guy who doesn’t even seem to appreciate what he has.

Matt kicks a loose rock down the road, watching it skid along the pavement before it disappears into the gutter.

He hates that guy. Not just because he’s your boyfriend, though that’s a big part of it. But because Matt knows—he knows—that he could treat you better. He knows that when you’re feeling down, he’d be there for you in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t let you hide your pain behind that brave smile you wear so well. He wouldn’t just brush it off like it’s nothing, the way your boyfriend seems to do.

Would he hold you when you’re feeling low?

Matt shakes his head, trying to clear the thoughts that are starting to spiral. It’s not his place. It never was.

He stops at a red light, watching the cars pass by, and his heart sinks when he sees a familiar car pull up to the intersection. Your boyfriend’s car. And there you are, sitting in the passenger seat, looking out the window with that same distant expression you sometimes get when you think no one’s watching.

Matt bites his lip, hands tightening in his pockets. He knows he should look away, should keep walking, but he can’t. Not when you’re right there, so close yet so far away.

As the light turns green, your boyfriend’s car pulls forward, and Matt watches as you disappear down the street. The rain continues to fall, soft but unrelenting, and he’s left standing there, alone again, wondering how he ended up here.

He doesn’t even remember when he started falling for you. Maybe it was that day in biology class when you partnered up for a project, or maybe it was when you started hanging out more with his brothers and him, laughing with Nick and Chris in a way that made Matt’s heart twist with something unnameable.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now.

Because you’re not his.

But, God, if it were him, he would love you in a way that would make you feel like you were the only person in the world. He’d hold you close when you felt like everything was falling apart, he’d be there for the big moments and the small ones. He’d make sure you never had to feel alone again.

Matt swallows the lump forming in his throat. He’s never been good with these kinds of things—feelings, emotions, letting someone in. But with you, it’s different. With you, he wants to try. He wants to let you in, to show you the side of him that he hides from everyone else, the part of him that’s terrified of rejection but even more terrified of missing out on something real.

If only you weren’t with him.

Would he say he’s in love?

Matt snorts bitterly to himself. He doubts it.

Sure, your boyfriend’s got the car, the looks—everything Matt doesn’t. But does he love you the way Matt would? Does he even know how lucky he is to have you?

Matt kicks at another rock, his heart heavy in his chest.

You deserve more than someone who treats you like a prize to be shown off. You deserve someone who looks at you like you’re their entire world, someone who holds you when you’re feeling low and doesn’t just brush it off.

And if it were him, Matt knows he’d do all of that. He’d love you with everything he has.

But he’s not him. He’s just Matt, the guy who walks to class in the rain while you ride in a car with someone else. The guy who’s stuck on the outside looking in, constantly playing a game he’s destined to lose.

Reality ruined my life.

The thought hits him hard, sinking into his chest like a stone. Because no matter how much he dreams about what could be, no matter how many times he imagines you being his, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re with someone else. Someone who, for whatever reason, has what Matt wants more than anything.

But Matt keeps walking. He always does. Because that’s all he can do. Keep moving forward, even if it feels like the weight of unspoken words and missed chances is dragging him down.

Would he treat you like I would?

The answer is no.

Matt knows that. But you don’t. And that’s what hurts the most.

With a heavy sigh, he turns the corner, his mind still spinning with thoughts of you and what could have been, the rain falling around him like a reminder of all the things he can’t control.

And he keeps walking.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove

[mercy-misrule]

mouthwashing spoilers, discussion of fictional sexual assault, fictional abuse of a disabled person, references to real life injury

This is a weird rambling thing, informed by my own experiences. I am a sexual assault survivor, but I am also a survivor of life threatening accident that left me entirely physically dependent on medical staff with a long recovery time. I am aware that this is not a pov a lot of people have, and it means I'm thinking about things a little differently.

If you haven't experienced the healing process from a life threatening injury, its hard to explain. But here are some thoughts.

So one of the things that I think is interesting about the fandom reaction to Curly is an odd thing I've seen. A fanwork thing where people write Curly as a victim of sexual assault by Jimmy where the result is that Curly is a more sympathetic victim, a 'real victim'.

This isn't all fiction exploring this, and this isn't stated in their texts, nevertheless, it's impossible to read otherwise.

And I get it, I get why people are exploring that as an option, as a concept. Maybe its revenge, maybe its more relatable, maybe it's simply because that's a fictional concept that they want to write. And that's a creator's prerogative. This isn't me criticising what people want to explore.

What bewilders me is that it makes me feel like people missed the hugely sexual implications of Jimmy's assault and continued violation of Curly's bodily autonomy. It's like, folks are you reading this right?

So Mouthwashing has textual sexual assault, it's right there, Anya is the victim of Jimmy's violence. He attempts to take away her life by crashing the ship, he attempts to remove any choice she has in what happens to her body after she reveals she is pregnant.

He does not care about her, it is pointed what a non-person she is in his eyes. He only cares about his reputation, his control over the situation, what people say about him. His job, his prospects, all of which are dependent on Curly.

And Mouthwashing has textual violation of a disabled person's bodily autonomy. Jimmy hurts Curly when forcing him to take his meds, beating him at one point, where in the end Curly is weeping.

A man who wants nothing but control, couldn't control Anya or Swansea or Daisuke despite his best(worst) efforts, but he has absolute control over everything with Curly. Curly is moved without his consent, touched without his consent, treated like an object, like food, tortured, and finally 'saved'...without his consent.

Without a voice other than cries of pain, or hissing laughter, Jimmy has the control he needs.

And look how his attitude changes towards Curly the more control he has over his body. When Anya is still around, he's swearing at him, beating him into needless submission. As the game progresses, Jimmy starts to hold Curly up as this object of salvation, as this vessel through which all of Jimmy's faults and guilt are washed away.

This focus, this obsession, the alternating between berating and violence and idolisation is subtextual in its sexuality. But it's there. Even when you move past the obvious mirror of violence of Jimmy standing over a helpless Curly in bed, hurting him, putting his hands on him.

We already know that Jimmy assaulted Anya while in her bed, she tells Curly this implicitly when she asks about the lack of locks on bedrooms.

What I find interesting about this all is that we do not see the violence Jimmy inflicted on Anya. We see the aftermath, we hear his words, and we see her reactions, but we do not see the act.

And its a very good and frank piece of storytelling, about the mundane horror of day-to-day life living with your abuser. We don't need to see the instigating act, the central piece of violence, because we are seeing everything else.

Whereas, this game is all about witnessing exactly the violence Jimmy inflicts on Curly, and contrasting it with the absolute indifference he has for Anya, his other victim. He fixates on Curly, he's got nothing in his head but Curly, and any other thought that tries to creep in, we watch turn into nightmares that he's desperate to run away from.

It's almost like watching Curly be brutalised is a stand in for the brutality that Anya experiences. Not as a revenge or anything, but as a story beat reminding you that this is happening, has happened, will happen again. Jimmy will always be hurting someone.

But what I think is fascinating is that there is this (I am not talking about shipping. This is not meta about shipping) almost romantic displacement of affection from Jimmy to Curly, shocking in its intensity to the same level of his disdain and apathy towards Anya.

It's a mirror of how Jimmy feels about himself. He views Anya as a failure, not competent, and that's how he is in reality. He puts all his failings on her, he lashes out at her, blames her for Curly's suffering, for his potential punishment.

He praises and berates Curly because he wants to be what Curly was. A respected captain, a person that people are happy to be around. But he berates Curly because Curly isn't what he views as his ideal self. Curly doesn't throw his weight around like Jimmy wants to, Curly is passive and a people pleaser. Jimmy doesn't respect him, even as he wants to be him. He doesn't respect Curly because of the the way Curly gives into him, supports him.

There are so many moments of desperate horror in this story but I keep being drawn back into the unending nightmare of Curly being dependant on people disintegrating around him

Anya withholds treatment, not maliciously, but she does, because it's too triggering for her. And then Jimmy steps in and it's always bad, even when he's not trying to make it so.

Curly lays there and sees the ramifications of his inaction, his cowardice and then is revictimised over and over, humiliated over and over.

The best chance of care he's got is a woman he fundamentally failed, harmed in unbelievable ways and is now being terrorised by the man who hurts them both and she keeps asking Jimmy to hurt him.

And he has to sit there as she does, as she eats the only things that are making his existence survivable, and he's responsible for it! He gets to watch the consequences of his inaction, he gets to lay there and watch a woman die and he doesn't get to do anything else except exist until Jimmy appears again , which is worst of all.

You don't get to pick your carers, at some point. Sometimes it's people you feel a burden too, or people you've hurt, in a hundred different ways. And sometimes it's people who've hurt you and still tell you how much you mean to them, how important you are to them, how much they love you. And they don't stop hurting you or other people and you. Cannot. Stop. Them.

[radomaz]

Men "need" a mental health month because they're "sad, angry and lonely" in today's world, because by choice they don't talk to each other or share feelings, and they hate women so much that they only want a girlfriend so they can have sex with her, but their brain is so porn rotted their dick can't even get hard during it.

Women don't have a mental health month because they have dealt with sadness and anger for centuries. The impossible beauty standards pushed from a young age, when you are 5 years old and get your nails painted for the first time, or get toy makeup kits, already wiring your brain into thinking beauty is the most important thing in life, ready to wreck your self-esteem from childhood. The STEM subjects not encouraged as you get older, because they're "for boys", even though they were your favourite to study, you can't study that because engineering isn't a job for girls, disappointing you and making school boring. Not to mention the way the guys at school referring to the girls as "bitches", calling the girls they slept with sluts and whores, but of course they're never held to the same standard, because they're guys. Sleeping with somebody for the first time, paranoid after knowing porn expectations, about your nipple size, nipple colour, labia size, your weight, how good you will be in bed, because boys watch porn from 13 so they will have had years of thinking that's what women look like. You wonder if you say no to it, he'll claim you led him on. Maybe you'll find a nice boyfriend though, who doesn't care about these things and treats you kindly, or maybe you will end up being one of the 25% of women who face domestic abuse in a relationship at the hands of an aggressive man.

Women have been dealing with hardships, loneliness, isolation and sadness for centuries, but we are raised knowing that this is just our life.

[some-lost-fox]

So there was a Reddit post a while back, talking about Yuu's scars from overblots. So... How would the boys react to Overblot scars <3

Trigger Warnings:

Possible OOC for the boys, no beta, hurt (bcs scars) and comfort <3

Any other important info?: Yuu actively hides the scars

Heartslabyul (You are here!) - Savanaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomefiore - Ignihyde - Diasomnia

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts

- In all honesty, Riddle at first didn't notice that his overblot caused more problems

- However, he did notice the fact you started to cover up your neck, but if he approached you with it, you just shrugged him off with "It's just getting really cold!"

- Gaslight, gaslight, gaslight, that was YOUR idea.

- Was the poor Riddle concerned about you? Absolutely. But was there anything he could do? Not really, he did his best to support you, even sometimes turning a blind eye to the dress code. (He did suffer teasing tho, but he was able to put people into their place)

- The problem sadly only got worse, with each overblot, more scars appeared. More clothes to hide them.

- Eventually, there was nowhere to run, lies ran out, and there was just the pure confrontation.

- It was in that moment, Riddle realized how much you were suffering. In silence.

- From scar around your neck (that you hesitantly chocked out with tears that was from him) to burn mark on your leg.

- He saw it all, and you felt awful. The secret was out, and you wanted to hide. He was never supposed to see.

- Yet he took your hand, held it softly, as if you were made of glass. There was sadness, and warmth in his eyes.

"I wish you told be this earlier. You matter to me. Please, don't hide this from me."

👑👑👑

Ace Trappola

- Ace sadly has a single braincell, which is shared with Deuce. And Grim.

- So, he absolutely did not realize that you got injured, not in the slightest.

- The random aah scarf you were wearing? He easily bought the 'I'm cold' excuse.

- But he noticed, or better said, he found out.

- It was just another boring class, when your sleeve ended up somehow scrolling up, and the nasty suction mark scar from Azul's overblot was perfectly visible on on it.

- You didn't realize until Ace snatched you by wrist, lied to Crewel that you were feeling sick and left the class.

- You were confused, as he was quiet, not saying a single word but dragging you into infirmary.

- He took a bandage, and wrapped it around the mark

- You realized what he noticed, and just as you were about to open your mouth, he hushed you.

"You got hurt because of me. I'm... Sorry. You better tell me if it happens again!!"

"Why should it happen again?"

"We have luck to get involved with overblots..."

♥️♥️♥️

Deuce Spade

- As mentioned, he shares his braincell with Ace, and Grim.

- Unlike Ace, however, he noticed something... odd, about you.

- Ever since Riddle's overblot, you started to wear a scarf... in fall?

- It reminded him of his mother, she also had the tendency to hide things from him.

- So when he asked, he was sad he got a lie as a response from you ("Just cold, don't worry")

- But he was willing to accept it, until the next Overblot with Leona.

- He immediately noticed the way you held your side, trying to stay calm and not show you were in pain.

- The second Leona was dealt with, he grabbed first aid kit, and immediately went to treat the wound.

- He was so shocked, as the wound was of magical property, no matter how the poor model student tried to help, the scars ended up forming - an ugly lion scratch.

- You wanted to cry, currently just from the pain

- Deuce held you close, letting you cry in his arms, not saying a word.

- After a while, you calmed down, and your eyes couldn't help but go to the ugly scar... Hatred slowly forming, not towards Leona, but towards yourself... You got wounded, aga......

"It shows you are brave, please, don't hate yourself over this. Makes you look strong."

♠️♠️♠️

Cater Diamond

- Cater LOVES taking photos, so when a scarf appeared around your neck, he thought it was a weird choice to wear

- "It's really fashionable where I'm from!" It was a lie, but Cater just accepted it

- But he did give you a side eye, each time your hands rubbed the scarf... Which happened suspiciously whenever Riddle was around.

- However, he wasn't stupid unlike the two first years that always got themselves into trouble

- However he thought there was a different reason for the scarf.... (and thought that you and Riddle were an item, oh boy he made so many rambling posts about that)

- Sadly, one day you were way too warm, and the scarf was killing you. So you just loosened it up, just a little bit more...

- And Cay-Cay just had a good (terrible) timing.

- "Come here! Let's take a photo together~ Cay-Cay and Prefect~"

- Snap, snap, snap.... you got dizzy from all the photos and flashes of the camera on his phone.

- Cater was checking the phones, being very picky about which he was going to choose (he wanted the prefect to look absolutely perfectly, because that's what you were to him)

- But then, in one of the photos, he saw it, the scar you were trying to hide. Clear mark from Riddle.

- Cater was shocked, and it made SO much sense. He pulled you close, a small hug, which caused you to be confused

"Why did you hide it?"

"Didn't want to make anyone worried."

"SMH. That's exactly what you just did!"

♦️♦️♦️

Trey Clover

- The Heartslabyul dad noticed you, very quickly.

- After dealing with Riddle's overblot, he noticed the next few days you were fidgety, and tried to dodge Riddle.

- The scarf was a big red flag. But any attempt at talking about it was met with you changing topics, or running away

- You would not talk about it. You didn't accept help. (What a headache...)

- So, he decided to help in a... unique way. Sweets. Tarts.

- Oh, he started to make way more, which did not escape Ace and Deuce, who were curious

- Too bad, they failed to get any information out of him. If you weren't going to tell him, he wasn't going to tell anyone else. He knew better than to break trust!

- So, even tho he didn't get to see the scar, he assumed there was one. And atleast, he was going to support you like this.

- So when you were relaxing, at the couch, and sipping a warm tea (while being covered in a clover-themed blanket you got from Trey) Trey decided to sit next to you

- He pulled you close, frowning a bit at the scarf around your neck (and a glove nowadays too, probably something from Azul's overblot...) but his gaze was... simply soft.

- He wasn't going to push you, he could wait.

"Whenever you are ready to share your secrets with me, know that I will be here, no matter what, you mean a lot to me."

🍀🍀🍀

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

Whelmed 🩷

Even Jihoon needs to be taken care of sometimes.

Fluff - woozi x gn!reader

Maybe I'm projecting jussssst a lil bit. Anyway, Happy Birth Month, my precious, precious boy!!

AO3 link

Word Count: 2.5k

CW: crying, meltdown, a lil hurt/comfort, jihoon is stressed and needs maximum comfort

₊˚⊹ 🩷🩷🩷꒰.^₃^꒱☆⋆｡

You walk into the Universe Factory and the first thing you see is Jihoon laying face down on the couch. It’s silent in the room, which is incredibly rare, except for the sounds of heavy breathing and sniffles. You walk slowly toward the couch and plop down on the edge of it. Jihoon makes some room for you without lifting his face. Your hand finds his back to start rubbing it comfortingly.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask, your voice softly above a whisper.

“I got really overwhelmed.” Jihoon’s small voice is muffled by the cushions of the seat. He finally turns around to face you, now laying on his back. His nose and eyes are tinged red, and his face is slightly shining from a few tears left there. He’s been done crying for a while. He looks and feels small, however, and moves your hand to pat his tummy, still craving your touch.

“That’s okay. Want to go to my place to get whelmed?” you offer.

Jihoon lets out a laugh, a smile finally appearing on his face. “Is that even a word?”

“I don’t know, but my offer still stands.” You lift an eyebrow to him and return the smile.

He takes a deep breath and exhales an “Okay.” 

You begin to stand up and take a moment to look out of the window. The sun just went down. It’s still early in the night, however, since Jihoon usually ends his work past midnight. Only special circumstances like dinner plans or events get him to call it quits early, and even then, he just ends up back in the studio, producing away. Tonight is an extremely rare circumstance. One in which work stops because it absolutely has to or it will destroy the boy’s mind. It’s only ever happened one other time since you two started dating. You’re ready for it much better this time, knowing all he wants is to be taken care of and to not have to think about anything.

You wait for Jihoon to stand up and follow your lead, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, he puffs out his cheeks and reaches up for you, wanting you to lift him to his feet. He looks insanely adorable, even if there are still the dying embers of a meltdown still glowing on his face. You grab his hands and pull him up to a seated position then finally up to his feet. You are determined to make him feel better tonight, any way you can. 

“Carry me,” he pouts. 

You giggle at the suggestion, knowing exactly how he feels. “I would if I could.” You continue to keep the mood really light and joking as you leave the building and walk to your apartment building. You carry Jihoon’s bag for him, and he pays for some snacks at a convenience store. 

Once you make it into your apartment, you both immediately change into your fluffiest, comfiest clothes. Jihoon sits comfortably on the couch, picking something to watch while you make popcorn and pour your drinks into cute mason jars. You each picked out some candy to share and an ice cream treat to store in the freezer for later, as well. You come to the living room and set down the popcorn bowl and drinks and find Jihoon with his eyebrows furrowed as he scrolls through every streaming platform there is, trying to find something suitable.

“This is impossible,” he huffs.

“What are you looking for?” you plop next to him and throw a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“I don’t know. Something good.” His response isn’t very elaborate.

“A K-Drama?” you ask.

“No, I want something I don’t have to think too hard about.”

“Then what about a kids’ cartoon? Like Bluey,” you suggest.

“No, no. I’m not in the mood for something for kids.” He sticks out his tongue while he scrolls. His cuteness is going to send you into an overload. Usually, he takes charge of things and lets you be the cute one. When he gets like this, it’s such a special sight for you to take in all the softness he locks away behind his more serious personality.

You are just happy to be next to him, watching him go through each genre until something strikes him. You kind of zone out merrily, until you hear slight groaning next to you. Jihoon’s face is twisted up in frustration. He’s getting overwhelmed again and fusses over the TV remote.

“I can’t choose,” he says, voice choking up a little bit.

You take the initiative to place your hand on his and gently set the remote down on the coffee table. You place your other hand on his cheek and turn him to face you. You smile and kiss his nose while softly assuring, “It’s okay. They give way too many options, right? If you want, I can pick, okay?”

Jihoon’s hand intertwines with yours, grabbing at your fingers and rubbing your palms. He nods and breathes, calming down more and more. You turn your attention to the TV and select a shojo anime you both have seen about a million times and restart it from the first episode. The tension you both were once holding onto in your shoulders finally relaxes as you both sit back and watch the opening credits. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” you say as you jolt up from your seat and walk toward your bedroom. “Be right back.” 

Jihoon follows you with eyes wide until you disappear into your room. He’s curious why you’ve run off and how long your errand will take. Not long, apparently, as you reappear within a minute holding velvet soft plushies for you both to cuddle. You return to your seat and settle into the back cushion of the couch placing a cat plushie in Jihoon’s arms. You place a bear plushie on the opposite side of you and let Jihoon settle into your outstretched arm, laying his head on your chest. It’s a position you usually take when you watch TV together, and you are glad he finds your chest as comfortable and secure as you find his.

The popcorn disappears about a quarter of the way into the second episode. You didn’t realize how hungry you were. You sit idly watching the cute female protagonist miss all the cues that the people around her are instantly infatuated with her. You try to focus on the cute little plot, but you are interrupted by a small growling sound.

You look at Jihoon then to his stomach then back to his face. His eyes are wide, and his face is red. You laugh quietly, “Ready for candy?”

“Actually, can we make ramen? I’m hungry for more than snacks.” 

“Of course, coming right up!” you say as you get up to move to the kitchen. It’s a little surprising when footsteps follow. “You want to help?” you question your sudden shadow.

Jihoon nods his head silently. For what it’s worth, he does fill a pot with water while you find a few packs of ramen. While the water boils, however, his version of helping beyond that is just to stand behind you with his arms around your waist, laying his head on your back. This kind of white noise is your favorite. Nothing but low TV chatter from the characters in a sweet shojo, the sound of water boiling, and soft breathing. You’re relaxed and hope that Jihoon feels the same way. You want him to decompress and let go of all the stress of the day. You know that eventually, he will have to talk about it to process it though. For now, you stir the pot with long chopsticks making sure the noodles are not too hard and not too soft.

You bring the pot and two pairs of chopsticks to the coffee table, making sure to put it on a heat resistant mat. Jihoon’s arms remain around you as he shuffles along with you every step of the way. With a huff, he finally lets you go as he sits back on the couch, but he does wait for you with open arms.

“Do you want me to feed you, too?” you laugh as you settle in next to him. He’s a little clingy, but it’s rare to see him so dependent on anyone else. In these small moments, you indulge him and genuinely do wish you could do everything for him so that he doesn’t have to think, or overthink, about it.

“No! I can eat by myself,” he responds, flustered. He grabs the chopsticks and takes mouthfuls of ramen. You let him fill up a bit first and swoop in for your share when he’s had his fill. The ramen disappears, and so do all of the treats while the anime plays comfortingly in the background. Jihoon is snuggled up with his head leaning against you, and you notice his eyes drooping heavier and heavier.

Before he completely knocks out, you get his attention, “Hey,” you start softly, “want to start getting ready for bed?”

Jihoon slowly lifts his head and nods while rubbing his eyes. Sometimes he reminds you of a sweet little kitten with the way he pouts with his pink lips. You kiss him before standing up and bringing him to stand with you. He grabs both of the fluffy companions from the couch, then he follows you like a little duck to the bedroom. You both breeze through your nightly routine. Jihoon is in bed with his arms out, again, waiting for you to join him.

“Wait here, I’m going to clean up the living room a little bit,” you say and turn for the door.

He pouts, “But I want you here.”

“I know, and I will be. Just let me take care of the dishes really fast.”

“I’ll help.” He begins to move the blanket covering him, disrupting the position of his new friend, the cat plushie.

“No, stay there. I got it. Just wait a bit, okay?” You smile at him reassuringly. He huffs and finally relents. You take care of the small mess left behind and muse on the way Jihoon has been acting. His clinginess getting the best of him was a sign. He was much more bothered than you originally thought. It is very cute and refreshing to see him get all needy. It reminds you that he needs you just like how you need him. He doesn’t say it all that often, but when you can feel it, feel that he needs you, it just solidifies your feelings for him even more.

But there is still something else. Something he’s not asking for, distracting himself with hugs and kisses so he’ll feel better without confronting what’s really going on. You hope it isn’t something he’s had to endure for a long time. He’s prone to do that, to endure alone and not let anyone help him. He thinks he can handle it himself without bothering anyone. He doesn’t understand that it’s not a bother. You resolve to talk about it with him no matter what. No matter how cute and sweet he’ll act when you get back to him.

With everything cleaned and your mind made up, you enter the bedroom again and are met with those same open arms. You settle into your spot, getting all comfortable. You turn in on Jihoon, and he rotates without hesitation until his back is against your chest. You enjoy the smell of his shampoo and lay a soft kiss to the back of his head. You wrap your arms around him tight and he holds on to them for dear life. It almost makes you feel bad that you have to make him a little uncomfortable, but it will help him sleep at night. You just lay there, breathing in sync, then you take a deep breath which disrupts the rhythm you have going with Jihoon.

“Hey,” you ease into the difficult conversation, “I know today was hard for you. I was just wondering… what happened?”

Jihoon buries his face in his pillow, “I don’t want to think about it.”

“I know, I know.” You stroke his hand, hoping to bring some comfort to his stressed out mind. “Talking about it will help you get through it, though. Can’t avoid it forever. It’ll come back to bite you.” You emphasize your words by pinching his arm in a playful attack. It lightens the mood a little and provokes a giggle to rise out of Jihoon.

“It’s just…” Jihoon begins cautiously, “my job can be stressful. It’s already hard enough to meet everyone else’s standards. When I can’t even meet my own, I feel… useless.”

You rub gentle circles on Jihoon’s arms and hands as he talks. You listen and understand how he’s feeling. He’s always been a type-A perfectionist since you’ve known him. It’s kind of stupid, but sometimes you let yourself think that his talent means that nothing is hard for him; he just does so well all the time and then acts as if it’s not a big deal. Of course, it sometimes is a big deal. He always burns so hot and bright for a long time, but even stars burn out eventually. This is the burnout; an increasingly frustrating time that leads to being so overwhelmed he cries alone in the Universe Factory. It’s a good thing that he’s not alone right now, though.

“You’re not useless; you just need some help. I know you’ll figure it out because you are a musical genius,” you respond. Your breath tickles his ear as you speak.

“You know I hate that word. ‘Genius’. A genius should be able to do it without help.” His voice starts cracking, and your heart breaks a little hearing it.

“No, no. It’s not easy being so smart. You’re the one that has to make the smart decisions. Being stupid is easy because the easy decision is to give up. It’s hard to keep going. Once you figure it out, that is what makes you a genius. I know you are smart enough to keep going and to figure it out. You can start by making the smart decision to reach out for some help on this.” You feel Jihoon relax in your arms, tension melting away from his shoulders. Your words reached him.

“I’ve never thought of it like that.” His voice is even again. You can’t see the look on his face, but you can tell he’s having a revelation. “I think I’m whelmed, now. Thank you,” he says simply. He moves to reveal his face. The tears that were once welling in his heart have disappeared. They don’t get to fall tonight.

“I’m glad,” you tilt his face toward you and capture his lips in a kiss. You settle once again into the spoon, somehow more comfortable than before. Jihoon falls asleep with a blissful slight smile on his face.

[gem-de-lune]

hi, i'm getting more worried because there is a prediction account on twt that predicts there will be a variety show for seunghan next year, i believe that account because what she says is always right (she predicts there will be good news and about seunghan's instagram) is there still a possibility that seunghan will return to the group? thank you 🫶🏻🥹

To preface, ily and i appreciate you so please do not be angry at my answer here and try to see i say this out of love and care.

I'm letting you know rn that even if he does go on a show (no tf he will not but that's just me) that will be the first and last time you see him on one bc yall (not specifically you, but these spineless people) seem to believe this is the end.

Understand that SM has the full capability of changing their mind. They always do. Anon- you do not need to ask me whether or not there is a chance if he can come back or not. Because, with love, i have been saying since day 1 that the verdict lies with whether or not you and others are going to accept SMs literal pathetic consolation trophy or not. Whether you and others will continue to fight or not.

SM Ent ONLY put kicked out members out as soloists to shut fans up. They have NEVER treated solo artists well. Idk why so many ppl are eating it up. Follow his insta. Show him love, but do NOT forget why we started this in the first place.

It is so fucking weird that other people accept this even though when he was kicked out they released a similar statement alluding to a solo debut even back then a month ago. They just pushed forward a statement. Why are we acting shocked or surprised? Why are we caving? The only good from this is that we have a more clear line of communication to Seunghan.

Do. Not. Accept. This. He is still not being treated fairly. If you accept this you accept what happened to him. This is not over. I understand your hesitance, anon, but you are asking me abt a random prediction account. Predictions are predictions no matter how seemingly good their track record is. They are not God. And whoever sis is, she has accepted the situation and has accepted the pity trophy SM handed out. Have you? If not, do not ask me these things bc you are stressing yourself out for no reason.

I am telling you this not to be mean and not to discourage you asking me things but to tell you to ask the right questions. I cannot be your sole source of motivation. That is impossible. I do readings every single day answering this exact question for everyone and lots of people will still ask me if he's coming back bc they want a clear yes/no answer. There is not one. Only a clear METHOD and the method is to not give tf up and succumb to SM's pressure. There is either fight until death OR give up and fail 100%. Period. That is the answer.

Please please please do not take this the wrong way. I do not mean to hurt your feelings or anyone's feelings here. This is my way of pushing you in the right direction with a gentle kick to the butt. Do not ask me questions you already know the answer to deep down. You know full well there is always chance and you do not need to be deterred by a random twt acct who has already tapped out.

The only motivation you should need is knowing Riize and Seunghan do not want this. Period. You already KNOW that. The end.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 ily anon this is all out of love.

[kingdomaddiction]

Cumplane friendship, maybe a more idk hear me out—

Shen Yuan knows Mobei-Jun hits Shang Qinghua. He has seen the bruises. He also knows this is supposed to be a normal behavior amongst demon kind.

Call him stupid but for a long time he thought Airplane had no issues with it. I mean, they are cultivators, right? They can heal fast. It’s nothing. Also, Airplane told him it was fine. Mobei-jun and him went way back. It was the way things were.

Mobei-jun was a King. Qinghua was his servant.

Simple as that.

None of the other cultivators seem to worry either, so why should he? Everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Until today.

It began as a simple meeting. The demon lords were discussing the recent changes in politics as Binghe and Mobei listened to their complaints. Then Airplane intervened, made a few comments and next thing Shen Qingqiu knows his friend is lying on the floor shaking.

None of the demons bat an eye, not even his darling husband. Why should they? Shang Qinghua is nothing more than a servant.

But Shen Yuan…

He’s heard about it, has seen the bruises already but it still shocks him to the core. Witnessing in person the abuse… Shang Qinghua didn’t even try to stop it. He just closed his eyes and let Mobei struck him.

Qinghua lays on the floor. Shaking, rapid breathing. He looks so scared and heartbroken. But mostly humiliated. The way he lowers his head as if trying to seem smaller and puts his arms around himself trying to protect his body as if expecting another vicious blow it’s too much for him.

Shen Yuan hates it.

Without thinking he takes his fan about and sends a strong and quick wave of power that knocks Mobei. The King taken by surprise is unable to stop the attack and hits the wall.

“Airplane!” SQQ calls as he rans towards his friend. He kneels beside him and delicately touches his cheek.

Shang Qinghua looks at him with tears in his eyes and it only fuels his anger.

“Shizun!” His husband calls no doubt running after him like a puppy. Shen Qingqiu does not turn away from Qinghua.

“Shen Yuan? Why… why did you..?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“But my King…!”

“No longer will be your King.” He declares and his tone is so final that SQH can’t find the words to fight against it. There’s a unspoken understanding.

Mobei Jun finally gets up and approaches them with a snarl on his face. Before he could get closer Binghe steps in between and lets out a terrifying growl. Mobei stops, but looks directly at SQQ as he speaks.

“You dare—!”

“Yes, I fucking dare! You can’t hit this royal consort shidi and expect no consequences.”

“This king can do whatever he wants with his property!”

“Well, this royal consort has decided he does not belong to you anymore.”

“He’s my servant—“

“And you are my husband’s servant. Therefore you will obey me.“

.

That’s all I have but yeah the general outline is SQQ takes SQH with him and LBG is pretty confused? Jealous? But also aroused because his shizun looks so damn hot when he acts protective and strong around Shang-shishu, and maybe the other peak lord is not so bad ???!! On the other hand MBJ is losing his head. He wants, needs SQH back. In his eyes he was just treating him as any other demon. LBG then helps him understand the cultural differences. Now he wants to make amends but in order to get closer to SQH he needs to win SQQ approval first. And no, he won’t make it easy since he has being working hard to help SQH earn some fucking self respect and maybe falling a little in love with him.

Yeah this ended up being a poycule lol.

((Anyone can use this idea if they want just leave me the Ao3 link lol ))

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Between Tension and Love- Jude Bellingham

wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language

It was a tense day, the tension in the air was palpable. You had argued several times, but this time it seemed that something had changed, that was too much for both of us. You had arrived at your home, ready to take your things and leave. You decided it was for the best, that maybe the distance would give us both some peace.

When you walked in, Jude was sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the floor, but you felt as if the air was about to explode.

"I can’t believe we’re getting to this point," said Jude, her voice low but full of frustration.

"Neither," you replied, trying to keep calm, even if the anger was boiling inside you. " But I can’t continue like this. It just doesn’t work anymore, Jude."

He stood up, his face dark with anger. "And you think it’s good for me? You thought it was easy? That I would have liked to see you go away?" His voice trembled with the effort to hold back emotions. You came to him, your heart beating the hardest, but you were not willing to give in.

"It’s not just that, Jude. It’s everything, the way you treat me, the way you make me feel invisible when I just want to be heard," you replied, eyes full of pain. " What about you? Do you think I don’t notice? You can’t just ignore me like that."

There was a tense silence, broken only by the breathless breath of both. Jude stepped towards you, his forehead now leaning against yours, eyes filled with a mixture of anger and something more, something indefinable that made you feel the heartbeat accelerate.

"It’s not easy, you know?" he said in a husky voice, as if he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t find the words. Then, in a moment of pure frustration, he slammed you against the wall, hands on your arms, holding you still. " You drive me crazy, Y/N. I can’t figure out what I want."

And then, without warning, his lips pressed on yours in a furious kiss, as if everything that had not been said had been put into that gesture, the way it sank into you, as if he tried to tell you something he could not with words.

The kiss was intense, passionate, but also full of frustration. You found yourself answering, the mind that could not decipher if it was the kiss of those who loved you or of those who just wanted to shout all the pain between you. But at that moment, nothing mattered.

The kiss continued with a passion that seemed to have no end. His hands were still on your arms, but you couldn’t stand still. It was as if the fury of the moment had taken you, making you forget everything, even the pain. Your hands slipped in his hair, pulling him closer to you, feeling his temperature rise and his breath getting more brisk.

"Y/N..." whispered against your lips, his voice shaking, as if he was trying to stop, but he couldn’t. And you didn’t want him to stop.

You kissed him with the same intensity, feeling his mouth burning on yours, as if you had tried to communicate all the anger and desire that there were between you, mixed in a single explosion. Jude replied with the same hunger, his hands now moving along your back, pulling you even more towards him.

No words needed to be spoken. In a moment, Jude lifted you up with ease, as if nothing could stop him, and led you to your shared room. His body was hot against yours, and his energy seemed out of control, as if he wanted to keep you for himself. He made you lie on the bed with a strong movement, his hands gently pushing you against the mattress.

Your heart was beating hard in your chest as he looked at you, his gaze now more intense than ever, as if he were trying to read your soul, but also to grasp you completely. His lips returned to yours, and you welcomed him without hesitation, feeling the mutual hunger explode in every touch, in every breathless breath.

"I can’t stop," he murmured against your skin, his hands caressing your body with a delicacy mixed with desire. " I don’t know what to do, Y/N. But I can’t let you go."

Your breath stopped for a moment as her body came even closer to yours. It was as if the world had disappeared, leaving only the desire running between you, untamable and powerful.

"Then don’t do it" you said quietly as you tried to catch your breath.

He smiled and kissed you again as he undressed you, and did the same with his clothes, throwing them on the ground.

Jude began to kiss you and then went down to your neck, sucking it and branding it while you moaned his name. He smiled and then went down to your breast, taking a nipple in his mouth while playing with the other boob and you moaned as you tried to hold on to the sheets, feeling how it was making you feel good.

After he finished teasing your tits he started kissing your belly and then went down to your pussy. Jude put his finger in your pussy and moaned as he felt how wet you were for him.

"Already so wet for me baby?" asked Jude looking at you as she began to move her finger inside of you. You groaned to him for more and he pleased you by adding another finger and starting to move faster.

"so perfect" Jude muttered as he began to add his tongue too and you screamed louder as you started to hold onto his hair to push his face more on your pussy and he smiled while he nibbled and tased your clitoris. You were seeing the stars and you were a disaster: you screamed and could only say her name.

"jude" you begged as you started moving your hips in his mouth and he smiled increasing his licks and began to kiss your pussy. You were coming and he knew it.

"come on my face, love," he said detaching himself a little from your pussy and then clench and lick with more insistence and you moaned coming into his mouth and on his face.

Jude smiled and gave a last kiss on your pussy to then detach and you moaned at the sight of Jude having your cum on her goatee.

You lured him to you looking for another kiss and he returned with pure passion as he rubbed his hard cock on your entrance and moaned while moving your hips to have more friction. You were both moaning in your mouths and he with a quick blow enters inside of you making both groan.

"Always so tight" he murmured as he pushed slowly to fit you to his size but you moaned wanting more.

"please Jude" you moaned and started scratching his back and he satisfied you by fucking you hard while you groaned and felt that he was fucking your soul and you were screaming with pleasure.

"you’re making me feel so good" you moaned as hhe started pushing even harder and took back a nipple in your mouth as he kept fucking you.

You watched him suck your nipple and could only see at sight moaning. He looked up as he kept fucking you and sucking your nipple and you moaned while you grabbed his face because you wanted to kiss him.

Jude took the hint and pulled his mouth off your breast and joined your lips as he kept fucking you in an incredible way. You are held back on his cock while he pushed even harder as he felt his release.

The kiss continued, but now there was something more in it: an uncontrolled passion, a urgency that seemed out of control. His lips moved against yours with a force that left you breathless, as if he wanted to grasp you, possess you. His every move was filled with desire and frustration, and you responded with the same intensity, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him even closer to you.

His hands were running on your skin, leaving traces of heat everywhere they touched, while your fingers entangled in his hair, pulling him to himself. Every kiss that got deeper, more impetuous, left you breathless, the heart beating madly, as if trying to make itself felt stronger than everything else.

Jude gave you two more shoves in your pussy and came inside you and you moaned as you felt your hot cum in the walls of your pussy.

You have resumed kissing but this time more gently.

"I love you," he whispered between one kiss and the next, his hands caressing your face with a sweetness that made you close your eyes, enjoying every moment of that moment.

"I love you too," you replied, the words coming out of your mouth with a naturalness that you never thought could be possible in such an emotional moment.

Each kiss they exchanged now was sweet, full of love and a calm that had never been there before. Jude’s hands moved behind your head, caressing you with a delicacy that made your skin shiver as you lost yourself in him, in the warmth of his presence.

At that moment, there was only love, just you two, with the world which seemed to stop to let you enjoy that peace found again.

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check

Part 13: No Sleep Til Hawkins

Part 13, Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Billy gives up on sleep around 3 am. He’s pretty sure his will to pretend he’s asleep tires out just about the same time as Munson’s girlfriend because it’s silent for once.

He rolls on his side, watching Steve sleep. Steve had babbled nervously right up to the point of sleep and past it, his nonsense mumbles finally petering out.

He knows Steve is nervous, but for fuck’s sake, so is he. At least Steve isn’t dealing with heartbreak on top of that.

Billy sits up and rubs his eyes, conceding defeat. There’s no way he’s going to get any sleep, so he might as well be productive.

He slides out of bed and grabs his backpack before quietly slipping out. It’s not really due for a few days but he has an American Lit paper and it beats lying there in the dark ignoring screams and counting all the tiny fractures in his heart.

The house is quiet. Some of the brothers haven’t even come home from the parties. Billy is hoping when they do they’ll all head up to bed and ignore him in the lounge.

He doesn’t want to see anybody when it feels like he’s lived several lives since this morning. At this point he’s just feral, hardly human. It hurts, the ache in his chest. At the same time though, there’s such a bittersweet relief. Steve knows, and what’s more, Billy wasn’t crazy. They do have chemistry, even if Steve can’t see it.

But he can’t keep turning it around in his head, especially while he’s still tipsy. He has to get out of this headspace.

On the way to the lounge he decides to swing by the kitchens for a snack and maybe a gatorade. The cooks are seasoned frat professionals and they tend to have at least a few things prepared Saturday night in advance. Sometimes it’s overly healthy, but that works for him.

Billy flips on the light and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees what looks like a black cloaked figure. Christ, maybe he’s dreaming.

The figure turns from where it’s hunched over a bowl of bananas, mouth full.

“Christ, Munson,” Billy drops his backpack and covers his face with his hands. “I thought you were the fuckin’ hat man.”

Munson smiles around his banana, “So’ry.”

Billy lets his shoulders fall, “No worries. Though I wish you would actually lay off the potassium. Christ, my ears would thank you for a cramp some nights.”

“Why?”

“Because, man… we gotta sleep sometimes,” Billy rolls his eyes and flops down in the seat next to Munson’s.

Eddie turns beet red. “You… can hear us?”

Billy remembers too late that he and Steve had more or less agreed to not talk about Munson’s girlfriend. Argyle had been weirdly adamant about leaving him be. ‘Don’t rush the dude, that’s just not your business,’ were Argyle’s exact words.

“Whoops,” Billy cringes a bit. “But… I mean come on, man. Your girlfriend screams like she’s getting murdered. And it’s almost every night. Of course we noticed.”

Munson lets out a noise like a rat caught in a trap and hunches into the collar of his fluffy black robe. He looks chalky pale, like he got caught by a cop.

“And I mean, hey, good on you, dude. Like I’m pretty sure you’re having the kind of sex only lesbians have.” Then Billy remembers Carver and nervousness creeps in. “Not that… jeez, not in like a gross homophobic way.”

“Lesbians?” Munsons squeezes the remaining banana in his hands into a pulp.

“Christ.” Billy gives up and sags against the counter. “It’s been a really weird night, man. I just… I was just trying to make a joke about your girlfriend. Nothing weird.”

Munson blinks with those big brown doe eyes. “My girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I really meant no offense by it, I swear.” Billy held up his hands.

Munson stares at him a beat, and then he lets out the tiniest nervous giggle. “Girlfriend.”

Then he full on laughs, throwing his head back.

“Oh, or… not girlfriend?” Billy frowns. “I guess.”

Munson still laughs, harder and more full bodied.

“Well now this is just mean, Munson. If this is how you treat a lady, I’ll go up there and steal her for myself.” Billy licks his lower lip.

Munson’s hand shoots out and he grabs Billy, smearing bananas all over Billy’s arm. “Do. Not.”

Billy winces, yanking his arm away, and reaches for a paper towel to wipe his hand off.

“She’s like… really classy.” Munson says sheepishly. “She’d be mortified you heard her in my room. Please don’t.”

“I wasn’t really gonna wake a chick up who you left in bed.” Billy rolls his eyes. “What kind of guy do you take me for?”

Munson shrugs. “Same kind as me, that’s why I don’t want you to piss her off. I’m serious.”

Billy tosses the slimy paper towel on the counter and crosses his arms. “So she’s classy. What is she? Tri Delt?”

Munson sighs. “No.”

“Zeta?”

“No!”

“Don’t tell me she’s one of your theater friends?” Billy frowns.

“Hargrove, stop.”

“Does Eden know her? I bet she-”

Munson grabs at him again, looking wild. “Hargrove, listen. Don’t talk to anyone about this, ok?” She’s like… not that kind of girl. She’s classy, ok? Rich and like… going places. She doesn’t want this. You haven’t told anyone already, have you?”

“No. I mean, Steve knows, obviously. And honestly I would ask Patrick and Matt across the hall. I assume Carver.” Billy shrugs with one shoulder. “Argyle told us to, like, protect your privacy or whatever?”

Eddie just nodded vaguely, looking only marginally less unhinged. His hair was mussed, and there was a rapidly developing hickey high on his chest.

“What’s with all the secrecy, anyway?” Billy gasped, and then grinned, “Is she a professor?”

“No, Jesus. She’s just… way the fuck out of my league. Like stratospherically out of my league.” Munson shakes his head and lets go of Billy’s shoulder.

“How stratospheric?”

“Super stratospheric. Like… Buzz Aldrin couldn’t land her.”

Billy whistled. “I have to know.”

Munson sighs. “Look, I’m eating bananas at 3 am. I’m a fucking loser. She’s sleeping to get to her 8 am and she has like a 4.5 GPA and her parents paid for a room in the library or something like that. I can’t talk about it because I’m just… a pressure reliever.”

Billy raises his brows.

Munson doesn’t miss the implication. “Yeah pretty much. I guess I just have slightly more functions than a vibrator.”

Billy grabs a banana for himself, because all the banana talk was making him hungry. “But you’ve been going on like a year now.”

“Ten months, two and a half weeks, three days and well… three hours.”

Billy tries to raise his brows even more but he doesn’t have any room.

Munson leans against the counter and rubs the back of his neck. “Being in l-love with her is one of my many functions.”

Billy almost feels like he could cry. Which is stupid. It’s silly. “That’s sad as fuck, dude.”

Munson sighs, slumping a little more. “Yeah, but what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna sympathize.” Billy says.

“You too?”

“Yeah. At least you’re actually fucking your girl.” Billy mutters.

Eddie shakes his head, hair flopping. “Yeah. Been there too, big time.”

Billy peels his banana, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Same girl, too,” Munson says with a sad little flop of his bangs. “Got me wrapped around my finger since… God. Forever.”

Billy shook his head. “Damn. You, me, and Carver gotta go out sometime.”

“C-Carver?”

Billy nods. “Yeah. He was just telling me about his dating troubles. I’m sure you’ve heard at least some of it.”

“Oh. Right.” Munson nods back almost absently, looking kind of pale again.

“But, hey. You’re fucking your dream girl!” Billy pats Munson’s shoulder uncertainly. “Bring her a banana! Woo her ass, I dunno. She’s gotta be into you at least a little.”

“You think?” Munson looks so innocent like Billy hasn’t heard him do the least classy things ever to his classy girl.

“Your one year anniversary is coming up? I dunno. Don’t take advice from me, I don’t notice anything, apparently.” Billy sighs, leaning forward on his elbows and taking a bite. “It’s been a really weird fuckin’ night, so seriously don’t take my advice.”

Eddie nods slightly, frowning in confusion.

Billy wants to burst into tears or something like that. He thought telling Steve would just end the world, and now the world is apparently still spinning. Munson’s in tragic love too.

Coming out once doesn’t make coming out again any easier. So he resists the impulse to dump the whole sordid tale on Munson, even if he kind of wants to. Because Steve just came out. Billy can’t ruin this time with his own stupid hopeless feelings.

So instead he takes another bite and gets up to grab a gatorade from the fridge, shoving it into the pocket of his sweat shorts.

“Sorry, man, I’m tired. Just rambling. If you ever want to talk about your girl, I’m here for ya, ok?” Billy says.

“Thanks. Uh… you too. You know, if you ever…” Munson peters out, gesturing weakly.

Billy cackles and it comes out way too forced, but he commits to it anyway. “Well, you know me. I have 99 bitches but not one’s a problem.”

Eddie laughs a little, toying with the messy banana peel nervously.

Billy pats Munson on the shoulder and walks back to his room without a second thought, fully leaving his backpack behind. He was supposed to go downstairs.

But Steve is asleep so peacefully. Billy stands at the door and just stares. Steve always sleeps splayed out like a starfish, one of his feet dangling over the side of the bed. Tonight he has his mouth open, drooling slightly.

Billy has kissed that mouth. He wishes he could go back in time and slow that moment down forever.

Steve was still the worst person to fall in love with, the most unforgivable. And now it would be even harder because Steve had said it so strongly tonight. They would only ever be friends.

Billy wants so badly for anything to be different. He wishes suddenly he’d gone to any other school, anywhere else on earth. He wants to be in Eddie’s place because surely it would be better to be something than nothing at all.

Or is this better. Maybe now he can finally accept-

“B’lly?” Steve still has his eyes closed. “Close th’ door.”

Billy freezes for a moment, before shutting the door gently, plunging the room back into semi-darkness.

By the light of the streetlamp outside and the Frat’s shitty old alarm clock, he can just make out Steve scooting over and raising the blankets on his bed.

“C’mon,” He says.

Billy thinks of what Munson said as he crawls in next to Steve. He tosses the gatorade across the room and settles next to that warm body he knows all too well. Steve pulls up the fuzzy blanket that his mom bought him for Hanukkah last year, the one that smells like weed and Steve. The bed feels scorching hot, and Steve’s long limbs immediately lash around Billy, holding him with the perfect tightness. Steve presses his chest to Billy’s back and sighs, his minty-beer breath brushing the back of Billy’s neck. Billy’s skin prickles everywhere they touch, with almost the same sting as embarrassment.

That this is just one of his many functions. That in some ways he should let go, but he was meant to love Steve like this. Maybe he couldn’t have helped it.

Steve hums. “Promise. N’thing will change, right? We won’t be weird?”

Billy feels like he’s shattered, held together by Steve’s limbs, squeezing tight.

“Yeah,” He says, ignoring the tears that get squeezed free.

[ramblinscramblin]

May I request scout and demo (and maybe heavy if you want) with a ftm reader??? It can be any scenario NSFW, sfw idc. I'm hungry and I need food 😭 (you don't gotta do this btw just a little thought ♥️)

-‼️

→With a FTM reader!

Genre: slice of life, fluff! Male reader!

Characters: Scout, Demo, Heavy

Of COURSE I will write this. Relationship left pretty ambiguous. Hope you enjoy! Thank you again for the ask!

Scout

Scout definitely doesn’t realize without you spelling it out for him, no matter how “feminine” you may present.

Asks A LOT of questions, borders on invasive, but is just genuinely pretty confused and intrigued about it.

“So… wait, you were born a chick, but now you’re a guy? How’s dat work?”

“Scout, we have been over this. Literally ten times,” you say, exasperated.

After the initial long and honestly exhausting conversation, the two of you feel closer for it. He’s secretly sentimental as hell, so he appreciates you telling him so much, like it genuinely makes him feel so trusted.

When you come out to him, the support is not instant, as he tends to show these kinds of things in really covert ways, he doesn’t want anyone knowing he has a big heart.

But the second someone says something out of line that is when his support is the most apparent. Always corrects someone when they misgender you, but if they continue after he corrects them? Buddy, it’s over.

You tell scout you appreciate it, but you can stand up for yourself. He’s not really having it though, too hot headed to let it go.

Genuinely forgets your trans at time.

“Why don’t you ever use the urinals? S’weird,” the commented once as you left the bathroom together.

“Scout.”

“What?” He blinked at you dumbly for a few seconds, before realization dawns on him “oh shit! Dats right, sorry.”

He’s trying his best.

Demoman

Demo is part of team “not really my business so it doesn’t affect me”

As in it doesn’t really affect the way that he feels about you, or the way he treats you.

Doesn’t ask any questions unless it’s clear to him it’s something you’d like to talk about.

Depending on closeness he may even feel confident in making some jokes about it. Only if you find them funny though, absolutely wouldn’t do it if made you upset/uncomfortable.

Is big into giving you male experiences that you may have missed out on, mostly cliché and stereotypical things, some of which you have probably definitely done before.

“Demo, I think we’re a little too old to be playing trains right now,” you say, holding a train in your hand.

“Fine then, I’ll just clean it up then,” Demo said with a huff.

You stop him “well… I didn’t say that.”

Let’s you speak for yourself in most settings, but if you ever express your discomfort in a situation he won’t hesitate to remove you from it/remove the person causing this discomfort.

Doesn’t make a huge scene, will take the blame for you saying it’s him who’s got a problem.

Demo supports you when you need it, encourages you through your medical transition if you choose to do so/if you haven’t already.

Alternatively, reassures you that you’re not less of a man for not having surgeries or using HRT if you choose not to.

I honestly believe that Demo has been around a lot of queer people, he’s the world’s best trans ally.

Heavy

Heavy, like Scout has a lot of questions when you come out. Isn’t nearly as invasive and holds back anything that he thinks may make you uncomfortable.

It doesn’t change how he views you, thinks of you as man no matter what.

Really appreciates that he’s someone you trust enough to tell, even if he doesn’t fully get it, he understands that it can be a nerve wracking thing to talk about.

Recommends medic if you want to have any surgeries done, respectfully you decline. Fearing for the rest of your organs well being.

Heavy does a lot of reading to ensure he gets things right, but only brings up your transness if you do.

Loves hearing about your trans experience if you tell him about it, will listen intently taking mental notes.

Doesn’t feel the need to protect you, you’re a grown man who handled himself perfectly fine without him. But, like Demo, if he feels you getting a little out of your depth all he really has to do is come stand behind you.

Gender affirming nicknames, always. I feel like Heavy is big into nicknames some of his favorite for you is “big man” “guy” “handsome” if he’s feeling bold.

“How is the big man today,” he asked coming up to you one day.

You chuckle a little bit “it really should be me asking you that.”

Being with Heavy is a testosterone booster, just enjoy being masculine together.

OOOOO I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCH. I may revisit this idea later and add more of the mercs, for now I have more asks to get to! Thanks so much for the ask! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)