#i hope these are funny or at least interesting

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[ajellybee]

Tamed: Sukuna x Fem!Reader

⟢ CW!!: NSFW MDNI, 3.8k words, not proofread, excuse typos.. Freak frat boy Sukuna, virgin fem reader, college au, attempts of plot, no protection WRAP IT UP CHAT!!!, first time, cunnilingus, girl idk if thats all. You get the idea!! Virgin pussy so good you domesticated your whore of a best friend.

⟢🐝notes: this is my first time trying to do like, a full-fleshed fic so it might be a little rough…hope you enjoy tho!!! 

The HC that this was based off of here!

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“Hey, girl. You’re Sukuna’s friend right”. Not only has this girl been your lab partner all semester, but you guys also shared classes freshman year. You rolled your eyes because you know what’s coming next. Sukuna and you have been friends since junior year of high school. You got stuck with him for a project and you guys kind of just stuck. Sukuna also has a reputation for himself, being the class whore, even in high school, but since you guys started college it's gotten..so much worse. Even when he was a freshman the senior girls wanted a piece of him. 

You on the other hand were not as familiar in his field of expertise. Sure there were boyfriends here and there but you never went ALL the way, they were too eager to get their dicks wet and didn't care anything about your pleasure, so the virginity is still intact!! 

“Yes I know him, no he doesn’t want you, he’s with someone” It wasn't an entire lie. He was always down for a good fuck and he changes girls like clockwork, but he mentioned “scoring a hottie” earlier. The girl’s smile and friendly attitude towards you disappeared as if it was never there. Really it was annoying, dealing with your best friend’s shit. At this point, he needs to make announcements when he’s ready for the next girl. 

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“Sukuna I swear to every god out there, if one more girl approaches me trying to get in your pants, I'm killing you and them myself” He’s lying across your dorm bed scrolling through his phone. When he is not on his freak nasty agenda, he could be found in your room. You were able to score a single and he isn’t all too fond of his roommate. Seemingly not really listening to you he continues to scroll, causing you to kick his side. He thought it was funny, cute almost, how upset you got over this. It was the same argument every other week. He just wishes it came from a place of jealousy not inconvenience. 

“Woman I have no control over that. Not my fault this dick makes them crazy” he smirks at you making you scoff.

“God you're disgusting...get off my covers you’re dirty” you playfully(kind of) try and kick him off the foot of your bed. He quickly grabs your feet and pins them under his body, not budging despite your attempts to pull them free. 

“Don't be grouchy cuz you haven't gotten laid yet, brat” 

“Girl you fuck enough for the both of us, and like five more people. I’m good, trust.” You put emphasis on the last bit as you finally tug your feet free. “freak…”

“Anyways, look this was the girl I was telling you about” He shows you an Instagram page on his phone. Sukuna looked for any flash of jealousy in your face, but you gave him nothing. You used to like him back in High school, but liking him hurt too much. With every new girl and every story he’d tell you of said girl ripped away at you. To protect yourself you buried that feeling way way WAY deep down and you're fine with your relationship as it is now. Now you were indifferent, it's his life. Whatever. 

“Oh she’s pretty, how long is this one gonna last tho” 

“Don't know. She’s fine as fuck so maybe two weeks?” Again, no reaction to his statement, at least not the one he wanted. Sukuna? oh sukuna wanted you bad, but you never showed interest, if anything it felt like the opposite, and he didn't want to mess up what he did have with you, so he never pushed. 

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For the next couple of days you've been, unwillingly, thinking about sex. Blame ovulation or blame the overwhelming talk of sex in your friend group ever since your best friend lost her virginity. But you really saw no point in trying again, with how disappointing and unwilling all your past intimate (if you can even call it that) experiences have been. The talk you had with Gojo didn’t help either. You made a small comment and he poked and prodded until you spilled everything, even the part that you’ve been craving that experience. 

“Well, you could ask Toji, You know that one senior. I heard he loves virgins!” That’s what the idiot told you, sure was a joke, but it could work. Toji, much like sukuna, has a reputation for being a campus whore, but his favorite go-to-girls, were virgins. He always boasted about all the V-cards he took, and how good he was at it, ruining them for their future partners. But what has also been running through your mind was what Shoko told you.

“It would be better if you had sex with someone you trust?”

“You’ve been friends with Sukuna for a long time, no? Why not him?” suguru added.  You sat on that for a long time too. Sukuna was your best friend, and you do trust him. From the stories he’s told you himself you wouldn’t be left disappointed. The thing is, Sukuna never showed interest in you, strictly platonic. Sure he never gave up the chance of a good fuck, but with you being a virgin or him not seeing you in that light because of your friendship, the “what ifs” drove you insane, but after much deliberation, you came up with a conclusion, and hey, the worst he could do is say no. You got to your dorm and built up the courage to call him.

“Oh?? I thought you were avoiding me. You miss me now?” you could hear the annoying smirk on his face. 

“You know what never mind” you were ready to hang up, deciding on plan B, but as you pulled your phone away he interrupted.

“Okay okay, what's up?” Sukuna always dropped whatever he was doing for you, even if that meant not hooking up with the girl he was telling you about. He quickly pushed her out ignoring all her protests and angry huffs. Maybe you saved him cuz her whining was pissing him off.

“Can you come over?” Your face burned knowing what you were going to ask once he got there. You were determined to get it over with, and you had a plan B if he said no. no biggy no biggy… you just need to ask your best friend to fuck you. 

Sukuna arrived at your door quicker than you expected (he was already on his way to your dorm before you even asked him to go over). Opening the door, you let him in and he immediately got comfortable sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Okay, so what's up?” He’s pretending to be normal about it. But with the way you sounded over the phone he was thinking a million things and expecting nothing at the same time, but what you would say next will stop his heart. 

“Let me speak, no interruptions.” You waited for confirmation, catching on Sukuna nodded and waited for you to continue. It was like floodgates opened the way you confessed “Okay good. So… I want to lose my virginity. And, and I trust you the most out of everyone I know. It's okay if you say no, I won't take it to heart and besides, I have a plan B so it’s totally, totally fine.” it didn't feel as bad once you finished, although you didn't mean to add that last part. What happens, happens. You're comfortable with your relationship with sukuna so this should mean nothing to him, so you thought. Sukuna on the other hand, was not feeling the same relief, well he was until you mentioned a plan B.

“Plan B? And who the fuck is that” he stood up towering over you, eyebrow arched. 

“Oh well, gojo told me about Toji..you know him” The way he looked down on you was doing something, you felt something you hadn’t felt from another person in a while, Arousal. 

“Gojo is an idiot don't ever take advice from him” Sukuna regained a little of his composure after recalling your words. So he was plan A? “So you want me to fuck you, baby?” his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you to his chest. He liked the way you looked up at him. 

“Yes..” it came out barely a whisper, but sukuna wasn't having that.

“Sorry? What was that?” he leaned his ear down towards you. Oh so he’s gonna tease? You should have known.

“damn it.. Fuck, Yes, Sukuna. I want you” The words came out so breathy and desperate it surprised you. Sukuna noticed it as well and that fueled him even more as he slid his hands under your shirt and up your back. His warm hands felt like fire across your skin. He pushed you flush against his chest as his lips brushed against yours, breath fanning your face. 

“You gonna undress or do you want me to do it for you” a snicker left his lips as he watched you pout.

“Kuna be nice…” but nonetheless you stepped back and slowly peeled off each article of clothing, revealing more and more to sukuna. The tightening in his pants became more apparent once he saw you completely bare. He knew you'd be beautiful, but this level of imperfection felt illegal. Every peak and curve of yours looked so plush and soft, he wanted to kiss every inch of you. He wanted to caress your hips and feel as the goosebumps rose on your skin. But it wasn’t like him to voice all of that. Approaching you again, he leaned down and brushed his lips on yours again, but this time he kisses you. 

“Nice rack” Ignoring the sarcastic response you gave him in return, he reaches up to cup one of your breasts feeling the weight of it. His thumb brushed over your pebbling nipple, and the soft sigh you left out was better than he ever imagined. Sukuna pulled you towards your bed, making you lay back on your pillows. He pulled your thighs apart, but you quickly snapped them shut. “Well, how will you lose your V-card like that, let me see baby?” he slapped your thigh lightly urging you to open up again. Once you do he groans as you spread your lips for him, already so wet there were strings of arousal connecting. The two of you stayed like that for a while, you spreading yourself for him and Sukuna watching every twitch and clench. “Have any of them made you cum before?” you shake your head. He wanted to hunt them all down, but that’s for another time. “Have you ever made yourself cum?” you nod. “Then show me, sweetness.” he leans back on his heels. Sukuna had dreamed of being in this situation for so long, he’s going to make the most of it. 

“Kuna…I-” he raises his eyebrow at you again waiting for you to follow instructions. As instructed you brought one hand to circle around your clit. The way his eyes focused on the way you circled your bundle of nerves made even more slick drip from your pussy. You brought your other hand up to pinch and pull on one of your hardened nipples. Sukuna couldn't help but palm at his bulge, the ache too much to ignore as you sped up. 

“Put your fingers inside” he urged nearly drooling

“But that's never felt good when they did it” you whine moving your fingers faster. You were already close like this. Between the feeling of your own fingers and the way he watched, was enough to send you over the edge, but that was cut short. Sukuna huffed and slapped your hand away. The feeling of your orgasm depleting ripped a sob from your throat, but you were quickly shut up by one of his fingers prodding at your hole. 

“I'm not them” and with that he ducked his head between your thighs and watched the way your cunt sucked his finger in, just begging for another. He grew dizzy with the sweet musk that was coming from you. Sukuna could not believe he was face to face with what he dreamed about. His lips made their way to your pulsating bulb, giving it gentle kisses before enveloping it completely and giving you a harsh suck. You've never been touched like this before and this new sensation sent electricity throughout your whole body. Why didn’t you ask Sukuna to do this sooner? The rumors about him were true. 

“K-Kunaa, moree. M-more” your back arched so prettily for him when he added another finger, saying something about “yer greedy cunt” but the pleasure he was giving you was so overwhelming you couldn’t really focus on anything. He moved away from your clit down to get a taste of you, thumbing at your bundle of nerves while finally getting a taste of your honey pot. The groans he let out went straight to your cunt making you ooze more, earning more groans of approval. 

“Mm, you taste so sweet~. Can't believe it took so long for me to get a taste” he watched your face contort into that of pleasure and he wanted so badly to sink inside you, but he was enjoying being between your thighs too much to quit now. As soon as he started to fuck his tongue inside of your hole he couldn’t help but rut his hips against your sheets. The taste of you was making sukuna absolutely drunk. Never in his life has some pussy made him so desperate to nearly cream in his own boxers. He made mental notes of every reaction you had, recording every twitch and shiver you had to memory. 

You heard stories but you didn’t know just how messy of an eater he was. The sounds of him devouring you were so sinful and embarrassing, but the sound of him slurping and lapping at your cunt brought you closer and closer to cloud nine. If it wasn't for the vice grip you had on Sukuna’s pink locks or the way he pinned you down by your thighs you fear you’d simply float away. And oh when he locked eyes with you as he pinched your clit you saw a glimpse of the pearly gates. Your thighs clamped around his head as he drank everything you gave him. He continued to lap at your twitching pussy pushing you towards overstimulation.  If sukuna had it his way he would have spent another three hours with his face buried in your cunt, but you were desperately trying to push his head away with soft moans of “kuna please”.  Reluctantly he parted away from you with a kiss to your clenching hole and sat back on his knees admiring his handy work. Your pussy was a wet mess of your slik and his spit and oh did it make his dick jump with the way you lazily palmed at your breast, pupils completely blown as you wait for what you wanted, what you needed from him. 

“S-sukuna that was ssoo good” You watched as he whipped your remaining juices off his mouth and chin smirking wildly.

“Told you I wasn’t like those little boys you fucked around with” he leaned down capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that took no time to develop into a clash of tongue and teeth. The taste of yourself on his tongue made you moan into his mouth. The throbbing you felt started to become more and more unbearable as he kissed down your neck biting and nibbling here and there.

“Fuck… hurry I wanna feel you” You spread your legs making more room for him, bucking your hips up in desperate attempts to feel him. Sukuna groaned at the sight, wasting no time to discard his clothes, freeing his aching erection from the confines of his sweats. The size of him made you drip even more. How could you crave something so much when you've never had it? You don’t know but the need for him is burning through you. You wanna taste him, taste the pretty pearlescent pre that leaks from his tip in fat globs, lick the vein running on the underside of his cock, suck on the tip, feel the weight of him in your mouth, and see if he lets out pretty moans of your name. But you’ll save that for next time, hopefully, there will be a next time. Without realizing it you began to rub your clit as you watched him, his voice snapped you out of the trance.

“Cock drunk already? Playing with that pretty pussy just from the sight of my cock, oh I'm flattered” he cooed as he crawled back between your legs, heavy cock bobbing with his movements. His arrogance always got to you, but in this setting it made you crave him more. His cockieness made your cunt throb with anticipation. All you did in response was whine, something sukuna wasn't used to. No snarky sarcastic comeback, no punches, just whines and your hands desperately trying to pull him closer and it was driving him absolutely insane. He grabbed the base of his cock and lined it up with your entrance, dragging the tip up and down your slit and circled around your swollen clit a couple more times. The warmth radiating off of you felt soo good on him, but you guided his face to look back up at you causing him to stop his movements. 

“ ‘Kuna...w-wait. Please, could you be gentle?” the question came out barely audible, the vulnerability made your cheeks burn. He smiled in return, not his normal shit-eating grin, but one of sincerity. 

“ ‘Couse pretty baby. Need you to enjoy your first time, cant ruin my rep now can I?” he leaves a kiss on your forehead, and then goes down to capture your lips, not the clash of teeth and tongue as before. This one felt like more. In truth sukuna cared nothing for his reputation, as of right now he wanted to make you feel as good as possible. The newfound gentleness was new territory for him, but for you it felt like he needed to take his time and do things right. After giving you reassurance and promises of taking care of you, you gave sukuna the “okay” he needed to finally push into you. He felt the way you tensed up at the intrusion, but he was quick to shush you, kissing the tears away as he played with you clit to distract you from the stretch with each inch he sank into you. 

“Oh f-*hic*-uck, it’s...you’re so much I-. more please more” The feeling of him pressed all the way in you was nothing like you’ve felt. The stretch melted from uncomfort to unfathomable pleasure and you needed more. The twitch you felt from him inside you let you know that he felt just as good. In one swift motion, he pulled out just to the tip and pushed back in, the drag of him against your walls making you clench.

“Fuck your so t-ight even after all that work. You gotta relax… baby, f-fuck” his brows knitted together. The vice grip you had on him is going to make him cum prematurely, and he can’t have that. You tried your best to relax some but the way he fucked into you was way too good, and when he angled his hips up it was over. Your breath hitched, you've never reached that spot yourself and now you were seeing stars with the way he abused it. Over and over he bullied himself into you and right to that spongy spot. The moans you let out of his name only fueled sukuna more, rutting into you faster and harder. He promised to be gentle but the way you squeeze and drip around him made that impossible. The sound of your squelching pussy and his balls smacking against your ass was intoxicating, addicting. The sudden fluttering of your walls broke sukuna out his trance. 

“Kunnaaa I-Ithink..c-cum. I’mgonna cum” you moaned and moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss. Your moans were swallowed up by him in the messy kiss, mixed drool rolling down your chin. He pulled away pressin his forehead against yours whispering praises on how good you're making him feel and how good you're taking him.

“If you're gonna cum, cum. Lemme see what pretty face you make when you feel good” and the huskyness of his voice was the last push you needed to cream all over him. You arched off the bed, eyes rolling to the back of your head as silent moans left you. The spasms of your walls hurled him towards his own release. The way you try and milk him and suck his cock back in makes his thrusts sloppy. “Oh fu-ck, fuck. Youfeelsogood. So good. Virgin pussy is mine, taking my cock so well. Tell me its mine, yeah? Mine to fuck mine to- shit im gonna cum, whe-” his babbles get cut off before he can even finish his question.

“In-inside. Please i wanna feel you inside” and at that moment Sukuna makes a mental note to delete his booty call list. You are all he wants, all he needs. With the last remnants of his composure, he folds you completely in half, reaching even deeper than before. He felt so impossibly deep you swear you could feel his cockhead in your womb.  

“Fuck you're too good. Want me to fill you up? Fill up your pussy, yeah? Augh! Are you c-cuming again? Oh Oh-” he moans the loudest he’s ever had as he falls over on you. His body going completely stiff as thick ropes or his hot cum fill you to the brim. Sukuna was derailed by how caught off guard he was by his own orgasm. He has never came as hard as he did, body trembling as he tried to ride out both your highs. And oh he came so much, you feel both your releases oozing out before he even pulls out. The two of you stay like that for a little while, kisses here and there. Coos and caresses exchanged. 

“Thank you, Ryo…I think I get why you're a whore now.” and you break into a fit of giggles as he rolls his eyes in response. 

“Yeah whatever. You shoulda let me hit sooner baby.” he said kissing the corner of your mouth

“Baby? You called me that a lot. Am I your baby?” you raised an eyebrow jokingly, attempting to tease him,

“You wanna be? Sweetheart just say the word and im yours. All yours, Only yours” he was serious this time, no hint of playfulness, no teasing. 

“Take me out on a date”

“I already started planning it”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

⟢🐝notes: Sooor sorry it took so long chat. Hiii new followers hiiiii, sorry if you were waiting on this for too long （；´д｀）ゞ. I would blame college and work but like, also i've been doing nothing but play stardew 🌚. I HOPE IT WAS OKAY!!! Again im always open to feedback! And maybe i’ll do requests?? Idk if i have time ill do it. I think asks are open? Im fairly new to creating on here so idk...

Okay baiiiiiii (≧∇≦)ﾉ

[wombywoo]

Please indulge another one of my insane projects: Vincent & Stuart's bungalow in all its glory ✨

They've got a nice little plot of land in a humble village on the outskirts of Oxford. It's pretty secluded, enough to give a certain vampire his privacy, but it's been well-loved over the years

Here's the main layout:

And a side view:

I like to think there's a nice patio at the side, as well as a garage/shed and a nice forest surrounding it~

The main entryway/living room:

Lots of memorabilia from over the years, as well as a cozy place for their dnd shenanigans. The tv set is appropriately out of date, but they only use it to watch PBS masterpiece (or the british equivalent)

This room leads into the dining area as well:

And then the kitchen is through the arch:

(Ignore some of the glitching on the panels -_-)

Across the way is the pantry, stocked with suitable vampire provisions:

Then we have the study:

Spare bathroom/laundry:

And at the front of the house we have Vincent's bedroom:

(he keeps the curtains closed on sunny days, obv)

His ensuite bathroom:

The toilet is beside the sink against the wall btw (the sudden thought of vincent shitting is so funny to me omg :'D)

(you better believe Quinn is making use of that tub at some point...)

Stuart's room:

His old man bathroom:

There's also a little nook at the back of the house that leads to outside:

And there you have it! ✨

This was suuuch a fun project I totally didn't spend hours upon hours getting the minutest little details hahah....🙃

Anyway, I hope you find this neat and interesting at least <3

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Meet my sister P.1-Jude Bellingham

Part.2, Part.3

plot: Federico Valverde wants to introduce his younger sister to Jude, his teammate. He hoped that something romantic would be born between them seeing that their characters were perfect together but things take a different turn

Federico Valverde had planned everything carefully. The dinner was set in a private room at one of Madrid's most exclusive restaurants. As a protective older brother, he had always had one goal in mind: to see his sister Y/N with someone who could truly match her energy. And Jude Bellingham seemed like the perfect candidate—at least on paper. Young, talented, ambitious.

But reality often has a way of derailing plans, and that evening was destined to be unforgettable for very different reasons than Federico had imagined.

---

You were seated at the table, impeccable as always. Your black dress, sleek and elegant yet bold, caught everyone’s attention. Your loose, glossy hair framed your face perfectly, and your radiant smile lit up the room. You were used to having everyone at your feet, but tonight, you were there only because your brother had insisted.

When Federico had asked you to meet Jude, you’d agreed out of curiosity. After all, you were intrigued to meet the so-called “phenomenon” he always talked about. But the moment the guy entered the room, with his air of confidence and slightly arrogant smirk, something inside you sparked—not admiration, but irritation mixed with a touch of challenge.

Jude sat down next to Federico without even glancing in your direction, which only added to your annoyance.

“Well, it seems someone forgot their manners,” you said, breaking the ice with your trademark sarcasm.

Jude finally looked up at you, his piercing eyes scanning you with a mix of curiosity and arrogance. “Ah, sorry. You’re the famous Y/N? Guess the descriptions were a bit exaggerated.”

Federico cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Jude, that’s my sister. Maybe start with something less provocative?”

But you weren’t the type to back down. “And you must be Jude, the prodigy. Funny, you seemed taller on TV.”

Federico put a hand over his face. “Great. You two are going to get along just fine.”

---

Dinner continued with a constant exchange of jabs between you and Jude. You couldn’t stop provoking each other, and though every word was laced with venom, there was a palpable energy between you.

“So, Jude,” you began, your tone sweet but dripping with irony, “what’s it like living in Vinicius’s shadow? Must be hard being second best.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smug grin making you want to throw your glass of wine in his face. “Interesting, coming from someone who calls herself an actress, singer, and model. You know what they say: those who do too many things don’t do any of them well.”

Federico coughed awkwardly, trying to intervene. “Okay, maybe we can talk about something less… heated?”

But you ignored your brother, fixing Jude with a smile that was both a challenge and a promise of revenge. “Oh, don’t worry, Jude. I’m a multifaceted artist. You, on the other hand? You just chase a ball around. But I’m sure it serves some purpose, right?”

“Yeah,” he shot back without missing a beat. “To make more money than you’ve ever seen.”

Federico sighed, throwing his hands up. “I give up. I’m going to the bathroom, and when I come back, I want you two to act like civilized human beings.”

The moment Federico left the room, you and Jude locked eyes, the fire of disdain burning brightly between you. Then he leaned slightly toward you, that infuriating smirk still on his lips.

“You’re not used to someone standing up to you, are you?”

“I’m not used to someone trying this hard,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

“You’re funny,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “Especially for someone who probably spends more time choosing Instagram filters than living in the real world.”

You laughed, the sound sweet but dripping with sarcasm. “And you’re predictable. Let me guess: you’ve got a line of girls worshiping you and an ego that takes up more space than your talent.”

“You like to talk, huh?” Jude leaned back in his chair, watching you with a challenging expression. “But I bet behind all this theatrics is someone who can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

You leaned closer to him, your eyes blazing with determination. “And I bet behind all this arrogance is just a boy who’s scared of never being enough.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then Jude’s grin widened. “You know what? I like you. You’re annoying, but at least you’re not boring.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, but there was a spark in your eyes that you couldn’t deny.

Federico returned just then, looking at you both suspiciously. “Okay, what happened while I was gone? Did you two decide to call a truce?”

“Not exactly,” you and Jude replied in unison.

Federico sighed. “I knew this was a terrible idea.”

---

That night, you couldn’t have imagined that the spark of hatred between you and Jude would grow into something far more complicated. But in that moment, the only thing you knew for sure was that Jude Bellingham was the first person who had truly challenged you—and that intrigued you more than you cared to admit.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[trixy812]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ You have all my support ɞ˚‧｡⋆ pt 3.5

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: kento nanami x reader (boyfriend x girlfriend), fluff, funny, nanami jealous, gojo being chaotic

ִֶָ࣪☾. Summary: Reader meets Gojo!

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: I wrote this like an Omake! I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you write comments! :D if not, i am really really happy with likes & reblogs <3 xoxo

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3

Reader meets Gojo

Two days before graduation, Nanami received a last-minute notice: he had to deliver some documents and mission reports to Jujutsu High. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t refuse. Knowing it was going to be tedious, he agreed to your suggestion to accompany him. "It might be our first and last visit together before you graduate from there," you had said, and he couldn’t say no to that.

You observed everything with curiosity. While you didn’t have much interest in this world, it was fascinating to be there. Plus, you knew there was a chance you might encounter the most famous figure of this world: Satoru Gojo.

"Maybe we’ll run into Gojo Satoru, huh?" you said casually, though your heart raced just thinking about it.

Nanami, walking beside you with his typical straight posture and serious demeanor, scoffed.

"You’re not missing much."

That killed your excitement, but only for a moment. You decided to let it go; after all, you knew Nanami couldn’t stand the famous Strongest Sorcerer. Just as you were turning a corner, as if someone had heard your thoughts, there he was: Satoru Gojo.

"Nanamin! I see you’ve got good company."

Gojo appeared out of nowhere, with his carefree smile, dark sunglasses, and that energy that seemed to fill the entire hallway. He walked toward you as if he were on a runway.

Nanami immediately tensed, his jaw clenching audibly.

"Gojo," he said in his usual monotone, but you…

You froze. Your eyes lit up, and before you could stop yourself, you took a step forward, clasping your hands together as if standing before a global celebrity (which, in a way, you were your parents had taught you so).

"You’re Satoru Gojo?! Oh my God, I can’t believe it!" you exclaimed, bringing your hands to your mouth.

Gojo smiled, clearly delighted by your reaction.

"That’s me. In the flesh. Autographs later? Photos? I’m quite busy, but I can make an exception for such an enthusiastic fan."

Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, clearly holding back a sarcastic comment.

"It’s an honor to meet you," you continued, almost tripping over your words in your excitement. "It’s incredible to meet a sorcerer of your caliber."

Nanami turned his head toward you, clearly surprised. He didn’t know if you were joking or actually serious.

"My reputation precedes me? Of course it does," Gojo replied, tilting his head slightly toward you. "What do you think, Nanami? She seems to have good taste."

"Don’t start," muttered Nanami, clenching his fists.

But you were too caught up in the excitement to notice Nanami’s tension.

"I never thought I’d have the chance to talk to someone like you. You’re amazing! Your abilities are legendary," you said quickly, your eyes sparkling with admiration.

Gojo placed a hand on his chest, feigning modesty. "Ah, please, you’re making me blush. Although… it’s the least I’d expect from someone with such a keen eye."

Nanami shot you a look of utter bewilderment.

"Oh, is this the girl you told me about?" Gojo asked mischievously, turning to Nanami.

"Wait… you knew about me?!" you exclaimed, clearly thrilled.

"Of course. Nanamin here doesn’t stop talking about you," Gojo lied shamelessly, ignoring Nanami’s glare. The only thing Nanami had told Gojo was—The girl who uses reversed cursed energy in the hospital, the one I was we were once sent to investigate. I bought flowers with your loan. I gave her the flowers. We're dating now. —leaving him completely disappointed by the lack of details and the simplicity of the anecdote.

"And now that I see you, I understand why. Although," Gojo added, leaning slightly closer to you with a playful smile, "I wonder how you ended up with someone so serious. Wouldn’t you prefer someone more… exciting? Like me, for instance."

Nanami stepped forward, his shoulders tense. "Gojo…"

But you, still mesmerized by the celebrity in front of you, barely processed his words.

"Huh? Well… maybe…" you replied absentmindedly, making Nanami practically scoff.

Gojo, seizing the moment, stepped even closer to you. "See? She’s a smart girl. Come on, leave boring Nanamin and come with me."

Nanami didn’t wait another second. He pulled his weapon out of his bag and placed it between you and Gojo, creating a clear space.

"Keep your distance," he said in a low, threatening tone, though not entirely serious.

"Ooh, how territorial!" Gojo teased, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Nanami. I was just testing your patience."

You finally snapped out of it, covering your face as you laughed nervously. "Sorry! I got carried away. It’s just… It’s Satoru Gojo!"

Still irritated, Nanami put an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "Yes, it’s Satoru Gojo. Can we go now?"

Before you could escape, Gojo raised a hand as if he’d forgotten something.

"Oh, by the way, T/N. Such a shame about the fine your parents got. What an unfair way to treat a healer family."

You blinked, confused. "Fine? What fine?"

Gojo raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. "You know, for you using reverse cursed energy without registration. 10% of what your parents earn from each mission… such barbarity! Truly unfair, if you ask me."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You turned slowly to Nanami.

"Did you know about this?" you asked quietly.

"I thought you already knew."

"What?! I didn’t know anything!" you exclaimed, holding your head in your hands.

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d just caused. "Well, I think I’ve gotten someone into trouble. Lovely meeting you, T/N. Nanami, take care of her. She’s a real treasure, though I think she might want to reconsider her options."

And with that, Gojo disappeared, leaving you with a mountain of questions and Nanami visibly irritated.

As you walked back to the transport, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fine.

"This doesn't make any sense. Why didn’t they tell me?" you muttered, thinking about your parents.

Nanami, still processing the incident, sighed. "You should talk to them. Maybe they had their reasons for not telling you."

Then you turned to him with a mischievous smile. "Although… it was interesting to see how you acted with Gojo. Were you jealous?"

Nanami frowned, looking away. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Oh, sure, because pulling out your weapon was completely casual," you teased, laughing.

Though he didn’t respond, the faint blush on his cheeks was enough for you to know the truth. You laughed to yourself. You couldn’t help but feel like the entire experience had been unforgettable, especially seeing how Nanami had shown, without words, just how much you meant to him.

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3

Reader meets Gojo

[marchofmistria]

Hey I saw your requests were open and wanted to ask you if you could a do how would the bachelor's react to reader's/farmer's fuck ass haircut? I just cut my own bangs and it's all crooked and need some comfort 🥺

Hey I'm so sorry this has been in my inbox for so long!! Thank you very much for sending, this was so funny to think about. Hope your bangs have grown out since :') 

March

You already know March would be brutal. He's not good at expressing himself and, especially before you're an actual couple and he starts to put effort into not hurting your feelings, he wouldn't think twice about insulting your haircut.

If you came up to him after ruining your hair, he wouldn't be able to hide his confused scowl and ask "what did you do to your hair?" 

If you find it funny and laugh, he'll probably laugh as well and continue teasing you. He'd probably say something like, you shouldn't be allowed to smelt hot metal if you can't even cut your bangs correctly. 

He would laugh if you met him where he was and teased him back, especially about how he can't dye his own hair so he shouldn't be talking. 

If you had a different reaction, however, and got upset or embarrassed and walked away, he'd probably reflect on how you were likely feeling pretty self-conscious and realize that was a low blow.

He'd apologize next time he saw you, rolling his eyes and attempting to fix his comment a bit by saying "at least hair grows back." 

Ryis

Ryis would probably notice it right away. He pays close attention to you, and he can likely tell you're feeling self-conscious. 

He'd try to preserve your feelings the best he could. He'd ask about it lightly and casually. "Hey Y/N, did you get a new haircut? I like it."

You'd definitely blush and get super embarrassed, saying that you know the haircut sucks. Even though Ryis might secretly agree that it's not exactly the best look, he definitely would not agree to you putting yourself down like that. 

"What are you talking about, it's fine! You always look nice, so your haircut doesn't really matter, anyways."

If you're truly upset about it, he'd continue to reassure you and tell you that you look beautiful regardless. But thankfully hair does grow back if you truly don't like it!

He'll continue to compliment you as it grows back so you don't doubt whether he still finds you attractive. 

Eiland

Eiland is a sweetheart and would try to calm you down if you were upset about the haircut you gave yourself. A lot of reassurance about your beauty and his love for you regardless. 

He'd probably start telling you some interesting facts about historical hairstyles of Aldaria or something, as a way to distract you. You may or may not find it annoying in the moment. 

If you're still feeling unhappy, he'd offer to pay to get your hair fixed by Vera or some other expensive hairstylist in the Capital. 

He'd continue to attempt to reassure you that you look very pretty regardless and this sort of thing happened to everyone! In fact, he read on an Alda-period stone tablet that a woman once cut her own hair and....

Balor

It's rare that Balor loses his cool charm, but you see it waver in his face for a moment when you first see each other after the haircut. 

He'd try to deny it and turn the charm all the way up to compensate, telling you that you look absolutely radiant today (even though you look beautiful every day!). You'd see through it right away and call him out on it. 

He may try to deny it at first, but eventually agrees that it's not the best haircut. He does emphasize, however, that even something like a bad haircut couldn't detract from your beauty at all and you do still look lovely.

He'd hold back a bit of a laugh when you give him a blank stare from behind your crooked bangs, though. 

He just happens to generously gift you a set of beautiful gold hairpins from the Capital. Perfect timing. He'll tell you the hairpins compliment your eyes very well once he's no longer distracted by the funny-looking fringe. 

Hayden

Hayden wouldn't even notice honestly. He always thinks you look beautiful and wouldn't sweat small details like that. 

If you came to him and showed him how you messed up your hair, he'd probably laugh and tell you not to think anything of it!

"I cut my own hair all the time, Y/N. It's probably a mess but that's just fine by me!" He likes you however you are, with whatever you decide to do with your appearance.

If you were to tell him that you thought you looked unattractive or that you were embarrassed and didn't want anyone to look at you, he'd get genuinely upset. He truly doesn't understand how you don't see yourself as beautiful, and especially over such a small thing!

He'd continue to tell you not to pay it any mind, that hair grows back, and that no one would even notice. He genuinely thinks the latter because he wouldn't have noticed it had you not pointed it out. 

He'd lend you one of his big hats to cover your hair with while you wait for it to grow out, if you wanted. 

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[thelivingautomaton]

i started playing max payne 2 and was immediately so put off by how he no longer has sam lake's face that i decided to put together a collection of some of the max payne 1 panels that i really liked. enjoy <3

[batsplat]

Pecco and Pedro are probably the people who more than anyone else want to beat Marc. Pecco because he is forced to do it for a matter of survival, his bet next year is to be able to win against Marc with the same bike. Pedro wants to win the first world championship with Marc in MotoGP, even better if he wins it against him, because of course that’s what he wants. I MotoGP your teammate is your first enemy, as surreal as it is, it would be more likely to see Pecco and Pedro helping each other (which would be unlikely anyway because they aren’t the type of people who do that) than one of them helping their teammate , especially if it's Marc. If anything Marc and Pecco have to be intelligent enough to at least not take each other out Portimao style, because in that case there will be someone behind them ready to bite

so I'm going to jump in right away by saying, I know this ask acknowledges it's unlikely but, yeah, pedro and pecco will not be helping each other in any meaningful sense - because they are both serious challengers to each other and they know it. sometimes, riders can be known to help non-team members in fairly small low-key ways (see in this post valentino accusing marc of deliberately towing ducati riders to get them ahead of his actual rivals in brno 2014). for both pecco and pedro, marc is definitely the bigger focus, but they are both perfectly aware of the danger the other poses, and will not be inclined to treat each other as anything other than an active threat

that being said! of course pecco has already nicely demonstrated this season that he does approach his marc fights differently than he does those with other riders (which is broadly the correct and smart thing to do, even if the specifics can be critiqued). portimao even gave us the direct comparison between pecco/pedro and pecco/marc! part of it, yes, will just be an element of self-preservation - marc is now back to being a major roadblock for winning any future championships, and he'll be in pecco's house so will of course require... extra attention. apart from that, it absolutely would be the most meaningful way pecco could win a championship, by beating the famous marc marquez on equal machinery... nobody has done that before, and it would instantly dispel any remaining doubts about pecco's ability and cement his legacy as one of the greats of the sport. he wants to beat marc so badly because marc is one of the two riders he's always been chasing... and marc's absence has left all the young pretenders in this odd place where they've taken the crown but don't quite believe it's theirs yet. (just to say this again, I personally don't share the view that marc's absence diminishes those titles in any way, but it is of course interesting when the riders themselves have these insecurities.) there was that interview from early-ish last year where pecco talked about some of his personal limitations and how he views his own status in the sport:

fascinating, isn't it? of course, I'm sure a second title will have helped to some extent in making him feel a little more entitled to that status in the sport - but this is not the kind of thing valentino or casey or jorge or marc ever would have said. there's a self-consciousness to pecco, an awareness of his uncertain, shaky journey to the top of the sport, how he's fully cognisant of how different he is to those names... which can be a problem at times - delusion is an athlete's life blood, and while the level headed insight pecco expresses here is arguably admirable, it is not necessarily helpful for him as a champion. on the other hand, sometimes lacking a little in the delusion department can be a good thing if it allows you to deliberately improve yourself, pushed on by the knowledge that you still have a long way to go... pecco's biggest self-inflicted wounds have tended to come when he's at his most comfortable - you can theorise about why this happens, but maybe that striver mindset is exactly what he needs to keep him going. it's still quite the admission to describe his 2022 season as more incomplete than either valentino or marc's title runs. (mind you, it's arguably even less complete a season than some of their misses - of course with valentino you have the obvious ones, but did you know that marc scored an average of 13.44 points in 2015 vs pecco's average of 13.25 in 2022? obvious caveat that in 2015 there were considerably fewer competitive bikes and barely any capable of regularly challenging for race wins.) the need to prove himself is always there with pecco... it keeps peaking through with him, and it absolutely peaks through in his approach to marc. yes, yes, acosta is the future, jorge martin has been his title rival more recently... but of course, beating marc would be special. do you think pecco ever dreamed that of it? do you think he really believed that he could before he was already premier class champion? with most champions, you would say it's likely. with pecco, I'm not quite so sure

as for pedro, yeah, obviously, that's just the cycle continuing lol. deeply curious what those two regularly competing at the sharp end of races looks like. pedro has kinda kept his distance, isn't that much of a marc fan himself... when he talks inspirations he tends to bring up schwantz, stoner, pedrosa, and of course rossi

schwantz is far from an unusual pick amongst riders, though as the years pass perhaps gradually more so - it certainly reveals an appreciation for the history of the sport. as do the other choices, in a way... let's not forget that acosta was eight years old when casey retired. of course back in the day casey and dani themselves got plenty of criticism for how 'boring' they were - that's just how these things go! nobody's ever nostalgic for the present etc etc

pedro did also talk last year about how the public wants celebrations and rivalries, critiquing how friendly riders are nowadays and saying people want battles like jorge/dani, valentino/marc, and so on (full clip here)

heartwarming: global number of people who still care about the valentino/sete rivalry is now confirmed at 2 (two)

obviously, you can't just go out and manufacture feuds because you're feeling like it, and pedro's had a pretty quiet rookie season in that sense. but once he feels like he's settled in and can challenge the infamous marc marquez in an actual title fight? on the basis of this rhetoric, you'd at least hope he's not going to be too shy in taking on the challenge. of course he too wants to beat marc more than anyone else... again, it's a question of legacy, how pedro clearly situates himself within the same lineage as both valentino and marc - even if personally he aspires to be more of a successor to the former than the latter. always better to take the crown for yourself, right? this is a kid who's clearly into the history of the sport and is already determined to make himself a big part of that story... weaving himself into that narrative by taking on a legend of the past, taking on the task of disposing with that legend himself. plus, given pedro is so aware of that history - he knows that what people remember are the rivalries. he wants some of that for himself! it'll be interesting to see how proactive he'll be in making that happen, certainly seems like an enterprising young lad

anyhow, yes, plenty of potential for both of those dynamics. and yes, they do very much want to beat marc - but if we're talking about who wants to beat him the most, jorge martin probably deserves a mention right around now. does have to be said that something dumb like the portimao thing is costing pecco and marc this year. it's kind of gone under given the sheer bucketloads of points all the title contenders are throwing away, but pecco would be eight not eighteen points behind in the standings if he had settled for sixth in portimao, and for marc it would be twenty four rather than thirty five points if he'd backed out of the move and had another go on the next lap. relatively unlikely to make a difference at the end of the season... though for mr title decider pecco bagnaia, it sure might be! I did joke about making the pecco/marc portimao thing tradition, but generally speaking two top riders crashing each other out isn't that common a thing, and it's pretty..? rare? that it's the same two riders on multiple occasions? I'm drawing a bit of a blank here, to be honest... then again, title contenders do seem to crash rather more than they used to (admittedly they also have a lot of opportunities now) - so maybe this is going to become a more regular occurrence. but what is more likely to happen is that when you have two competitive riders on the same bike, they do run the risk of taking turns stealing points from each other at the circuits where their bike is at its best. I think pecco and marc can probably minimise this given what a good all-round bike the ducati is across a range of different circuits, and also given that as individual riders they do at least seem to be reasonably distinct in what their strongest and weakest tracks are. all in all, I kind of doubt they'll cost each other like that next year... though admittedly if portimao is anything to go by I may be tempting fate

[bookshelf-in-progress]

It's a good sign I'm recovering from my creative slump that I was able to brainstorm a story that makes me laugh.

[todayisafridaynight]

dont touch me im thinking of arakawa and sawashiro co-parenting again

[wreckitwrites]

[greaterstolenlandspolycule]

Paizo I am begging you PLEASE don’t kill Iomedae or Sarenrae…

[0alix0]

that moment when everyone's hyping show for anakin cameo/thrawn/ezra/etc. and you're here only for an old tired fallen jedi and his little ukrainian chihuahua-looking daughter

[potatobugz]

Noelle Holiday? (Yes this is a bingo request that I guess is a semi-sequel to the previous one for Susie)

thgey call her noelle holiday the way she. brightens up. your day