#it hurt cigarette burn style

[coffincoitus]

I had a vascular lesion spot on my nose that the dermatologist burned away today <3 I love burnt skin smell <3

[starmapz]

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

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 12.1k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m-”

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

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

“Sure, whatever.”

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

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

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

“Nah.”

Nah? Oh my god, you’re doomed. 

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

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

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

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

Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.

–

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

Well that’s… lovely.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

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

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

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

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

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

–

“He just completely no-showed, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

“Sukuna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Do you like Pokemon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?” Yuji asks through sobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask,” he instructs.

Your brow raises. “Ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it or leave it.”

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

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

“You look it,” you challenge him sarcastically.

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

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

“No.”

“Yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tilt your head as you roll down the window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fucking weird,” Shoko comments.

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

“He wasn’t a complete dick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.

–

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

You could email him.

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

You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, whatever.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is something wrong?”

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

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

He scoffs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

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

“You assumed the worst.”

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

“It’s fine. Everyone does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t get me started.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old are they, your brothers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

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

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

“I- uh-”

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

“I can’t-”

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

“I can’t afford to- uh-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Walk, brat.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“You’re… their guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

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

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

“That’s why you missed yesterday.”

He shrugs. “You knew that already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same as the brats.” He scoffs playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’kuna?”

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mechanic,” he states blandly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, miss!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

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

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @rinachains @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @creamflix @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki

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

[honeylations]

BAEK HARIN x FEM!READER

Prompt: You let her bully you but you know deep down she doesn’t mean it because she’s just trying to uphold her reputation as the school’s IT girl

Warnings/Notes: secret relationship, smut, fingering, F Grade reader, red flag Harin, smoking, reader gets burnt with a cigarette

A/N: IT’S HAPPENING PEOPLE. It’s time to showcase how down bad I am for this woman.

Your eyes were glued to your feet in fear as you were corned in the classroom by Dayeon and Wooyi, each holding a pair of kitchen scissors.

As always, everyone minded their own business, knowing that they shouldn’t interfere with whatever an A Grader is doing. You started to shake, tears welling up in your eyes when Dayeon took the sharp end of her scissors and dragged it lightly from your jaw to your chin.

“You know when I was younger, I loved styling my Barbie doll’s hair. My dad would always buy me a new one because I’d cut each one’s hair until they were bald and ugly….wanna be my new Barbie doll, Y/n?” Dayeon whispered.

Wooyi brushed her knuckles against your smooth face, admiring how clear and flawless it was. “It’s such a shame you got 0 votes. You’re so pretty Y/n-ah…all of that beauty about to go to waste”

Harin gripped her book as she remained glued to her seat, trying to mind her own business like she always does, but hearing the two girl’s threats/back handed compliments was slowly boiling her blood.

She’d allow any A Rank to bully anyone but once it came to you, her rule would change.

You’re her special girl.

That’s only for you to know at least.

Harin can’t bear to imagine how her reputation would be if the truth was out. She truly loved you but she loved this pyramid game just as much.

And you couldn’t argue with her about it. Whatever made your Harin happy, made you happy.

“I think we should give her short hair like Do-Ah” Dayeon winked, making Wooyi laugh.

Your clenched fists stayed by your sides when the took a chunk of your hair and steadying the scissors against it.

“Yah, that’s enough” Suji spoke up with arms crossed, making Dayeon roll her eyes.

“Don’t you have anything better to do other than meddling with us?” The green haired girl scoffed but Suji pushed the other two away before standing in front of you.

“How am I supposed to do well in class when I can’t even focus? Are you that dumb to not complete a simple test, Dayeon-ah? And Wooyi, if you’re gonna try to be the prettiest girl in this school, then find a better cardigan”

Wooyi cursed under her breath and held the scissors like a knife, taking a step closer to Suji just before Harin slammed her book on her desk and stood up.

“Kim Dayeon, Bang Wooyi. Enough.”

The two looked at Harin and gulped, seeing her approach them with her bitchy stare.

“She needs to know her place, Harin. I think she’ll look good with blood all over her body” Wooyi growled but Suji didn’t falter, only sending the short haired girl a middle finger.

“If you two don’t listen to me right now, I’ll make sure you move down to D Grade in the next voting.”

Looking between all of them, you noticed Harin was now staring at you as her minions ran off to their designated seat but Suji remained in front of you.

“You too, Sung Suji. Everything’s handled, you can go back to your seat” Harin ordered.

“And what, let you torment Y/n? I don’t think so”

“What makes you think I’ll do that?”

“I can see through you, Baek Harin. I’ll seriously kill you if I see burn marks on more people like you did with Jaeun”

With a shaky hand, you tugged onto Suji’s uniform. “S-Suji, it’s fine”

Harin’s eyes darted down to your hand that was on her rival, not accepting the small skin ship. “Don’t touch her, Jeon Y/n.”

Suji held your hand and interlocked your fingers. “Don’t listen to her Y/n. I can help you”

Fire flashed in Harin’s eyes and she instantly yanked you away from Suji, pulling you behind her. “Don’t touch what’s not yours, Sung Suji!”

“Who are you to claim her? I’m not letting you hurt this girl anymore!”

You saw the taller girl point her finger in the shorter’s face. “Try to ruin the game all you want, Suji. But don’t you dare touch Y/n or get her involved in it”

Without hearing another word, Harin dragged you out the class and into an empty room, locking the door and sitting down on one of the chairs while pinching her nose bridge.

You stood awkwardly in front of her and played with your fingers. “H-Harin..”

“Are you trying to make me jealous on purpose?”

You looked up at her with wide eyes. “What? N-No! I was going to tell Suji to go away I swear!”

Harin sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know, baby. It seemed like you wanted Suji’s attention more than mine. Don’t you love me anymore?”

“No no I love you, Harin! So much!”

She bit on the tip of her thumb before tapping her lap. “Come. Sit”

You quickly did as so and held onto her shoulders for support.

“You’re such a bad girl, baby. Letting the other girls touch you like that. Tell me, did you enjoy having Wooyi’s fingers on you?”

Your lips were sealed but you shook your head.

“That’s right. The only fingers you’ll be getting are mine, okay?”

“Y-Yes Harin”

She tilted her head at you. “We’re alone now, honey”

You gulped and flickered your gaze at her plump lips. “Yes mommy”

Harin held your hips and forced them to move back and forth against her lap. “Don’t kiss me, Princess. That’s your punishment as of today, got it?”

“Yes mommy” you gasped when Harin moved you to sit on her thigh, letting you continue riding it.

“M-Mommy, feels so good”

“I know baby. Don’t be loud, okay?”

You nodded and watched the girl remove her cardigan, taking out her usual cigarette and favourite golden lighter. Quickly lighting up a stick, she hid the lighter back into her cardigan and moved one hand underneath your skirt.

“My good girl. Not wearing panties like I told you to” she smiled, taking a big puff of her cigarette and blowing the smoke into your face.

You didn’t like passive smoking but with Harin, you did not mind one bit.

Her ring finger and middle finger were flat against your soaked entrance, causing you to whine. “Mommy…Mommy please can I ride your fingers?”

“Always having manners, baby. That’s what I love so much about you…” she trailed off and leaned up to place light kisses under your jaw. “…go on ride me”

“Thank you mommy” you choked and felt full from her two slender fingers pushing into you.

Your grip on her shoulders tightened while you moved up and down, feeling her digits dig deeper inside your walls. You threw your head bag and murmured a bunch of incoherent words while Harin stared up at you with fascination, still going through her cigarette.

“God, you’re so pretty Jeon Y/n. I’m so glad you’re mine. My beautiful F Grade” she whispered, leaning her cigarette to your shoulder. “You know what to do, my love”

You undid the 3 top buttons of your shirt and pulled down the left side, exposing your black bra strap and the left over burn marks from your previous private sessions with Harin.

She hummed at your obedience and struck the lit end of her stick against a new space on your skin. The mix of the pleasure of her fingers plus the stinging hot cigarette was enough to bring you to your orgasm, clutching Harin so hard that her uniform could’ve ripped.

“Yes…cum for me, sweet girl”

“Fuck fuck fuck yes mommy thank you”

Admiring your fresh burn, she flicked the cigarette away to hug your hips and pull you closer, letting her continue kissing all over your neck and collarbones, even kissing your old burn scars.

She was about to move to your other shoulder, pulling down the shirt to expose your skin but she was met with a big bruise.

“Is this from Kim Dayeon?”

You were still recovering from the intense orgasm but managed to nod your head. “Y-Yeah..”

“Does it hurt alot?”

“Not alot. I’ll put ice on it, don’t worry”

Harin slowly pulled her fingers out of you and sucked it clean, noticing your face going red. “Don’t be shy, baby. You’re so cute”

“T-Thank you”

“I can punish Dayeon for you, my love”

“No I don’t want that, seriously it’s okay” you chuckled and held her face, tracing her bottom lip with your thumb. “You worry too much”

“You’re my girl. Why won’t you let me help you move to A Grade?”

“Just ‘cause…I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you”

Harin nodded in understanding and kept smiling at you. “If you say so, my love”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 48

part 1 | part 47 | ao3

cw: mentions of smoking/sexual activity

Chapter 11

February

For two and a half months, Steve’s life goes perfectly. He didn’t realize how far into a pit he’d fallen until Eddie showed up to help Robin and the kids lift him out, but the difference is jarring. Golden hour sunlight after catching a matinée.

Steve spends two months blinking.

He sloughs off his sadness like a snake shedding skin; spends the winter getting back to being Steve, restocks his favorite hair products and restarts his fitness routines — morning runs through the woods, afternoon pick-up games with Lucas and some of his teammates when the weather doesn’t suck. Weightlifting in the evenings because Eddie says he likes how Steve’s arms look when they get a little big, says it’s more fun to pin him down when he knows it’s just for show.

And he tries new things, too, just because Eddie likes them or because the kids think they're cool. He reads a Vonnegut novel. He eats Indian curry. He even learns a song on guitar.

...Sort of.

Eventually.

(Actually, that whole thing goes pretty horribly and takes for-fucking-ever. Eddie spends an afternoon patiently encouraging him and doing his best not to tease while Steve clumsily moves through a beginner chord progression, and then breaks down wheezing when, after the sixth attempt with no improvement, Steve puts the guitar down in a huff and threatens to demote his pinky finger from his hand if it doesn't start cooperating. Eddie laughs so hard he tips face-first into Steve's crotch, and it takes them a sticky-spitty-sweaty half hour to get back to the lesson.)

Anyway, he likes the way their lives entangle. As easy as weaving his hands through Eddie’s hair.

He gets invited to band practice; he sits in on D&D. Sometimes he watches sports with Wayne when he's got a day off, then he heads out with Eddie for long joyrides through the countryside.

Eddie blasts his metal music when they get out to the backroads, and he talks too loudly over the bass and laughs even louder and rants about nothing and smokes cigarettes while he headbangs to his favorite guitar solos — almost lights his hair on fire on more than one occasion, fucking dumbass — and he does this silly, lewd shit that makes Steve's chest just ache. Makes it clench around the word that's been burning a hole in his tongue since New Year's Eve. Eddie wags his brows and palms himself through his jeans and asks if Steve wants to take another joyride when they get home, and Steve thinks:

God, I love you.

I love you.

How could I not love you?

And really, how could he not? And how much longer can he keep not telling him so? When it feels like the word is going to burst out of his chest Alien-style any second.

When it feels like Eddie's the reason he even has a home to get to.

Slowly — so slowly, hours spent thrifting and bartering and keeping an eye out for free stuff left out on the curb, even more hours sanding and painting and caulking and sweating to death between trips to the hardware store — they redo Steve's whole trailer. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, they exorcise the haunted tin can. They make it his; they make it theirs.

Eddie injects life into every inch of the space, fills it with weird art and funky lamps and a big, comfy leather couch that he likes to bend Steve over. Comes inside him in every room when they get done working on it as a reward; gasps in Steve's ear about how he always wants to be inside him: in his home, in his body, nestled deep inside his heart. "Keep me right here, baby," he breathes as he fucks Steve against a wall, his left hand gripping Steve's chest while he fills him from behind.

It’s perfect.

It's perfect.

Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts unless Steve asks.

And then, because this godforsaken town and everyone in it are fucking cursed, one day it isn’t anymore.

—

part 49

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of fics where a character asks another character who did this to you or something similar as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

💢 Remember Me Before You by @kingsofeverything

(E, 293k, New Girl au) Desperate to find a new place to live after he comes home to find his boyfriend cheating, Harry moves into a loft with three strangers.

💢 Undone, Undress by @angelichl

(E, 134k, uni) Louis' new roommate is shy, skittish, and flinches at the slightest sounds. He's an art major who gets drunk on cherry wine, wears lacy lingerie, and shows up late at night covered in bruises that blossom across his skin like flowers.

💢 Rogue by Laventriloque

(NR, 95k, a/b/o) Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindest one he's ever met.

💢 Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds / @harrybridgers

(NR, 88k, hurt/comfort) 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

💢 Spell my name wrong and take me in your arms by phacochere_9

(NR, 65k, coffee shop) Harry is in an abusive relationship. He meets Louis, the cute barista with all the tattoos.

💢 Petrichor by spotofpurple

(T, 64k, book store) When Harry has a panic attack in front of Louis’ bookshop and the older boy helps him, a weird friendship is formed. And soon developed into something neither of the boys expected.

💢 Strong in the Broken Places by @phdmama

(E, 46k, famous/not famous) A chance encounter leads Louis to a new job opportunity, and new relationships that will change his entire life.

💢 Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 40k, royal au) Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

💢 Through a Mirror Dimly by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(M, 38k, uni au) Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate. They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate.

💢 where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting / @polkadotlou

(M, 31k, a/b/o) the accidental bonding a/b/o fic

💢 Home (It's You) by sunniskies

(M, 28k, a/b/o) Louis and Harry are neighbors who can't seem to get along...until they fall in love.

💢 Keep You Sheltered From The Storm That's Raging On. by alxclightwood / @brooklynbis

(T, 7k, established relationship) Louis is possibly the best teacher ever, Harry owns his own bakery, and both give up their night to help a young student in trouble.

💢 I'd never hurt you by Larryswonderworld

(NR, 6k, established relationship) In which Harry gets beaten by a homophobic asshole, Harry's parents are sure that Louis is the one who causes the bruises on Harry's body, Louis just wants to help.

💢 Together We're the Greatest by @hellolovers13

(E, 4k, exes) It's not the first time Louis has to stitch Harry back together, but Louis will make sure it is the last.

💢 Healing Love by chaotic_muffin

(NR, 1k, a/b/o) Harry Styles, an omega, runs away from his abusive parents and lands in Louis Tomlinson's territory without realizing it.

— Rare Pairs —

💢 You remember burning cigarettes in my skin? by Ziamismyotp

(M, 41k, Zayn/Liam) where Zayn made it out of a bad relationship alive but you never come out of those things completely unscratched, do you?

💢 for your eyes only by @muldxr

(M, 9k, Harry/James Bond) While on a dangerous mission, 007 reunites with an old flame.

[babydin]

Sex (With My Ex) 

Wrong place at the wrong time might've cost Javier his relationship with you, but he's as smooth as he is handsome and it isn't long until you fall back into old habits. He's a drug and you're addicted. - Javier Pena x f!reader - 18+, minors DNI! - Song inspo: Sex (With My Ex) - FLETCHER - References to cheating, alcohol, fingering, dirty talk, cursing, vaginal doggy style, light choking, biting, references to bruises - 1865 words -Comments/likes appreciated - A/N: There is Spanish in this and I am not a native Spanish speaker, it is something I am learning so please forgive me if my grammar or anything is incorrect! I'm still making my way through Narcos so I'm sorry if I don't have his voice 🥺 Also I figured out how to post this without splitting it or linking it yay me! 

I just had sex with my ex in a New York apartment.

“Do you want to come in?”   It’s been almost a month since you caught Javier with another woman’s tongue down his throat, it didn’t surprise you and you almost felt like you should’ve seen it coming. He had been spending more time on his case than he had with you, more time with his informants than he had at home, of course it was inevitable that she was getting to see him at his best and his worst, get take out with him, kiss him goodnight, suck his dick when he got praise from the boss. He told you that it was just a kiss, and it was just the one time but he came home to you and slipped into bed and turned his back to you most nights and it was that that made it hard for you to believe him.   You don’t know why you said yes, maybe it was those big dumb Bambi eyes he was giving you, or the way he smelled of lager and cigarettes, but you step into Javier’s apartment and give him a cold look as you brush past him and stares down at the ground like he knows he deserves it. You have a box of things he’d left at your apartment, and you drop it carelessly on the couch. It’s mostly clothes, a few tapes, a mug he bought you from a vacation to Cape Town last year. It had a crudely drawn pair of tits on it, you never did understand his reason for buying it for you but every time you drank from it you remembered spending an entire afternoon getting fucked by him under a mango tree. You both got sunburn. Javier comes to you with a glass of something over ice. It looks and smells like tequila, you don’t want it but you take it to be polite. “You look nice.” “What do you want?” You knew you looked nice. You had purposefully worn a skirt that showed off as much as your legs as you could get away with without getting a public indecency charge on you, and a shirt that accentuated the curves of your torso in a way that wasn’t so obviously trying to, but did anyway. Your hair was tied back, exposing your neck because Javi was a biter. “Babygirl, let me explain. Will you let me?” He looks pathetic; it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. He’s full of apology, he’s full of regret, his eyes are wet, and maybe he’s terrified of losing you. You shoot the tequila in one gulp and set the crystal tumbler on the side table then take off your jacket and lean back against the back of the couch and raise your eyebrows, indicating to him to go on.  “I swear to you, it was one kiss. Once. She came onto me–” You scoff. “I know. I know that’s such a bullshit excuse but it’s the truth. Her mouth had been on mine for half a second before you showed up. I would never break your heart like that, mi vida.” He moves closer to you, “Come on.” You could’ve melted into him right there, his soft sultry tones and those puppy dog eyes, the smell of tobacco smoke burning in your nose, the shot of tequila burning in your veins. “No, Javi. You can’t just – You can’t just sweet talk me in Spanish and expect me to just forgive you. You really fucking hurt me, you pig.” Javier pouted,  “Soy un cerdo. Un cerdo podrido. Un cerdo muy apenado y podrido.” He reaches up and touches your cheek with his thumb, “Lo siento mucho.” It turned out he could just sweet talk you in Spanish and you would forgive him. The second that apology left his lips you grabbed the collar of his shirt in both your hands and pulled him into a heated kiss, surprised at how much you had missed the taste of stale cigarettes and beer. He pushed into you and forced you to sit on the edge of the couch, your legs wrapped around him and his jeans were so tight you could feel the outline of his cock against you, he wasn’t hard but he would be soon. That feeling alone was enough to get a pool of arousal forming in your panties. Your hips rut against him, desperate for some friction at your core as pressure builds. You haven’t had anyone inside you since Javier, you aren’t sure if anyone else can compare.   He feels your pleading movements and slips his hand between the two of you, it finds a home up your skirt and into your panties, the warm slick welcome he gets makes him moan into your mouth. You pull away slightly to unbutton his shirt, “¿Se besó como yo?” you ask, with the little Spanish he has taught you, you hope it’s intelligible. He spares you the struggle of having to translate, although hearing you speak in Spanish leaves his knees weak, and answers you in breathless English, thick fingers massaging your sex, “Gatita, nobody kisses like you.” You moan desperately and try to buck against his hand, needing more of him, all of him. You pull his shirt out of his jeans and make quick work of unbuckling those. Your trembling fingers are clumsy on the fastenings, but you can feel the ghost of his length as stiff as a board and pushing awkwardly against the already tight denim. “You’re so wet, kitten. You miss me?” “Fuck me.” You’re not above begging him. He doesn’t even have to ask you to, it comes so easily; the way he gets you so riled up so quickly, skilled fingers stroking your clit with ease as you coat them with your arousal, his softly toned chest heaving as he struggled to keep his breathing at a steady pace, of course you had missed him. You needed him. Nobody in the world had ever fucked you as good as Javier Peña.  “Please, Javi.” you get his jeans open and pull them down just enough to reach inside and pull out his thick cock, hard and twitching in your hand. He doesn’t give you any time to pleasure him though, he rips you off the couch and his hand pulls your panties down in one swift move, so fast you barely have time to register what happened, but as your underwear drops to your ankles you step out of it so you can spread your legs as wide as he needs them. Javi turns you around and pushes you back over the couch, his knee pushes between your thighs to nudge your knees apart and he guides his cock between your soaked labia, coating himself in your arousal, and you moan as you feel yourself around him. You suddenly wonder how it would feel to ride him like that, his stiff cock pressed against his stomach under your weight as you rub your clit on his shaft until cum oozes out of him. Your thoughts are disturbed when Javier presses his tip inside you, your sex is aching for him, already pulsating around him, welcoming him in, trying to pull him deeper as he stretches you with his girth. He doesn’t ease in tonight, he fucks his way in, each thrust has him entering you deeper until you have all of him, his hands on your hips pulling you into him and you know you’re going to bruise from the brute force of his pelvis smacking into yours but you will wear those bruises proudly. His fist twists in your ponytail and he pulls you up off the couch a little, leaning down to meet you. That was another good reason to wear your hair up, you thought. Built arms wrap around you, the one hand finding your clit again to rub rapid circles over it as the other holds your throat. You moan loudly without a care for any of the adjacent apartments. Javier’s teeth find your neck, just behind your ear, they sink in and they suck hard and he claims you as his own. You hear him grunting, feel the heat from his breath and the sweat from his brow, and it drives you insane. “Javi—” you gasp desperately, “Javi, ba–baby I’m—” You don’t need to finish your sentence, and he knew exactly what you were going to say. He fucked you harder, so hard it made your teeth rattle, his fingers launching a relentless attack on your clit, as if he was trying to start a goddamn fire down there. You couldn’t hold onto your orgasm anymore at this rate, and you mistakenly turned your head and looked at him, his face all twisted with concentration, tan skin flushed with a fire burning within him, glistening with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. Each forward thrust of his hips forced a moan from you until you came hard. Both of your hands wrapped around his to stop him from rubbing you any more, and your thighs clamped together as the muscles of your sex ebbed and flowed around his cock, you moaned from deep within your throat and could not believe how sensitive you were. Despite your reaction, Javier did not stop pounding into you, fucking you through your orgasm and when you were coming down he took both your hips in his hands and continued, pulling you into him as he fucked you. You had barely time to recover from your first orgasm and you felt a second brewing already, your knees were weak and you gripped onto the couch for stability.   Javier’s teeth sank into your shoulder and his hand once again found your throat. “You got me so fuckin’ pussydrunk, kitten.” he purred into your ear, his breath heavy as he struggled to catch it between his harsh thrusts. Your eyes roll back into your head and you reach back to grab at his hair desperately, pushing back against him as your second orgasm washes over you so quickly. It’s so intense that your mouth falls open but no sound comes out, the walls of your core clamp down on Javier and claim him and it doesn’t take him long before his calculated thrusts become messy, then few and far between, and then completely still as he spills his orgasm deep inside you. His voice went up an octave as he released his thankful moans into your neck. The feeling of him filling you up made you find your voice, a strangled gasp filling the air as you tugged on his hair and forced him closer into your neck. Javier’s grip loosened on your body, his touch turned suddenly so tender but still he held you close, feeling your body trembling. “Missed you.” he whispered against the shell of your ear. You smile lethargically and try to steady your racing heart that seems to beat only his name Javier. Javier. “You’re amazing Javi.” You tell him. “Stay. Please?” You think for a second and then nod; how could you possibly say no? Nobody in the world is ever going to love you like Javier Peña.

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Eleven

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): PTSD/abuse themes, explicit content (18+), strong language, depictions of nightmares/panic attacks, hurt/comfort, smut, p in v sex, unprotected s*x, hehe

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Watch by Billie Eilish + Fine Line by Harry Styles inspired this chapter. Not proofread entirely, so don't mind mistakes. Enjoy!

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Watch Me Burn

“Think this is the last of it.” Simon huffs, setting down the last box.

You were finally back there, standing in the middle of the home Cal and you once shared. Selling it was too much of a hassle, and it was decently sized. Perhaps it was a calm before a storm; how tranquil you felt standing in the middle of the entrance hall. Or the kitchen, the dining room, worst of all—the bedroom.

But you were here now, and he was soon to be cremated. There was no room for dwelling, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. And Simon? His awkwardness has been well disguised if there is any left by now.

The drunken kiss—it was just that; a drunken kiss.

With the horrible shit you two had been through to land you here, unresolved tension became the new way of communicating. You began to think you both fed on the chaos like if things were too calm, the world would implode.

“Thank you.” You say, playing with the new house keys. Internally, you were showing gratitude for more than just him moving a few boxes, it was how resilient he had been, despite all your baggage and unpredictability.

He merely nods, reaching into his pocket for his carton of cigarettes. He was going to leave you to do… whatever it was you needed to do in order to be comfortable here. Simon hadn’t expected you to ever want to be back here, to want to spend your new riches on travel.

However, if Simon learned anything about you during these months; life on the road didn’t suit you, especially not with him. And in truth, he had no plans once you got settled here. At first, he was going to move straight to his next op, forget about this one.

It was abundantly clear he was well past self-control, though. That’s what frightened him the most.

You turned yourself in a circle a few times, admiring the high ceilings and decor still left behind. It was the same as Christmas Eve, only the evidence of Cal’s tantrum had been long cleaned up. He really wasn’t here when he was hunting you—he had sent a housesitter, most likely, given the fact that there wasn’t a speck of dust in the main living area.

There were only small reminders; the scuffs on the hardwood, the dents by the china cabinet, and a nasty scratch in the dining table from the night you left. You’d be lying if looking at the damages didn’t paint a vivid image of each blow that causes them.

When you gazed at the scuffed hardwood, you remembered the way he flipped the table the first time you fought. Then, the china cabinet—merely a cabinet of things for him to hurl in your direction. Worst of all, the dining table with a scratch from the knife you grabbed, scraping across the oak when he dragged you across it.

In each small area, you were rewatching the moment as a numb spectator, as if you had a third-person viewing of your fight for your life.

You hadn’t realized, but you had been literally walking down memory lane, physically tracing your fingertips along each reminder. “Found this in the truck, must’ve fallen out of your bag.” His sudden presence startled you, but it was a blessing. Any longer, and you would’ve probably ripped up the real estate papers and kept moving.

He was outstretching one of your necklaces, one you definitely didn’t want to be left behind. “Thank you,” you said it again, a double entendre barely concealed with your wavering voice. His poker face made it hard to decipher his awareness—for all you knew he could be feeling nothing towards you.

Simon’s eyes found the dent in the wall, recalling just how long your fingertips skimmed it, the nauseous look on your face. He debated on this next move, but his feet found a position behind you anyway since you didn’t take the jewelry from him yet.

“I hate the carpet. And everything in the dining room.” His subtle breath was the only thing alerting you of his close proximity, or you probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Two hands came in front of you, opening the necklace and slowly wrapping it around the base of your neck. If you hadn’t just been morbidly reminiscing, perhaps your breathing would’ve changed a bit.

He clicked the necklace in place, his gruff voice gentle and appreciative, “so get rid of it all.” It was almost a whisper like he was giving you the permission you didn’t need but were so obviously asking him for. It was your home to renovate, not his.

Simon’s breath smelled of fresh cigarette smoke, lingering in a cloud around you even after his simple words concluded. A hand lingered on your shoulder, giving it a small pat, before he retreated out to the untouched living room.

There was no sense in keeping the reminders, and none of it was to your taste. It was time to get to work if you had any shot of moving on from Cal.

Once you got started, you found it hard to stop.

Tearing out furniture and ripping up the carpet was surprisingly therapeutic, even with the emotional baggage the material things carried. The place was empty, but not understimulating. To you, it was a pleasing blank canvas you had full power to refurbish and leave the old behind. Cleaning up the mess was just an afterthought, but soothing to your soreness from all the handy work.

Of course, Simon would carry heavy things out, or assist in moving something for you. But when you were aggressively hammering a nail and grunting? He… found it beneficial to stay out of your way, with no clue whose face you might’ve been picturing while doing it.

The kitchen was shockingly tidy; the fridge was empty, as were the cabinets. You tackled that room last, disinfecting and placing the few food items you brought with you. Of course, it was a depressing sight; all those cabinets with only a few canned items and some granola bars. On the bright side, you’d only ever seen Simon eat once, so he wasn’t your worry.

Groceries would be a task for tomorrow. For now, you need to rest your legs and feet.

Simon claimed the spare room, which once was Cal’s office. You peered inside of it when you strolled down the hall—he had already laid out a blanket and pillow on the daybed. It was nice enough, for someone like him, at least.

You were taking advantage of the king-sized bed, though. Not one night in your marriage, did you ever get it to yourself. Sometimes you would snuggle in it, hopeful that this would be the night Cal didn’t come up the stairs and join you—or more commonly, that he would be too drunk to drive home.

He never was, of course; a natural buzzkill and energy vampire.

But it was yours now, the whole master bedroom. It had the nicest view of all the rooms; two large windows above the nightstand that overlooked the street, the bed in between them, and a fireplace seating area in the corner. Not that you ever needed this much room, or could even fill the space with all your belongings, but you had earned the right to spoil yourself. It was your home as much as it was his, even though it didn’t feel that way with Cal.

You practically expelled all the air in your lungs, the second your back hit the plush mattress. You sprawled out, almost in a starfish position as you looked around at your new room. The walls had always been kept white, as did the sheets—allowing you to picture it entirely renovated, to your design taste.

Though, if you had another minute of thinking about renovation, you would’ve lost your mind. You hadn’t even taken off your shoes, and your eyes were fluttering shut. In all honesty, you were too worn out to care about the position you were in, or the shoes still on your feet.

—

You sat up in the bed, feeling yourself in the exact position you had snoozed. You looked at the alarm clock to your right, red numbers being one of the only sources of light.

12:32 AM

Clearly, you needed it, because you hadn’t even moved in your sleep, or pulled the covers up. You reached up a hand, rubbing your tired eyes. Of course, you were now wide awake at midnight. Just your luck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, embraced by the softness of the bed beneath you. A warm tingle was overtaking you like you were taking a soothing shower or bath. It was perfect… Too good to be true, right?

The bedroom was the same, nothing disturbed. But, as comforting as it was, something was off balance. There was no faint sound of the TV downstairs or the occasional clearing of his throat, only the white noise of the AC.

Now that you’ve moved and gathered your bearings—it was icy cold, more than what could be blowing from the vents. And… there was a mumble growing louder; a man’s voice you couldn’t decipher from your room.

Your legs swung off the edge of the bed, taking an instinctual look over your shoulder as if searching for the source of this ill feeling. There was no monster in the shadows, or a hand from under the bed grasping at your ankle. Not even the feeling of a presence—but you knew there was one. Who was talking, at this hour? The confusion made your brows knit, and your mouth hang open slightly.

Normally, you would’ve just got up and investigated the sound. But, getting to your feet was taking some courage right now, and you were moving about half the speed you would any other time. When you turned your head toward the bathroom, the door was still open—the washroom was nothing but a pitch-black abyss right now.

And the closet? You were too shaky to go in that direction, shaking your head at the idea immediately. That left the door in and out of the bedroom, where the muffle was coming from somewhere in the home.

You fingered the brumal knob, feeling it sting against your steaming flesh. The air was cold, causing goosebumps, but you were simultaneously burning up from a feeling of impending doom. The hinges cracked, almost sounding similar to the low-octave male voice still audible.

The door opened and it was… the hallway. The same way it was when you went to sleep, only illuminated by one of the sconces. Still, the sound was coming from the spare room. When you looked, there was a near-blinding light coming from under the door.

A hushed, growly whisper went past you—no, through you, like a stranger passing you on the street while speaking. You shivered again, eyes darting down each side of the hall. Down the steps, it was like the master bath, a dark abyss you didn’t want to trek through.

That left the spare room in all its blinding glory, and whoever, whatever was behind the door. This time, you pushed forward with all the speed you could muster. Not even a light jog, as if you had the weight of the Earth constricting your joints.

The muffle got louder, even overbearing when you opened the door to the spare room. It wasn’t the empty room with stray boxes and tools—it wasn’t your house at all. You squinted and held up your forearm to shield the light, taking several seconds for your eyes to adjust. It was the large windows—those large windows from the office building. And now, you could hear the voice clearer now.

You turned the corner and saw yourself. The moment Cal was creeping up on you, touching your waist. Though you were watching it from a different angle, seemingly watching it play out the same way it happened—it wasn’t. The woman you were watching, she wasn’t moving, not budging against his hands. She was… just standing there, white-knuckling the glass of whiskey her husband poured for her. He leaned closer, and as he tightened the grip on her waist, you felt two hands on yours, two that felt very lucid. So tight you felt like the assailant had sharp claws.

You could smell him; the stench of whiskey and cruelty warm on your neck. But you couldn’t speak, not scream, or resist. Just like the replay of the day he died, you were standing there like her, the guilt of being weak-kneed made you sick.

He could’ve clawed you in half, how harshly he was holding you in place. It was like a mockery of watching what would’ve happened if you didn’t break the glass over his head—and he was making you watch. Every second, every struggle, every cruel thing Cal would’ve said if you let him touch you.

This wasn’t you. You wanted to bellow at her to fight him, and more so at yourself for not making a run for it. Why couldn’t you move? Despite his hands feeling like they were going to tear you in half? It was pure humiliation—the woman in front of you that once got off the kitchen floor on Christmas Eve, now a face of blood and bone.

You turned around slowly, feeling salty tears go from your face all the way down to your lips.

His sneer would’ve been seen for miles—the sadism written on Cal’s face as if he was still feeding on your tears, even in death, even in your dreams. It wasn’t just his mortal face, it was the one he was left with in death—a spewing bullet wound through the forehead soaking you in his blood.

You could taste it after a few seconds, the metallic taste coating your face and body the closer he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, just like the day they did in the office. The crimson was filling your mouth, causing you to hack and reach for your throat.

Your shoes squeaked against the marble floor of the office, looking down and seeing gallons of the stuff pooling. You could feel his blood trickle and seep into the fabric of your clothes, in the whites of your eyes with an excruciating burn.

As badly as you wanted to call out his name, your mouth was too coated to get the words out. It was hot, so hot it made you stumble. Your vision was gone—replaced by the blood that flooded your irises. You felt yourself nearly fall, as you ripped yourself from his grip.

You were palming through the ruby of your vision, arms outstretched. Though you couldn’t see, you could still feel him looming over you, watching in amusement as the pools of blood squelched under your feet.

Then, you felt your hands grip something, or someone. You hung on for dear life, blinking away the currant that washed your vision. It still seared, still coated your throat and face, but you could finally make out the figure; Simon.

You blinked rapidly, a chest cough followed by more blood as you watched him. He was staring straight ahead at first, until he felt you beating on his chest, yanking on the fabric of his clothes, just like you had done when strangled. The lifeless version of Cal, he had fizzled out the second Simon approached, nowhere to be seen in the shadows of the office anymore. As well as the alternate version of Cal and you—they were gone too.

Left in the room, it was you and Simon. One soaked with blood, gasping for breath. The other was tattered and seething at the sight.

Simon’s eyes widened as if he had just now noticed you. His hulking, veiny hands are outstretched, cupping each side of your saturated face, taking a step closer to you. Under the mask, you could see the fabric move, like he was speaking to you—but your sound was muffled again.

You plummet from a great height. Adrenaline-fueled rush courses through your veins, instantly jolting your senses awake. The wind roars past your ears with an ear-piercing howl. Your stomach clenches and churns, a sensation that feels like a roller coaster taking a wild descent. The feeling of weightlessness washes over you as if gravity has momentarily lost its grip, leaving you suspended in a free-falling void.

The pit of your stomach seems to drop with each passing moment as if trying to catch up to the plummeting rest of your body.

The blackness seizes hastily—your view is of widened amber eyes, and you can feel the same hands cupping your cheeks, just like the nightmare. The burn in your throat wasn’t from blood, it was from your screaming. The searing in your eyes, it was stemming from the tears streaming down your cheeks.

For the first few seconds, you were still half-in, half-out, pounding on his chest with all the shaky strength you could muster.

“Look at me, look at me.” Simon kept repeating it, only gripping the sides of your face faster. If he wasn’t restricting you, you were surely going to hurt yourself or him, so he had to. You were hyperventilating, still stuck in that dream-like state of terror and the threat of him attacking you. His pressing weight was caging you in place, no matter how much you yelped and thrashed to get running.

In a swift movement, Simon tugged at the edge of his mask, pulling it entirely off his head. “It’s me, it’s me!” He raised his voice, his identity now in your full sight. When he was wearing the mask, he probably appeared more like a masked intruder than a comforting soul—he had to snap you out of this, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

You could see him now; a chiseled jaw and protruding eyes cloaked by years of dark circles, a faint stubble across his chin, and that scar you had touched a few nights ago. It wasn’t an assailant or Cal, it was Simon.

Your hollers halted, now only quiet sobs against his chest. Everything in the dream felt so vivid, so real, lucid enough you were controlling your every movement, but not enough to rid yourself of the threat. The adrenaline you felt during the night terror left you unable to shut your eyes or stop wailing as if you were being actively hunted for sport.

“I’m sorry. It felt too real, Simon.” You whispered against his chest, one hand digging your nails deep into his bicep. His knees were on either side of your waist, anchoring you up enough to use him as a pillow. It seemed the only way he could successfully wake you was to straddle your frame, to cup your cheeks.

What he had done in the present, injected its way into the night terror—perhaps the reason it all felt too real.

“I know.” A calloused thumb stroked your cheek, his head resting against the crook of your neck. He didn’t need to ask the source of the nightmare, and he wasn’t going to. It was a natural reaction, being in this house all day reminded of your worst memories. You tried to hide it throughout the day, but Simon was too observant for his own good.

When he heard your shrieks in the next room, half-asleep on the daybed, he knew. This would’ve happened eventually. Just because Cal was dead, didn’t mean he was dead to you. His ghost still loomed in every room of that place, a constricting weight on your shoulders.

He had witnessed his fair share of adrenaline highs and experienced plenty on his own too. Only then, he didn’t have the luxury of a shoulder to cry on. There was no way in hell he would damn you to that same loneliness he had, no matter how much his inner voice bellowed at him to put the mask back on.

“Sit up, you won’t be so shaky.” Once hovering over you, he eased up, a gentle tug on your wrist to get you sitting up. Eyes still wide, tear stains on yourself and the fabrics of the bed. He looked behind him, seeing the armchair by the fireplace. Simon guided you to it, allowing you to sit down somewhere other than the bed occupied with memories.

He dropped to his knees in front of you slowly, a fist finding your ankle. You flashed a look of confusion, but you weren’t in any position to protest. It felt safe, despite the outward appearance Simon had—broody and dripping with masculinity.

His fingers found the tongue of the shoes you fell asleep wearing, pulling them off slowly.

“Better?” He asks, figuring out the answer quite quickly based on your silence. You nodded in response, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. It felt the same as it did when you were younger; embarrassed for being afraid of a nightmare. It was just that—a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel every bit of it.

The light from the hallway was the only thing allowing you to see his face; washed out by the golden tint of the light bulb, but pleasing to look at. “Thank you, Simon.” God, how many times you said it that day, probably too many times. He would never accept it, not since the beginning of this road, and especially not after what happened at the apartment.

But, without his mask, he didn’t have his usual safety net of anonymity. His face was as blank as you expected it would be, aside from the slight scowl on his lips. “Stop sayin’ that.” He wanted to get up, but his palm remained wrapped around your calf, gazing at you with confliction.

You tilted your head to the side, leaning against the backrest of the armchair, “yeah, but I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he replied, his speech still a mumble even without the mask, “that’s why I said not to.” Simon didn’t deserve the gratitude, as far as he was concerned. Especially not from you. The last thing on your mind should be thanking him, being kind to him, and even looking him in the eye. But you did—every single day.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right?” You asked, the flicker of the hall light still concealing his pout slightly. You didn’t mean here, you meant in general; he didn’t have to, but he always did. You inhaled sharply, feeling his thumb still caressing your calf soothingly. “And… I’m not upset with you. You have to know that, at least.”

Perhaps it was the fog in your mind or the nerves still working overdrive, but his silence was too still for your liking. It wasn’t distaste, it was his old habits keeping him from indulging.

The hand was removed quickly and placed back on his own knee. You heard the shuffle of his pant fabric like he was going to stand up and leave the bedroom. But he didn’t—his head dropped in the direction of the floor.

“Simon?” Your tone was hushed, eyes squinted with unsettle.

“Stop it.” He grumbled, the whites of his eyes still glowing within the dim lighting. Simon blinked slowly when he met your gaze again, unable to accept the perturb. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t. That much was obvious.

He heard you stammer, a sentence cut short when he spoke so firmly. “Stop being so fuckin’ nice to me.” Though the words themselves were harsh, it was nothing more than a defeated whisper—a plea to halt your tenderness before he lost all self-control.

What he desired was to find the mask he flung only minutes ago, slip it on, and slam the door behind him. His presence remained; a commanding voice, despite being the one kneeling in front of you. And you? Ever persistent, and he despised it with every fiber of his being.

You scoffed, but it was coming from a place of intense empathy.  “Am I supposed to scream at you? Beat you bloody?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds, followed by a snappy retort. He would never let himself relax, even feel, could he?

“No, you need to stop treating me like someone you deserve. You’re not that stupid.” Simon hissed with a slight roll of his eye. You clutched each armrest tightly, mouth slightly hung open from his self-pity.

His shell was breaking—the umbrage was just the last futile attempt at restricting you before it shattered completely. When that happened—and it would—he had but a clue about his next step. Why had he remained in this spot for so long, kneeling so closely to you?

“Why did you stay then? The night at the cabin, after Cal?” It surely wasn’t because he had to. You were onto him, and you weren’t going to let him go now, not unless he packed up and left right this second.

His stammer said enough, the tightened grip on his own appendage as if he was squeezing the reply from his own body. If he said what he wanted to, it wouldn’t be something cruel. He couldn’t be cold to you. That’s what frightened him the most.

You hunched forward slightly, a hovering hand on his shoulder. Simon tensed out of reflex, but didn’t physically stop you—he couldn’t anymore. Tonight was a breaking point, and his face had been in your sights for several minutes now.

“Don’t do this.” Finally, he gathered his bearings and clamped a hand around your wrist, the sheer size of his hand swallowing yours entirely. He let out a heavy breath, his glowing eyes burning holes into yours.

Your reply was as simple as blunt as you could muster; a one-worded question you’ve had for a long time. “Why?”

His fingers clenched a little tighter, expecting you to squirm. But you didn’t. “Because I won’t be able to stop myself,” he blinked slowly, eyes drooping with the small sliver of weakness he was showing you right now. Who said you wanted him to stop? In fact, nothing about you did. Not even your reddened eyes, or the tension you carried. It was a simple concept to grasp, but someone as stubborn as himself hadn’t. Yet.

This time, it was you who initiated the intimacy. It wasn’t sensuality; it was reassurance—something Simon needed desperately. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers finding the stubble you could finally touch.

He breathed heavily into the kiss, an instinctual hand protecting the back of your head when he pushed your weight back into the armchair. Somewhere in it, he had stood up again, able to deepen the lip contact by hovering over you. Simon should’ve fought it, but he didn’t. He wanted you to pull away and realize how ridiculous he felt against you, but you did not.

His lips pulled away with a moist squelch, still a hand on the back of your head. The drunken kiss was messy and heated. This was stone-cold sober—much needed and full of feelings. Simon seemed to be searching for hesitance, any excuse to halt his desires. You only breathed heavily from the loss of air, unblinking and desperate for more.

You nodded slightly, an unspoken plea for that part of him that couldn’t stop himself. Though it seemed like you were leading things, you didn’t have a clue what the hell you were doing either. It just felt right at the moment. After the nod, his free hand clasped the collar of your shirt, pulling you to your feet. He scanned the room around him, though he already memorized the layout the first time he walked in. It was as if he was searching for prying eyes that weren’t there—an instinct when his face was visible.

Instead of the sides of your head, his fingers found your waist, digging into them as he backed you against the dresser. Without a struggle on his end, he lifted you on top of it so he could stand between your parted thighs.

It couldn’t be the bed; it was too domestic for the both of you. He needed somewhere you could easily pull away from him and walk away, as he’d convinced himself you were going to. There was no way this act would carry out completely, right? The rational portion of you had to be buried deep in your lust.

Simon’s fingers gave your waistband a tug, pulling your bottoms off entirely. His eyes remained trained on yours the entire time, expecting some sort of resistance. Hell, he was expecting a slap on his cheek that never came. You wanted this; you wanted him.

The pad of his finger found your swollen clit, rubbing paced circles on the nerves. You felt your breath hitch at the sensation, a clench around the wooden edge of the dresser. Despite how much you wanted this, it was like an out-of-character blur. Simon, being the face to match the lustful hands? You never thought of that as a sight you’d see, never in a million years.

His heavy breathing was just as arousing, how lustfully he was watching despite not being the one being touched. Words weren’t coming out, but the language of stares was all the two of you needed right now. Simon could keep searching for refusal, but he wasn’t going to find it. Not while he was massaging your clit so intimately.

The pleasure built rather quickly, as did the pace of your hips rocking against his hands. It had been so long since you touched yourself, let alone a sexual partner doing it for you. When his finger ceased, you let out a small mewl from the emptiness.

From the moonlight illuminating his features, your eyes wandered at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He did it with such haste, such experience. He unzipped his jeans next, pulling them down to his knees to allow access.

Instinctively, you outstretched a hand to palm him through his boxers. It was what you were used to: I do something for you, you have to do the same for me.

“No.” Simon hissed, placing your hands back at your sides. It wasn’t because he didn’t want you to stroke him—he didn’t want the focus on him. You seeing his face was all the focus he could handle right now.

You kept your hands on either side of you, respecting the boundary he had put up, though you didn’t understand its purpose. He pulled down on the waistband of his black boxers, stroking himself for a few seconds, followed by another hiss. Simon stepped back to his original position between your thighs again, only he pulled them further apart—enough for his wide frame to fit comfortably.

You felt his length pressing against your folds, the knuckle of his hand on your inner thigh as he guided it into position. Before he did, he searched for a nod again, or anything, really. You obliged, bracing yourself by clamping down on his shoulder. It had been a long time since you had sex, so it wasn’t going to be particularly comfortable at first. A man of Simon’s stature, no matter the amount of arousal that pooled—you would have to be eased into it.

He guided the tip in first, eyes darting up and down as he slowly pushed his hips forward, his length coated in the lubricating slick caused by his fingers. You let out a pleasured gasp, not yet feeling the stretch that was coming.

When he was sure of the next phase, he placed his lips against your gasping ones, silencing the inevitable whine of discomfort. Still at a snail's pace, he entered even deeper, enough that you needed to sit with him like that for a moment. It was just that; discomfort, not pain. Yet another factor of intimacy you weren’t accustomed to as of late. “Is that… good?” He whispered against your mouth, still only thrusting a portion of himself out—and slowly.

Since he’d given you time to adjust, the discomfort did fizzle away. “More,” you replied, a slight nod of your head. Now, you were arguably enjoying the sensation more than he was.

This time, he didn’t wait for a refusal.

With an abrupter thrust, he bottomed out inside you. It wasn’t roughness, not yet—just his way of ripping off the bandaid. His lips found yours again, allowing you to bite down on his lower lip at the sudden stretch. The angle he was at; you sitting on top of the dresser with your hips slightly raised, and him standing, it felt euphoric, not agonizing.

“Shit…” A guttural groan fell from his lips as his movements began, methodical and pleasuring for both of you. Every sound you made, every little reaction; it made him twitch deep inside you. This is what he wanted when you two finally gave in—you, writhing in front of him and forced to do nothing but enjoy it.

His tip kissed your cervix with each pump, just enough to make your eyes roll slightly. What the hell you two were doing, the consequences tomorrow, none of it mattered. Lust truly did cloud the two of you this moment, and he wasn’t going to stop unless you asked him.

You felt tears prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t from pain or repulsion. It was from how long you had gone without this shared feeling of desire, the closeness of two people. Simon slowed his movements, wiping away the tear with his thumb. He could tell, it wasn’t a fear of him or the past that haunted you—it was pure satisfaction.

You needed this, no, deserved this from someone who truly deserved you.

His experienced hands found your hips, tugging you closer so your chests were touching. You let out another sharp gasp, holding onto him just as tightly. The tug allowed him to hit a deeper spot inside your walls if that was even possible.

The change in position allowed you to raise your knees higher against him, so much you probably could’ve placed your feet up on the dresser. Simon grunted and increased his speed, one hand on your thigh, and the other a flat palm against the wall in front of him. The furniture piece hit the wall with each relentless thrust, the thumb masked by your shared moans of delight. And they were becoming desperate ones, plain desperate.

Your stomach was doing flips, tightening and churning the longer he went at it like this. And Simon, his head leaned back ever so slightly, he was close too. There was no turning back now, too deep in the sensations. But still, you iron gripped him—as if pleading for him not to pull away—something he had no intention of doing.

“Let it out, love.” He rasped in your ear, his hips still going an uninterrupted pound. Love. The unexpected pet name made your already shaking knees turn to putty. You truly would only last seconds at best, especially with that accent smothering you.

What once was a moan with each thrust, now became a growing holler. That breaking point that had been bubbling, the one he gave you permission to, finally struck you—destructively. Each muscle in your abdomen constricted, your head thrown back against the wall at the feeling of euphoria hitting an all-time high. Simon’s hand, once gripping your thigh, was now protecting the back of your head as it thrashed against the wall. His tongue traced along your jaw and chin, the combination of sensations only prolonging the interval.

His fist balled in your hair, just enough to only cause an enjoyable sting. He leaned back slightly to have a better view of his length going in and out of you. The sounds of your high delighted him, the final permission for him to enjoy his own climax.

When he felt a more violent twitch, he pulled himself out, using his hand to finish the rest. Still, he wouldn’t allow you to touch him, you were sure of that. You panted heavily, mouth still agape in awe of the attraction you felt towards this. Your fingers clenched the sides of the dresser once pulled away, feeling the spew of his cum land on your folds.

Simon trembled slightly, giving one of your clothed breasts a yearning squeeze as he drained himself of his seed.

Then, clarity hit him as quickly as his climax did. “You wanted that, right?” He whispered, eyes now full of searching rather than lust. God, his cluelessness would be the death of him before any enemy. You quickly nodded, now slightly more slumped than before. You thought it was obvious, but he did always have a way of shocking you—in more ways than one, now.

Inside, you were shaking your head and smacking sense into him for his own stubbornness.

“Simon,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his waist, “just shut up. Please.” You pushed your head against into chest, using it as a surface to catch your breath on. The sensations you felt replayed already, leaving you sensitive and breathless, but heinously calm in spite of what you two had just done.

It happened so quickly, but it wasn’t regretful or dissatisfying. It was the exact opposite.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme

[giggly-squiggily]

Bus Stop Antics (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Guess who's obsessed with JJK again? Mee! Heyo everyone, I hope you're doing well! I'm watching season 2 of JJK and I'm just- these three make me so happy and so sad at the same time, you know? I love them and their friendship but if you've watch the show/read the manga it just...hurts.

But anyway! I wanted to write Lee!Gojo and I did :P I have this headcanon that when he was a teen he was stupidly ticklish and couldn't hide it as well as he can in his adult years and this is the result. I hope you like it!

CW: swearing, JJK season 2 spoilers!

Summary: While waiting for their bus, Gojo and Geto get into a "fight". Shoko unintentionally makes things worse.

Light burned against his skin, making Geto scrunch his face up as he stared into the sky. Not even the roof of the bus stop shelter completely protected him from the sun’s invasive rays.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Too bright for you?” Gojo grinned cheekily over at him, eyes hidden behind his usual shades. He was lounged all the way back, arms across the top of the bench they sat against and legs crossed. “Should have followed my lead and bought some sunglasses.”

“No way- you already fill the role of dork for both of us. Right Shoko?” Geto peered down at the mentioned girl, tucked away between them and doubled over in her seat.

“Mmm.” She made a noise in response, too focused on her phone. Across the screen, her self-named virus spread from one spot to another, infecting the virtual nation. Once she was invested in her game, there was no way of pulling her back out. “See, she agrees.”

A poke to the cheek made him look up. “You’re just bitter because I’m a trendsetter. Everyone’s gonna remember me with my cool shades and blue eyes and remember you as…well, the guy with dumb bangs.” Gojo chuckled, snickering harder at Geto’s death stare.

“My bangs aren’t dumb- you just have no sense of style.” Geto poked his face back, pushing in enough to make Gojo’s cheek move.

“Says Mr. No Eyebrows.” A finger poke back.

“Gray hair at sixteen.”

“At least my breath doesn’t smell like spirit boogies.”

“No it smells like di-”

“I won.” Shoko blinked back at the face shoving war going down above her. “I’m gonna go smoke. Save my seat.” She said as she stood, pulling out her cigarettes and leaving them to their war.

“You son of a- get over here!” Geto lunged, sending them both tumbling against the bench seat. Limbs flew and fists missed as they tussled, shoving at one another while continuing their childish name calling. At some point Gojo managed to grab the back of Geto’s hair, pulling him upright. In response, Geto reached out to grab his neck, aiming for his collar.

“HA! Gotcha no-AH!” Gojo spasmed when fingers brushed his collarbone, the hand in Geto’s hair pulling hard enough to set his hair free. Eyes widened behind falling green strands as Geto stared at him, hand frozen at his neck. “Watch the hands!”

“Dude, I barely touched….you.” Geto blinked, the puzzle pieces all falling into place. “Get out of here.” Without warning, he wormed his fingers into Gojo’s collarbone, wiggling gently.

“Ah! Nohoohoho!” The white haired teen squawked, scrunching up his shoulders at the feeling. He grabbed Geto’s wrist, pushing with all his strength. “Dohohohn’t!”

“Oh my god, you’re ticklish!” Geto was grinning now, all teeth and pure joy in his expression.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, he is.” Shoko puffed around her cigarette. “Ridiculously so. It was a nightmare trying to practice my curse technique on him.”

“Shoko!” Gojo gaped, betrayed. Then he was squirming, trying to get out of Geto’s grip. “No, no no- don’t you dare! I’m not ticklish! I’m not!” If Geto believed him, he didn’t show it- taking his sweet time in redoing his bun. “That was just a fluke!”

“Sure it was.” Geto finished his hair before rolling his neck, getting all the creeks out. “Now, let’s start telling the truth, huh?”

“I am, you son of a- Gehahahahahahhahaha!” Gojo almost immediately busted out laughing when the fingers returned to his neck, both sides prodding and tasing, making him scrunch and giggle. “Noohohohooho, stahahhahap thahahahhahaht!”

“Aww, you did lie to me! Your best friend, too!” Geto gaped in mock hurt, one hand squeezing under Gojo’s chin when he tried pressing it to his chest, making him snort and kick. “I was gonna go easy on you, but now you’re officially on my shit list. Get ready- I’m gonna make you scream.”

“Nohohohohohoohw whohohohoho’s lhihihihiihihhihiying? Aheahhahahhaha Suhuhuhuuhguhuhuhuhuuruh-OHOOHOHOHOHOHO!” The infinity sorcerer arched with a cackle as Geto attacked his ribs, racing his fingers up and down like a pianist. “Nohohohohoh, nohohohohot the rihihihihihihibs! Nohoohohot the rihihihihihihibs!”

“Too ticklish here? Poor baby.” Geto cooed, tapping along each bone and giving them a scratch. “Should have kept your hands to yourself. Didn’t kindergarten ever teach you that? Oh wait- you haven’t covered it yet.” When his fingers found his third lowest rib, Gojo let out an honest to god shriek, hands clasping his wrists. “Oo, found a bad spot.”

“NOHOHOHOOHOHOHO SUHUHUHUUHUHGUUHUUHUHURUUHUHUHU!” He howled, face flushing an impressive red and glasses falling off his face. Without them, Geto could see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “STAHAHHAHAHAHHAP!”

“Hmmm…do you really want me to stop?” Geto dropped his hands to his waist, poking along the skin there and making Gojo twitch and squirm. “You and I both know you could easily break away. Why the hesitation? Don’t tell me…” He leaned forward, nearly nose to nose with his friend as his fingers trailed over his belly, earning a hiccupy squeal. “You love this, don’t you Satoru?”

Gojo made a whimpering sound, turning his head away as he giggled and squeaked. Shoko, watching them momentarily, had a rare moment of sympathy for the idiot and decided to throw him a bone.

“Satoru. Suguru’s hips are awful. Just pinch him there.”

Everything that followed was like a blur. Geto turned to her with a look of shock just as Gojo lunged, grabbing his hips and squeezing with all his might. Geto let out a high pitched shriek and toppled over, bringing him and Gojo down and off the bench. Within seconds, they were against the pavement, groaning through giggles and brushing off bruises.

“Heh. Dorks.” Shoko smiled as she put out the remains of her smoke, crushing it with her foot before taking the now empty seat. She kicked her heels up and against Gojo’s back, pulling her phone out and resuming her game. “I think I’m gonna name this virus the Sato-Sugu strain. Whatcha think?”

She got tired groans in response.

“Sold.”

Thanks for reading!

[xsommeee]

Chuuya pov at double black reunion after 4 years.

“Where is Akutagawa?” Chuuya asks, looking around.

An eerie silence takes over the jolly group. Their calm smiles falter. An instant sense of worry rushes through his mind. Emo boy shouldn’t be a sour subject unless he’s become a traitor. 

This is a sort of environment where people will blab shit they think he can’t handle, he remembers the same expression on Mori’s grim face while he said Dazai’s benn sighted two years ago and then offered him a ticket to Paris with an incredibly long mission planned. It was a horrible meeting and he left Japan right after.

“S-senpai’s interrogating a member of the armed detective agency.” 

Chuuya blinks, what in the world is the armed detective agency? A detective agency with people walking around with machine guns in their hands? As amusing as that may seem, it’s one of the few organisations with a special ability permit. That much Chuuya remembers from having read. 

A foreboding feeling ensnares him, he can hear the drums of war burst in his ears like in the period Japanese movie he watched a few days ago in the flight, it’s because of that bastard.

“I’ll go see him” Chuuya picks up his hanging coat from the chair, he’ll see him, his legs start moving on their own he could be jumping out of the window. Murderous intent is ebbing out of him and he can feel the power this anger begets.

A gentle hand halts him. He looks at Ane-san, “You” -are playing into his hands? Are being an idiot? Shouldn’t go? Fucking kill him when you see him? Not act reckless?

“Should take your hat and call the driver.” 

His eyebrows furrow, he was being rude and Ane-san just– “I apologise for my bad manners.” He parrots a phrase he learnt to use very often while training under Kouyou when he was a junior.

She just nods her head slightly while placing the hat on his head, mouthing a go. An unsaid don’t come back miserable falls into his ears. He leaves. 

His lips burn with a desire to have a cigarette puckered between them, but he belatedly realises that Hirotsu borrowed his pack and still has it. 

The old fags tryin’ to make him quit smoking for a very long time. A hypocrite given his love for cigars. 

Chuuya’s too hurried, even if he’s trying to not be. So he doesn't ask anyone for a light.

He reaches the port mafia’s maze-like dungeons, skidding here and there to finally see a furious Akutagawa smashing the small iron door shut.

“Chuuya-san?” Akutagawa says when their eyes meet. Blinking as if in disbelief. 

The kid's fist is glaringly red against his pale, almost albinic complexion. Dazai deserves this albeit more. He beat and kicked a helpless orphan into a horrible messed up killing machine. Akutagawa has every right to extract revenge Mafia style. 

Somepart of Chuuya, however enraged and disgusted by the bandaged jerkface, still wants him to be okay -not hurt too gravely per say. It is his competitive side, the one that seeks a fair fight against his lifelong rival. 

“Welcome back home, I was told you would be joining in the evening. What purpose brings you here?”  

Chuuya shrugs, pressing skip on the question. 

“Is Dazai locked up in here?” His finger points towards the door with a slight tremor. The name, he hasn't spoken that name in years.

Akutagawa scowls murmuring a slight hum. 

“How? Why?” Chuuya asks. The fucker’s too meticulous. He’d never do anything unwillingly even while sleeping. 

“We have received a hefty bounty on a weretiger. Dazai got sloppy and got caught in the process.” Akutagawa replied. 

Chuuya’s in a daze, Dazai protecting people? Akutagawa reads his astonished expression. 

“The weretiger is a member of the armed detective agency.”

Right, Dazai is a member of the armed detective agency. 

He doesn't know anything about this agency. He'd been not home for such a long time, avoiding it at times when he could visit back. A foreigner to all soil on Earth. An Earth that crumbles under him, pulls on his command but doesn't accept him. 

“Give me a quick debrief.” He orders his subordinate. 

Long agonising minutes later he’s lowering his head to stand trot down the narrow fleet of stairs. 

He looks up to see Dazai chained to a wall in this dimly lit basement. 

Dazai's changed. He’s wearing a beige coat and a bolo tie and he is missing a patch of bandages that used to hide a part of his face. 

It's the first time he's looking at both of Dazai’s eyes, captivating him with the brightness they hold.

“You being chained here is like a painting worth a million dollars.”

It's not that much, they aren't that bright at all, in fact they are dim but they aren't hollow like they used to be on most days. 

He'd seen only one eye gleam at him with brightness and it was only at the moment Dazai had joked or lied to him. 

He feels his throat constrict, irritates at how shaken his resolve of killing Dazai has become already. 

Dazai curses under his breath, an overly dramatic horrified expression plastered on his face. 

“Still as short as ever I see and hiding a bald patch under this hideous hat are we 

Chuuya~”

Yeah he's regained the sentiment, this is it Chuuya Nakahara would grant a suicidal maniac his life’s wish today. Strangulation would be the attributed reason in the post mortem report. 

“And you are still obsessed with suicide. It will make the happiest man on earth to strangle you.” 

“Yes but you see Chuuya my goal has changed, I now seek a beautiful women to commit double suicide with.”

He clicks his knuckles. There's a lot of things he needs to ask. He’s just waiting till he gets those answers. 

“You can fool Akutagawa but you can not fool me. I was your partner after all.” The word partner leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue and he instantly feels the urge to smoke rise. He grits his teeth with an attempt to quash it. 

[peachyloveswriting]

If u can ...mmm can u do like ... Basycally they are in a fight (Vash,Wolfwood and you) there are many gunshots but in the end wolfwood and Vash beat the criminals thinking that it was ok and fine but then they hear gasp and "g...guys..." as they turn they saw y/n shaking looking at them with one hand holding the bullet wound in the chest,the other full of blood, then they fall on their knees and they panic,crying saying that it hurts, saying that they don't want to die,so they clench on him, then Vash trying to stop the bleeding?

U can put like some reassuring Vash and wolfwood saying that help his coming,crying and all that,also the bullet was out and leaved a huge gap?

U can be as detailed as possible or put so much pain yada yada,blood and all

I'm gonna read the writing u did now

I absolutely love this idea. I think I'll need some fluff or something other than angst after this though lol. I love angst but too much and I'm burnt out for sure.

PLEASE STAY --- Vash & wolfwood

SUMMARY: Everyone was in check right? They got all the bad guys. Everyone was okay, right? Seems they've sadly struck an unlucky mine.

Warning: Blood, hella angst

NOTES: I'm leaving this written as is, sorry but I just can't find it in myself to write the ending at the moment. I would have written it later then posted it but I figured I'd get this out the way first.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

"Was that the last one?" Nick turns to Vash with his cross ready to fire again. Taking a simple glance around, Vash nods his head with a small smile.

"Yeah, that-" Vash is cut off by a loud gasp. Turning to look behind him, his skin grows ice cold. Both men swear they can feel their hearts stop when they look. On your knees you shake and shudder in fear, blood spills over your hand from where it clutches your chest tightly. You can't feel it but the blood is so warm against your skin and the bullet in your body feels so cold.

"G... Guys?"

Nick's cross falls to the ground with a loud thud as he rushes to your side, his hands clutching your shoulders as he looks you over. "Oh god." He stammers. The cigarette delicately placed between his lips falls between his knees, he can feel you shaking in his hands. A spike of panic rises in his chest and his throat squeezes. Behind him, Vash watches the scene unfold in horror. Frozen in place, his heart pounds in his ears. Was this happening?

"Fuck! Make it stop, make it stop! It hurts, fuck it hurts!" You clench your eyes shut in pain. The initial shock has worn off leaving you stripped bare to the pain settling in your bones. If you could dig yourself a hole and never come back, God you would. Fisting Nick's shirt with a scream, you slip against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

"I'm going to die. I don't want to die. Nick, I don't wanna die." If there's anything 'The Punisher' should be well versed with, it's death. This, he knows better than anyone. Watching the light fade from someone's eyes as they shudder their last breath and slump limply into the ground. He always watches nonchalantly, not a single emotion stirring inside his chest. But now, it's burning alive with fear and anxiety.

"Vash! Do something!" The death of another has always been inconsequential to him but as you shake and sputter in his arms, blood gushing from your chest while you scream in pain, he feels a switch inside of him flip on like a light. After all these years, it's finally coming back to bite him in the ass.

Vash appears beside him with a torn flap of fabric from his cross cover. Pulling you away from his body he tenses, watching you limply flob around like a discarded rag doll. Vash leans forward, his arms wrapping around you to tie the cloth around your chest. The hand covering the wound falls limply at your side as he tightens the cloth down. Vash extends his arms to take you.

"c'mon, c'mon..." He urges Nick to pass you to him. As gently as he can, Nick places you in Vash's arms bridal style. "It's going to be okay. Don't worry. I've got you now." Vash takes off running, leaving Nick to hurriedly gather his cross and join the chase.

"Just how do you think we're getting help?" Nick asks as he finally catches up to the blonde. He's pointedly staring ahead, his eyes fixated on the closest running truck.

Coming to a stop at the door Nick pulls it open and raises a gun to the driver. "Get out or your next."

Eyes wide with fear, the driver dies out of his seat and onto the dusty ground. Taking his cross he throws it into the bed of the truck and rushes to the other side, where he climbs into the driver's seat and waits for Vash to settle in. The moment that door closes, the tires are kicking up dirt.

"There's a doctor at the far end of town. Hurry." Vash tells him as he looks down at you in his arms. Your shaking profusely, your hands reaching to tug at his jacket. The world around you feels like it's frozen over and it's hard to keep your eyes on anything. "Vash... I'm cold. Please..." You whine. He hushes you. "Don't worry." Carefully his arms slip from underneath you to slide his coat off.

"Just relax." The coat drapes over your entire body and surrounds you with a shield of warmth but it's not enough. It feels like Ice is still building in your veins. Everything going on at once is running your body thin, making your eyes grow heavy and sleep weight in the back of your mind. No matter how hard you peel them open, blinking holds them shut while you struggle to wake back up.

"I can't keep my eyes open." The truck slows to a stop and both the doors fly open.

"Don't fall asleep!" Nick yells as he reaches your side. Still in Vash's arms you struggle to open your eyes again, something calls to you in your head. It begs for you to succumb to the darkness but you refuse.

"Keep your eyes open. Look at me." Vash begs.

Running into the building, Nick rushes to the front desk. "We need medical attention right now. There's been a bullet wound to the shoulder and they're losing conscience." He stammers.

The woman behind the desk stands and runs to Vash's side. "Come with me baby." She places a hand on his back and hurriedly pushes forward towards the operating room. Behind them follows Nick who struggles to keep up. The woman is talking to you, lightly slapping your face to keep you awake. It works for the most part but you can't bring yourself to move. You've lost too much blood.

"Emergency. Coming in!" She yells holding the door open to usher them in. The doctor perks up at the four of you entering. Upon seeing you he frowns and gestures for you to be laid on the table. Gingerly, Vash places you against the cold bed, his coat still covering your shivering body. He watches in horror while the lady starts to guide him away from you, pushing back against her he watches you turn to look at him.

"Please stay."

The door shuts in his face and for the first time, Nick watches him crumble to the floor; his head held in his hands while sobs wrack his body. The ever joyful, Vash, was crying.

Nick couldn't find it in himself to keep watching, just hearing Vash cry was enough to make his own eyes water. Turning away to leave, he pulls a cigarette from its pack and brings it to his lips. As he walks away, he starts to hope that you'll recover quickly, that way he won't ever have to see you like that again. Looking down to slide his cigarettes in his pocket he finds his suit covered in your blood. You lost so much... A blood transplant was surely needed. Between him and Vash he wasn't entirely sure if either of them would be of use in that matter but it darkens the sliver of hope in his heart.

Stopping him from straying any further away is Vash's hand around his wrist. Just as Nick turns to face him Vash hugs him tightly. Sobs still fall from his lips and blood covers his entire torso. He doesn't bother to offer any comfort to the blond and instead allows him to cry to his heart's content against him. There's just not enough energy for him to care for another person besides himself.

[ditzyredrobin]

JayTim Week Day 2

Dawn / Space / Star

Just a snippet of of day two. And yes, chicken and stars is superior (take that Jason).

-

“Campbell’s chicken and stars, really? If you’re going to burn the house down, at least pick the good stuff.”

Tim closes his eyes and counts to ten. A deep breath in through his nose, a deep breath out through his mouth, hoping it’ll help a little with the mounting emotions.

It doesn’t.

Trapped in a blanket, burrito-style, and reinforced by Jason’s arms, everything in him is screaming for him to flee.

Jason is pissed. Not kick his ass pissed, but it’s a close thing. It maybe even closer if he weren’t sick. Or maybe he was closer than he thought because he was sick and didn’t tell anyone. But Dick had a day job in Blüdhaven, he was an EMT, and Jason was on Official Red Hood Business™️.

Plus, he was fine. He had been watching his temperature. If it had gotten about 101.5, he would have called someone—Bruce, or Alfie, maybe Dick if he was feeling bad enough. But it all should have been fine.

He was fine.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Jason, I wasn’t going to burn the house down. It was just a minor series of unfortunate events that lead to some minor smoke.” Tim snaps back for the nth time in as many minutes. “Plus the classic is gross.”

Jason stares at him for a long moment with a pinched expression, his eye twitching. “The building had to evacuate.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I was going to burn the apartment down.”

“There are scorch marks on the stove and you destroyed one of my favorite pans. Which you owe me for, by the way. I paid good money for those.”

“Dick has done worse. At least I didn’t set off the sprinklers.”

It’s true and on more than one occasion.

He doesn’t laugh, instead it only serves to make him angrier. “This time! You didn’t set off the sprinklers this time. You’re damn lucky you didn’t get hurt. Both of you are, frankly.”

Tim rolls his eyes and wiggles in his cocoon of Jason, and comforter, and Kevlar, testing the waters and how much could he move.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of being carried around like a helpless damsel but being in Jason’s arms usually made it bearable, he smelled of cigarettes, and chewing gum, and that unique, undefinable smell that could only be described as purely Gotham. He was safe and warm, like a cup of chai in the winter, warming him from the inside out.

But his hold on him now wasn’t comfortable. It was like being caught in an iron vice, or bear trap. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and every fiber in him screamed run. Red Hood was far too close to the surface and it frankly made Tim want to vomit. Everywhere.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would say the pit was starting to ooze up again. But Jason’s eyes were so blue it almost hurt.

[unknownfr1]

141+konig reaction to when you get hurt:)

Requests are open!:)

yall really like hcs and rn im bored in a hotel room so this is what you get.

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Price -

You both went for a walk after dinner. It had rained not long ago so you were wearing a long raincoat with a hood and he wore a simple jacket, with one hand holding yours, one holding a cigarette. The two of you were chatting, holding hands and strolling down the gloomy, grey-sky covered streets, it all felt calm and so relaxing with your lover. All until you walked into a puddle, a slippery one and came tumbling down on your ass. He stood for around 3 seconds, kind of shocked on what the fuck just happened "Y'alright!?" he asked before picking you up "No!" you shrieked, your whole bottom half was drenched in mucky water and you began to shiver. "Im cold" you said between shivers, your teeth chattering also, "Alright thats enough of that" he mumbled before taking off his jacket, then picking you up bridal style and covering you with his over-sized coat. "T-t-thank youu" you murmured while nestling your head into his neck "No problem darling."

When he carried you home he ran you a bath and got in with you and started to help you. Your whole lower half in pain but of course you boyfriend has it all under control. After your bath, he helped you change into some sleepwear and got in bed with you, cuddling and holding you tightly.

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Soap-

It was a thursday and johnny just got back from a mission. You were hungry, he was hungry so why not make some food. "Want me to make bacon and eggs?" you asked "No no dear! ill do it." he basically ran to the kitchen to stop you from getting there first. Johnny knew your skills in the kitchen were..limited ever since you set a pan on fire while making a grilled cheese sandwich, he has suggested he'd be the one cooking from now on. So after he sprinted to the kitchen you followed after him and sat at one of the barstools, watching him prep the bacon. As he started to put the bacon on the sizzling pan, he said he needed the bathroom and asked you to WATCH it and most clear NOT to go near it. As he walked away you sat in boredom watching it sizzle, that was until it started to bubble in a concerning way so you went to go check it out, what bad could happen? well you certainly got an answer to that when a whole gollop of hot, burning oil leaped to the exposed flesh of your arm. You screamed in pain then heard the heavy footsteps of your worried boyfriend, you showed him your arm and he even gasped, nothing he hadnt seen on the field but to see it on you in the kitchen shocked him. The smell of your burning skin started to spread so he quickly grasped your arm and ran it under the cold watered tap "Fuckin' hell bonnie, what happened?" you tried explaining but the pain of your arm made you feel physically sick so you couldnt.

After one hospital visit and many pharmacy stop-by's you both returned home. "Im sorry joh-" "Sorry 'bout what? Its alright darling im not mad". He parked the car and helped you out. The sun set and so he helped you bathe and change clothes. You both snuggled into bed and started to doze off. "Next time, wait till im there bonnie" he mumbled half awake half asleep, his arms tightly wrapped around you. You nod in a sleepish manner and both of you drifted off to sleep.

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Gaz-

It was a hot summers day, you and Kyle were sitting in the back garden of his house. The weather was quite hot so you were wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt. Kyle was inside the kitchen making some cold drinks for the two of you, leaving you outside, reading and extremely invested in the book he had bought you. As you were reading peacefully, you felt something fuzzy on your arm and leg, you glanced over to see not one but four wasps on your exposed limbs, two chilling on your leg and two leisuring at your arm. You froze in fear. Everyone knew you had a deep hatred for these deathly little shits. You couldnt speak nor scream, just watch as the 4 bastards dug their vicious stingers into you. Well that surely woke you up. You started to cry and ran to the kitchen in attempts to find Kyle, his attention quickly drawn to your pouting, flushed face "Sweetheart..? What happened?" he asked. He watched as you flung your arm up, then your leg to see 4 nasty, swollen bumps "Wasps?!" he then asked again "Yes.." you murmured "Oh dear...your alright its okay." he cooed before pulling you into a hug.

He placed you on the counter and started searching for his 'Anti-wasp sting cream'. Once he equipped the cream he walked back over to you and started applying it on your as you called them "battle wounds." He decided that staying inside for the rest of the day and having a lazy day would fix things and cheer you up, so he set up a movie on the tv upstairs in your shared bedroom, also made you a cup of tea and along with giving you one of his hoodies he sat with you in bed and held you close, your head on his chest and one arm around your waist. You began to drift off and he couldnt help but smile at your peacefulness.

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Ghost-

Simon had gotten home from a training deployment yesterday and you were so excited to have him back. You wanted to stay home with him for a while and soak up all the company you missed from him but he insisted to take you out and buy you things. He absolutely loved spoiling you and taking you out to fancy restaurants, and as a girl, who cant say no to shopping. You wrapped your arm around his forearm and the both of you walked and browsed the different shops, you were wearing a pair of heels Simon bought you, the first ever pair he gave you actually (your favorite ones). You were paying absolute no attention to where you were walking so as the tip of your stilleto caught on the line of the bricks, you went tumbling forwards, landing on your hands but that quickly ended once you heard a concerning 'snapping' noise, causing you to scream in pain. Simons fast instincts kicked in and he immediately attempted to catch you but that failed miserably. He helped you up off the ground and sat you down on a bench "Jesus!" you exclaimed as the pain in your wrist throbbed "Let me see love" he said while gently grabbing your wrist, holding it up and scanning it. "Ehm lets go to the hospital darling" he spoke in concern "Just dont look at it yeah?" and at that your eyebrows raised and that got you curious and of course you looked. Your wrist was completely deformed, you gasped and felt faint.

After your eventful trip at the hospital you got your cast. "Bloody hell love, some accomplishment ya got there" he joked You playfully hit him with your working arm along with groaning in response. "Yeah well your my caretaker now" you said with a grin "When was i not?" he smirked and chuckled. You gave him a complete death stare and he raised his hands like he surrendered, still laughing a bit. You both got home and showered together, he helped you eat since the hand you always use was not able to be put at use. You both went to bed, cuddling as usual "Night night darling" he mumbled while kissing you softly "Night night si." you murmured with a smile. The next morning you woke up, he wasnt there obviously meaning he woke up before you but you noticed some writing on your cast. 'Out of order'. "You bastard..." you grumbled with a smirk.

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Konig-

It was a rainy night and Konig had to wake up early for work the next day. You really didn't want him to go since it was your anniversary but you understood it was work things so you shook it off. You both were laying in bed, cuddling and he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear, helping you fall asleep better. You eventually drifted off to sleep in his big arms that engulfed you. He also went to bed after a while of admiring you and the way you slept so peacefully, he set an alarm for 5am and closed his eyes. The amount of guilt he felt for leaving you on your four years was eating his heart but he knew with the piles among piles of paperwork ahead of him, he couldn't get distracted. His alarm went off and he sat up and stretched his arms up, trying not to wake you up.

As he was getting dressed in some decent enough work clothes, a black t-shirt and some tan cargos he heard you mumble in your sleep and glanced at you through the mirror of the dresser, you were moving in your sleep and he couldnt help but laugh a little then shake his head. But just as he looked away he heard a loud THUD that startled him, then your groans and mumbles, he looked over to see you on the floor and then saw you sit up in confusion "Geht es dir gut, Schatz?" he asked with a raised eyebrow while turning around to look at you. "I think i fell off the bed" you mumbled, rubbing your side. He walked over to you and helped you up back onto the bed and kissed your aching hip. "That better?" he then asked "Yep..thank you baby" you murmured while getting back into bed. He tucked you in and left a kiss on your forehead then waved you goodbye, reminding you how much he loves you. Then left. The whole time at work he couldnt help but laugh a little at your silliness.

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finally finished it over the course of 3 days bro. Ignore the broken german and another reminder requests are open so please i beg.

Translation: are you alright honey?

broken german from a crap translator dont mention it...

Its elliots bday tmr!!(voice actor of gaz)

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Injured

It wasn't intentional. Of course you knew that. They hadn't even seen you enter the room. Too busy setting the room on fire to notice.

But that didn't stop the pain. Or for that brief moment, the fear you felt. You knew they had seen it in your eyes.

You felt more shame now than fear when you ran off. How could you allow yourself to be scared? Of your lovers no less.

You curled up in your hiding spot. The tears that fall are more from stress and anxiety than from fear and pain. You gazed at your burnt arm. It hurt... you should probably get it looked at.

You could hear them calling for you. You can hear the worry and fear in their voices. It only made you feel worse.

Here, you were hiding like a child when your lovers were panicking and already close to their evil cycles. You wipe the tears from your face. You needed to talk to them.

You peak out of your hiding spot watching as March frantically searches one area while Eito is practically tearing apart the other side. Oh dear... you step out of your hiding place and wait for them to notice.

March is the first to notice you. Of course, he's also the first to get on his knees and cry clinging to your legs as he apologizes. "I'm sorry!" And "Didn't mean to " Spilling from his lips.

Eito stares nervously, waiting to see your reaction. You pet your groveling lover gently. "There there. Don't cry."

March stares up at you with teary eyes. "For a demon who specializes in torture, you're such a crybaby." You chided softly wiping those tears.

"IT'S DIFFERENT IF YOU GET HURT!!" He clings tighter. Obviously afraid to let you go. It makes your heart skip a beat for a moment. You feel Eito wrap his arms around you from behind.

You feel him resting his head on your shoulder. His hands slightly shook. The smell of his cigarettes is both strong and comforting to you.

"Sorry, sorry for being dumbasses and not being careful." He whispers. His face buried in your neck, you can feel the tears slide down.

"You two were stressed. You needed to let it out. It's my fault for being stupid and getting in the way." Your words soft and gentle as you tried to ease both of their minds.

Two pairs of arms squeeze you tight from either side. "Don't say stupid shit." "He's right we should have gone outside to fight instead."

The three of you stay silent for a moment. Those few precious seconds of regaining your composure. Simply being close to one another.

"I should probably get this looked at, though." You glance at the burn on your arm. "I don't think a simple healing spell will do."

Both demons burst into action. March scrambled up to his feet, and Eito yanked you up into his arms bridal style. "Eh? Wait! I can walk!" You protested as the two rushed you to the classroom of none other than Buer Blushenko.

Eito knocked down his door with a flaming kick. "Eito! March! You're both being dramatic!" You scold as you're plopped onto the desk.

March rambling a mile a minute as he explains what happened to your arm. "It can be healed, right? Can you fix it? I'm sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean, too. Looks painful. All I do is cause pain!"

You groan. "I have two drama queens for husbands." The healer chuckles as he examines your arm. "It seems so, your burn doesn't look that bad. You got lucky." His had glows, and you feel relief as the burn marks fade away.

[endataraxia]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 1. pilot Dingy job at a dingy asylum in a dingy town. Everything goes wrong. CW: unfortunately slightly comedic because I can't help myself but it won't always be this way, hopefully 2.8k words

Note: You are referred to as Reader. Y/N is a bit too much of a hassle to type.

You sigh as you're tossed into the back of a car, with the man named Jeff grumbling about how he can't kill you, with Masky admonishing him, Toby ticking away, Hoodie pinning you down, and EJ hanging his head.

You wonder how you got here, and that questioning is so intense you feel your system being choked up with tears, eyes stinging and throat hurting.

So here's how you got here:

You couldn't believe you got the job.

Staring down the asylum on the hill, you thought it was pretty much the typical cliche asylum on a hill. Like, literally, with dark clouds surrounding the cliff it stood on, the sky thundering. Except this time, the sky was a clear blue, contrasting the dark colors of the brutalist-style architecture asylum. You wondered if the walls were a faded greyish-black because it was supposed to be black but the paint faded over time, or if it was originally another color and no one had maintained it for ages. Either way would honestly work, seeing as this asylum was on the outskirts of town, a town that rarely anyone passed, which was ironic, because it was just an hour and a half away from the city. Behind that town was a big patch of forest. Everyone you knew in this town—and you knew everyone—knew not to go into those woods.

And it wasn't as if you were the social type, no. You were pretty friendly, but you didn't consider yourself as someone who would go out of their way to meet others. No, in fact, it was because this town was so small, even the goddamn sheriff was related to you in some way. Your paternal cousin's uncle on his maternal side, yeah yeah, long story that you didn't want to recall. You'd moved into this small decrepit town not because you wanted a romantic getaway from the city or whatever (this place was hardly romantic), but because your place burned down.

Good, you had thought, good riddance of that fucking hellhole where my lifegivers stayed, acting like I was some tenant. Actually, I don't even think a tenant should be treated that way, abused verbally and emotionally.

Barely 3 months had passed after their deaths before that godforsaken house burned down in the suburbs where no one would hear your cries. You recalled having the happiest day of your life when you called 911, and the second happiest day when the half-assed murder investigations finished.

And a week after that day, your house burned down. Crashed and reduced to nothing but ashes. Pretty comical, you'd thought, but then you were out of a place to live.

Sighing, you'd packed whatever stuff you had left after the fire—the clothes on your back, your phone and your precious journal—and hauled ass to the town  on the other side of the city, where your cousin's dog's foster parent's friend or whatever lived.

Really good reason why no one came here, you'd realized, when you reached the town and even the goddamn sign was either burned down or too covered in bird shit to even see the actual sign itself anymore. It's impossible for bird shit and burnt wood to be differentiated, you'd thought, until you met that sign, stared lovingly into its eyes, and immediately fucked off because it was so horridly gross.

You'd knocked on the sheriff's office door, which was in some old-time 1970s building, because you had no clue who to go to in this town. Turns out, the sheriff was more like some village elder than law reinforcement.

"No one tries anything in this town," he'd said with a cigarette in his mouth. "No one." You didn't know if it was because there wasn't enough people in this town for anyone to try anything, or if the sheriff was just incompetent.

No matter. He'd plopped you down on the patio of an abandoned house, whose condition could honestly be way worse. After an entire weekend of spring cleaning the house, you finally had a comfortable (enough) place to live in. It wasn't so bad, you thought.

"There's an asylum behind this town, on the cliff. Sage Forest Mental Institution, or just SF. You can't miss it, it's pretty much visible from everywhere," said the sheriff. Anderson, his nameplate said. "Don't try anything with it. God knows what those teenagers from the city have tried to do in there, but they never came out," he said with a scoff, propelling the smoke in his nose to jet out in a big puff.

You were insane enough to apply for a job at that asylum. Of course, you didn't tell the sheriff. You told no one. None of the, what, twenty people who lived in this town, who'd gathered to welcome the new neighbor. Honestly, it might as well have been called a village at this point. Your fellow town-dwellers were nice, but as you gazed them in their eyes, you noticed something off. Eye contact was noticeably weaker than it was where you previously lived, but you chalked it down to the small population size. Hell, there wasn't even a 7-11. Just a tiny grocery shop. You probably couldn't even get condoms there, which was ironic, because the birth rate would supposedly go up without protection, and thus, population size.

Just as you'd finished contemplating your life choices and the absence of condoms in a small town, you stepped past the threshold of the doorway separating the asylum from the outside world.

Dingy. Horribly dingy, poorly maintained, old building smell. Those words were what came to your mind the moment you were able to take in the inside of the building.

"You the new hire?" A voice so rudely interrupted your admiration for cobwebs on the ceiling. A woman, tanned skin and dark hair, looked at you with an almost impatient aura.

"Uh...yeah. Hi, I'm Reader," you introduced yourself politely with a light chuckle, hoping to lighten the atmosphere, get her to be nicer, anything that could help save your ass from a toxic work environment.

Instead, she rolled her eyes with an "ugh", and droned, "I'm Andrea. Follow me."

Okay, so much for a healthy work environment.

And so you followed her. If you were being honest, you had no idea what to expect. An asylum in a town this remote was one thing, but you didn't know whether to expect many patients, or very few. You also had zero gauge on the employee count, and if the building size was anything to go by, you would've guessed maybe fifty, sixty or so.

But nope, as you walked behind Andrea, you heard nothing but the echoing of your footsteps and your now co-worker muttering angrily about something like why'd they choose me to go all the way out here and useless fucks, the latter of which was very ambiguous as to whom she was referring to. The building had almost no lights, either, and you wondered if there was even water or electricity in this place. Everything was confusing you at this point. But oh well, you thought, you had a steady pay and that was enough.

Begrudgingly, she led you to an unlit back room directly behind what was probably supposed to be a main counter. "This isn't the main building of SF," she started, setting a box down, and as it made contact with the floor, you heard plastics rustling—these were probably meds for the patients. "The main branch is a whole 3 hours away, and for some godforsaken reason," she punctuated with a glare at you, "they sent a measly 5 patients over here and got me aaaall the way over here just to introduce some newbie to their duties," she grumbled. You had no idea whether this was directed to you, or if she was just talking to herself.

She sighed and stood up, facing you. "I won't be here for long. I'm just here to deliver instructions." She fumbled around in the box, causing more plastic to rustle. The noise was almost jarring and you swore you heard it echo off the walls of the empty store room. Again, you thought it was ironic. She pulled out a file from the box and hastily shoved it into your arms. This prompted you to open up the file, and though you couldn't read its contents too well in the darkness, you made something like a table of instructions, timings and diets out.

Just as you thought you'd finally gotten the gist of what you were reading, Andrea snatched it out of your hands and tossed it into the trash below the main counter.

What the fuck?

Your jaw left itself agape. You had no idea, at this point, what you were expecting, what you were currently expecting, and what to expect at all in the future. Why on God's green earth did your weirdly cranky co-worker toss the only instructions you had at all in this dingy place into the trash?

Upon taking in your shocked expression, she sighed and rolled her eyes. Yet another show of begrudgingness. "Look, I know you're new and all and you might have the gusto to work or some shit, but no one is here. No one. You aren't even required to report back to the main branch, I bet no one over there cares and not even the guy in charge of this entire village gives a measly fuck, and the 5 they dragged over here probably creeped out those at the main branch. Look, your job here is, as admin told me, to keep them alive." Upon noticing that your expression was still slack, she decided to oh-so-kindly dumb it down for you. "That is to say, if they die, it's no one's problem."

You wondered how it was possible for your jaw to go even more slack, but it did anyway. But before you could utter any words, oh you had *so many questions*, and so many profanities to cushion those words between, Andrea turned tail and nearly skipped away. You could've sworn she was a ghost, with how quickly she appeared and disappeared.

*What the absolute fuck is that work ethic?

It was actually, legitimately so bad that you drifted over to the main counter, sank into a chair behind it, and buried your face into your hands.

What the fuck just happened? What did she say to me? Why do I know the words she said but not what she said? What is that work ethic? What about the patients you're supposed to take care of and treat with kindness? Did HQ abandon me or something? What the absolute fresh fuck is that work ethic?

You swear you turned into a ghost or something too, because you felt your very soul leave your body.

It took you all of 45 minutes to gather your wits, and finally stand up, because holy shit, that work ethic was so bad it literally dealt a blow to your *own* mental health. But no matter, you told yourself. You're here to take care of patients, and damn right will you take care of those patients.

After picking the file up from the trash and dusting it off, you confidently strode down the hall.

It was at this moment that you realized that Andrea had work ethic so abhorrent that she never even showed you where the patients were. This cost you another 5 minutes, which you spent crouched down on the floor sobbing so hard you shed tears, and you had no idea if you were laughing in despair or if you were crying from a really bad joke.

After a hard slap or two to your face, you straightened up. How hard could it be to find 5 goddamn patients? If you're lucky, they'd even be right next to each other!

They were not.

Of course they weren't.

For after what felt like hours of wandering the interior of the building, you finally came across an area where light flooded onto the floor from the window of a cell. Gasping in relief, you damn near ran over to the cell, but then remembered you probably shouldn't make any sudden movements around the insane, and immediately slowed down, increasingly so as you neared the source of the light from the window to your right.

You came to a stop at the window and turned your head to the right.

Right in your face was a Cheshire grin. A blood-red grin, teeth so white it almost rivaled the sun, but oh, this person's eyes.

Unblinking, black irises so dark you could have mistaken them for the pupils themselves, sclera so bright in comparison and yet bloodshot, and eyelids rimmed in black, like a smokey eye makeup look, but dear god, this was DEFINITELY not makeup. His eyes scared the shit out of you, and you felt like you had to physically grab your soul from leaving your body.

Your vision blurred for a moment. The colors white, black and light blue.

"Whoa there, sweetheart. Can't have you fainting on us."

Those words in a raspy voice brought you back to earth.

The person, the person with not-smokey-eye-makeup and a Cheshire grin, was speaking to you. You blinked and your vision refocused. A dark eyebrow was raised at you, rippling near-white skin. You wondered if it was face paint, but then remembered that one could not procure face paint from asylum air in the middle of nowhere.

"Uhh," was your intelligent response. The man—it was clear, from the baritone of his voice—chuckled, eyes still unblinking, though narrowing a little as the chuckle reached his eyes. But he didn't stop chuckling, no, this man doubled over, laughter reaching a crescendo.

"HEY! HEY, YOU SEE THAT, BEN?!" He howled, gripping at his light blue hospital gown.

Who was this Ben?

"Oh, don't worry about it," he chuckled, wiping a tear from his still wide open eye. "I'm gonna kill you anyway."

Huh?

Before you could even dismiss his words as something a crazy person would say, the glass in front of you shattered, and out shot his hand, veiny and as pale as the rest of him. He nearly tore your clothes with the sheer force at which he pulled you forward, hands wrapping around your throat, constricting breath, blood flow, and your senses.

Nails. Your nails, they dug into something. Your hands hurt. Your eyes teared up, and your lungs screamed for air.

Something like a voice sounded behind you, though at this point, your hearing had left you, but you felt your center of gravity lower and something hit your ass hard, followed by your skull.

You regained your senses and gagged, hands around your own throat, eyes tearing up even more now, and your body couldn't decide if it wanted to choke, gasp for air, or throw up. You heaved and heaved, for ages and ages, till your mind grasped reality again.

Yelling. Yelling, from two different voices, from two different directions. The one behind you was named Jeff, apparently, and the newcomer—there was a newcomer?—was called Masky. Or Tim, but just as that name popped up, Jeff's quarrel was cut off, followed by choking sounds. Deja vu, you thought, as you turned around to see another patient in a hospital gown holding Jeff—the one with wide eyes and a scary grin— by the jaw. Or was it his throat?

"Shut the fuck up," Masky or Tim spat viciously. "And stop killing random people. The reason we're still here is because you keep fucking KILLING our keyholders, and then shifting to a new room every goddamn time! What the actual FUCK," he snarled, "is WRONG with you that you can't compre—"

A loud slap, and Masky-not-Tim fell to the ground.

No, it wasn't a slap. It was way too powerful to be one. Perhaps it should be called a blow instead. Whatever it was got him knocked out cold for a whole of 2 seconds—2 seconds that Jeff took to vault over where the glass was supposed to be, and grab ahold of you again, but not before Masky lunged and pulled him down by the neck, sending them both tumbling into the mess of glass shards, a tangle of limbs.

Honestly, you didn't know what to think. Your first instinct was to run, away from Jeff, but your second was to stay and help Masky, your benefactor. Your final, rational thought, was to break them apart, and so you did, but Jeff's flailing caught you in the face.

You blacked out.

chapter 2 is out.

[raspberry-vinaigrette]

alright drop ur main jack headcanons please i will gladly slurp them up :3

HAHAHAHAH I AM SOOO GLAD YOU ASKED

i have a post with some big ones over here but i ALWAYS have more! putting them under a cut since idk how long this'll be when i post

i mentioned this before and never elaborated but i've always interpreted that one scene in the good ending with davetrap and jack in the saferoom while davetrap holds the kid hostage and the layout of the scene fades from the normal first-person visual novel style into a top-down pixellated tycoon segment/flipside segment style as jack dissociating. it makes sense, especially because it's triggered when jack has to claim that he's a good person who wouldn't hurt kids -- he knows (or at least believes) this isn't true, given that the evil ends of dsaf1 and 2 happened by dsaf3, even if they were "reverted" in some way or another -- and also jack just like. has a lot of self loathing and dehumanization issues. he does not perceive himself as human in most senses of the word.

^ because of this i've always viewed jack as having derealization and depersonalization issues ! it's mostly triggered by situations of high-stress in which he disconnects to detach his emotions from the situation because he kind of just wishes he was as lackadaisical and apathetic as he tries to present himself as early on. but he Isn't. and that causes Problems. he's aware of it happening and it's concerning but honestly especially with the fact that henry and blackjack are both constantly in his head and he already perceives himself as a vessel of some kind? he's just ignoring it. It Happens!

fazbender's frights was set up in 2003 to keep with the xxx3 year motif that's in the games (1973 is when dee and jack died, 1983 is when henry disappeared i think? + bite of '83, 1993 is when roger's location shut down, 2023 is when dsaf3 happens)! it stayed up for around the same amount of time as jack's dsaf3 restaurant before jack burned it down and believed his work there was done and started focusing on the flipside machine. i think there's a couple mentions in dsaf3 that miiight contradict this but whatever i'm chalking that up to "davetrap has a terrible memory between the soul-split, the trauma, and the years of isolation" since i like the idea the xxx3 years match up

i also have an event in mind for 2013! it's been a running thing in my headcanon that during the 35 year gap jack went to vegas at one point to try and relive the thrill of being with dave in hopes it would help him move on. this did not work. jack immediately got lost, could not handle everything going on, and just ended up scrambling outside and buying some cheap liquor before taking a taxi to a nearby hotel. he got wasted and tried to purge this from his memory. this happened in 2013 and he still never told peter what happened he just said he was out on "business" and peter kind of looked at him funny but didn't ask.

jack only finally quit his addiction to smoking + alcohol when roger talked about his history with addiction in his big lore speech + theres that one cutscene if you offer roger a cigarette where he mentions spending all his paychecks on liquor. roger's concern and the fact i think jack sympathized with roger's issues a lot personally probably is what got jack to finally make an effort in the good ending. granted good end jack ended up burning the place down with himself inside but i think jack poured out his bourbon along with the gasoline before davetrap arrived. "bourbon is only flammable from the cask--" it's SYMBOLIC let me have this

i like to think jack salvaged davetrap from the initial bakersfield location for frights himself. davetrap didnt recognize jack because jack made a point to wear a mask -- an official fredbear mask, it's really rare merchandise! ...which probably should've given jack away, given there's few people who would be that dedicated to fazbender merchandise collection -- and gloves and such to hide his identity. i think jack mumbled something to davetrap at the time ("dave... i missed you." to parallel the dsaf3 dialogue, mayhaps), but with davetrap being kinda half-lucid at the time, he chalked up that voice that sounded so much like jack's to just being "i miss sportsy :("

i think. when dave does that rant at the end of dsaf2's good route where he says peter and him just view jack as a tool. for one i think this is a not-uncommon instance of "dave saying shit he doesnt mean because he's impulsive and shortsighted and this can be seen in ESPECIALLY reality dave (look at the entire jacktrap plan)" but thats not the point. for two i think jack like genuinely was fine with this exchange albeit for fucked up reasoning, that being... well... he thought dave was right. jack IS just a tool, a means to an end, a vessel for saving these kids. he is soulless, he is an empty shell who will never be fixed. he will never be a person. and he wants people to forget him so its easier for everyone to move on. this is why legacy jack is so distinct to me btw because hes been so influenced by henry in a lot of ways that for once he wants to have a legacy. but thats besides the point. basically jack was like oh cool ive finally driven him off and he sees me for what i am! maybe then he'll finally be able to be saved now that he's moved on and i can work on what i'm made for.

^ if they talked about this i think jack could come to be more normal and healthy about this thought process albeit with a lot of time. especially given even after that rant dave carefully puts jack into his suit and doesnt hurt him and even says "i almost wish we couldve worked things out". but thats a whole other ramble. i NEED them to be undoomed

[bloodycyrano]

So.. The Gene Kelly cigarette trick is running rampant in my brain again, here's what I think members of Team Tadpole would think about smoking. Bonus, could they do the Gene Kelly Cigarette trick?

Karlach- Easy starter, it's cannon that she used to smoke cigars. I feel like she knows it's bad for her, and she does her best to get clean; but in high stress situations, she has that itch and sometimes just can't help herself-

6/10. She cannot do the Gene Kelly Cigarette trick. Not properly anyways. She definitely *could* do it, but the point is to not burn yourself in the process. Which.. Technically isn't a problem, given her general fireproof-ness, but I'm still reducing points for the fact that the burning end would be firm against the roof of her mouth the whole time. So in conclusion.. Yes she could, but not properly.

Astarion- Okay, this one might be a little off, but I think Astarion swears up and down he can't stand the smell of it, but absolutely has a hidden smoking addiction.- It wasn't something he'd touch as a Magistrate, pre-vampirism; But as a spawn? He was under constant stress, unwillingly luring attractive snack packs of all types back to Cazador, withstanding abuse, etc. I feel like on the rare occasion when he was able, he'd bum a smoke off of a random Baldur's Gate patron, and then probably get punished for it if he didn't manage to hide the scent well enough.

9/10. He ABSOLUTELY could do the Gene Kelly Cigarette trick. He'd do it with style- After all, he spent like 200 years seducing people.

Gale- No. I think he probably bought a pipe at one point in an attempt to be 'cool' and 'mature', fully intent on using it, and then he got violently ill the moment he actually took a drag. Tara had a very "I told you so" moment.

-7/10, Gale would probably accidentally choke to death if he attempted the Gene Kelly Cigarette trick.

Wyll- I think, as a matter of self care and principal, the blade of the Frontiers doesn't smoke. You probably couldn't pay him to, either. A very respectful decline, but absolutely fucking not.

2/10, Wyll Ravenguard couldn't, and wouldn't.

Shadowheart- She doesn't particularly enjoy smoking. I feel like she's used to smoke inhalation due to incense and ritualistic burning of herbs, perhaps. And maybe she's not a stranger to smoking rolled herbs and flowers.. But cigars or cigarettes? Absolutely not. It's not quite her taste..

5/10, she definitely can't, but she'd be very elegant about it and probably joke about it afterwards.

Lae'zel- Lae'zel sees no proper point in smoking, but she would just to prove a point if she had to. Through pure discipline, I feel like she could force herself to remain stoic and unbothered through smoking even without being remotely used to it.

4/10, she *could* do it, but not without hurting you in the process, and she'd see absolutely no point in it.