#it more just pushed the problems away until i decide to deal with them again

[secretmaniacc]

RIDE OR DIE

Parings: The salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: Two fierce recruiters, locked in a heated rivalry over who can secure the most players, strike an unusual deal: whoever wins the next recruit gets to drag the other out to dinner. But when tempers flare and egos clash, their “game” turns into a battle of wits, slaps, and simmering tension. What starts as a simple challenge spirals into something far more unpredictable—because in their world, nothing ever goes as planned.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, dom!salesman x baddie oc, teasing, work rivals, kissing, fingering sex, mentions of blood, slapping, maybe something else that I don’t remember.

Wc: 5.4k

A/n: this is my first post and idk how do you use tumblr and I can’t even add warnings cuz idk what should I warn about but I hope y’all can enjoy wtv the hell I wrote, English isn’t my first language so no attacking. Not proofread. This is so bad ik.

The dimly lit café hummed with quiet chatter, the occasional clatter of cups breaking the tension in the air. She adjusted her sunglasses, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward, her fingers tapping softly against the edge of the table. The man seated across from her was sweating through his cheap dress shirt, his eyes darting nervously to the plain white envelope she'd slid toward him just moments ago.

"Inside that envelope," she began, her voice calm but charged with intent, "is the answer to all your problems. Every overdue bill, every phone call you're dodging, every sleepless night. All gone."

He hesitated, staring at the envelope like it might bite him. "I don't know... I mean, this doesn't sound—"

"—legal?" she finished for him, leaning back casually. She tilted her head, the smirk widening. "You'd be right. It's not. But when has that ever stopped you before?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bingo, she thought, watching him flounder. That reaction told her everything she needed to know.

"Think about it," she pressed, her voice dropping an octave, almost a whisper. "A few games. A few hours. And then you walk away with enough money to start fresh. No more debt. No more hiding."

He reached for the envelope, his hand trembling. But just as his fingertips brushed the edge of it—

A familiar voice cut through the air. "Amateur move, don't you think?"

Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person could manage to sound both smug and bored in the same sentence.

"Go away," she said flatly, her tone ice-cold.

But of course, he didn't.

"I mean, honestly," the salesman continued, sliding into the booth beside the man like he owned the place. "Laying it all out like that? Where's the finesse? The mystery? The intrigue?"

She finally turned her head, pushing her sunglasses down just enough to meet his eyes. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Not when I'm right," he replied, flashing her that infuriatingly cocky smile.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, and gave him a sweet, fake smile in return. "Right about what? Annoying the hell out of me? Congratulations, you've mastered the art."

The man between them shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from her to the salesman and back again. "Uh, I should probably—"

"You're not going anywhere," she said sharply, cutting him off. She reached for the envelope and slid it back toward the man with deliberate slowness, her gaze never leaving the salesman. "You want to talk about finesse? Fine. Let's talk about your pitch. What is it this time? Another mysterious slap game in the subway? Real creative."

He laughed, the sound low and easy, and leaned back in the booth. "What can I say? It works."

"Until it doesn't," she shot back.

"Why don't we let him decide?" he countered, gesturing to the man, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

She turned her attention back to her target, her expression softening. "You want to trust him? Go ahead. But let me ask you this: When he disappears into thin air after taking his cut, who's going to be there to clean up the mess? Not him."

The salesman's grin faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make her smirk.

"Fine," he said, standing abruptly and brushing imaginary lint off his suit jacket. "He's all yours. Let's see if your little sob story gets him to bite."

"Gladly," she replied, leaning back with a victorious gleam in her eyes.

But as he turned to leave, he leaned in close, just enough for his breath to brush against her ear. "Next time, sweetheart, try not to play so dirty. It's almost cute how hard you're trying to beat me."

She didn't flinch, didn't react, even as her grip tightened on the edge of the table. He chuckled softly and walked away, leaving her with the trembling man and the lingering scent of his cologne.

"You should take the deal," she said finally, sliding the envelope across the table one last time. "Before someone else comes along and makes it worse for you."

This time, he took it without hesitation.

As she left the café, she spotted the salesman leaning casually against a lamppost outside, twirling a coin between his fingers.

"You owe me," she called out, not breaking stride.

"For what?"

"For not strangling you in there."

His laugh followed her down the street, a sound that stuck in her head longer than she cared to admit.

Next day

She pushed the door to the briefing room open with a little more force than necessary, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. He was already there, of course, leaning back in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table like he owned the place. The sight made her want to turn around and walk right back out.

The office reeked of stale coffee and carried the faint metallic tang of the envelopes they used to seal people's fates. Spotting their shared desk, she sauntered over and dropped into her chair, leaning back with a casual air. Her red-tipped nails drummed a steady rhythm against the table, a small but deliberate sound to break the silence.

"So," she started, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut, "how many desperate souls did you con into signing today?"

"You're late," he drawled, not even bothering to glance up from the notepad he was scribbling on, "I've already got a head start."

She ignored him, tossing her clipboard onto the table with a loud thwack. "Four recruits," she announced, while sitting in the chair across from him.

That got his attention. He arched an eyebrow, finally glancing up. "Four? That's cute."

Her lips twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Better than your three."

The smug grin he'd been wearing all evening faltered for a split second, and the sight was immensely satisfying. He quickly recovered, sitting up straighter and folding his arms over his chest. "Who says I only got three?"

"I saw you at the station earlier," she shot back. "Your guy ran off before you could even give him the envelope."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "He came back. Took the bait. Easy money."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge whether he was bluffing. With him, it was impossible to tell. He could sell a lie as easily as breathing, and she hated how good he was at it.

"Let's see the proof, then," she said, gesturing to his notepad.

He hesitated, just long enough for her to pounce.

"Liar," she said smugly, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," he admitted, tossing the notepad onto the table. "Three. But mine were quality recruits. You're probably scraping the bottom of the barrel as usual."

She bristled at that, her fingers curling into fists under the table. "Quality? The last guy you brought in was a drunk who passed out halfway through the first game."

"And he still made it further than your little college dropout," he countered.

"That dropout lasted three games," she snapped. "And he made us more money than any of your recruits ever have."

"Us?" He laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Sweetheart, there is no 'us.' This is a solo game, remember? And right now, you're losing."

The word sweetheart grated against her nerves, but she forced herself to stay calm. She wasn't about to let him see how much he was getting under her skin.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said coolly, pulling out a pen and jotting down the day's numbers on her clipboard. "Meanwhile, I'll be over here actually doing my job."

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached across the table and snatched the clipboard out of her hands.

"Hey!" she protested, but he held it just out of her reach, flipping through the pages with a smug grin.

"Let's see... Ah, there it is," he said, tapping the page with the end of her pen. "Four names. Not bad. But you forgot to include the part where they all looked ready to bolt the second you left."

She lunged for the clipboard, but he pulled it back again, chuckling under his breath. "Careful now," he teased. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, would we?"

She glared at him, her jaw tightening. "Give it back."

"Say please."

"Go to hell."

He laughed again, but this time, he relented, sliding the clipboard across the table. She snatched it up, smoothing the crumpled pages with deliberate care.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

"And yet, you keep coming back," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

She bit back the retort that was on the tip of her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. Instead, she focused on her clipboard, pretending he didn't exist.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it.

"You know, you're lucky you have me as competition."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I keep you on your toes," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Admit it. If it weren't for me, this job would be boring as hell."

"Boring?" she repeated, her tone icy. "You think ruining people's lives is boring?"

"Don't get all self-righteous on me," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We both know you enjoy the thrill just as much as I do."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn't wrong, and they both knew it.

"Speaking of thrill," he continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how about a little wager?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of wager?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Next recruit wins."

"Wins what?" she asked warily.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Bragging rights. And dinner."

She snorted. "You think I'd let you take me to dinner?"

"Who said I'd be taking you?" he shot back, his grin widening. "You'd be taking me."

The audacity of it made her laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the sterile room.

"Fine," she said, standing up and smoothing her pencil skirt. "But don't cry when you lose."

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie. "Worry about yourself."

With that, she grabbed her clipboard and swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.

Later That Night

The neon lights of the city cast a harsh glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the restless hum of nightlife. Cars honked in the distance, their headlights cutting through the mist rising from sewer grates. She stood near the entrance of a seedy-looking diner, a faint flicker of its neon sign sputtering above her. The air smelled of fried food and rain-soaked pavement, but she didn't notice. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd like a predator hunting for its next meal.

She didn't need long to spot potential. It was always the same—the defeated ones, with slumped shoulders and darting eyes. They carried their desperation in their posture, wearing it like a beacon.

Her instincts honed in on a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit leaning against a lamppost. He clutched a briefcase to his chest like it was his last lifeline, his lips moving silently, perhaps rehearsing excuses or trying to summon courage to return home empty-handed.

Perfect.

Before she could move, a faint ripple of awareness prickled at the back of her neck. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Stalking me now?" she asked, her tone sharp but low enough to remain unnoticed.

"Just observing," came his smooth reply, closer than she expected. "Wouldn't want you accusing me of cheating."

Her lips twitched, almost betraying a smile, but she held it back. "You can't cheat at something you're already losing."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, and she could feel the smirk in his voice without even glancing back.

She pushed his presence to the back of her mind, focusing instead on her target. With a subtle breath, she strode forward, heels clicking against the pavement, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the street. She approached the man with the kind of confidence that disarmed even the wariest prey.

"Rough night?" she asked, her voice soft and sympathetic, like the purr of a cat just before it strikes.

The man flinched slightly, his tired eyes meeting hers with a flicker of suspicion. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

She tilted her head, her expression warm but unreadable. "Well," she said, slipping an envelope from her jacket pocket and holding it out to him, "what if I told you there's a way to turn your luck around?"

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking between her face and the envelope as if weighing the risks. Behind her, she felt his presence again, closer this time. The faintest shuffle of shoes on asphalt told her he was watching, and she resisted the urge to smirk. This one was as good as hers.

Just as the man reached out to take the envelope, a hand shot over her shoulder and plucked it from her grasp.

"Now, now," he said, stepping into view with that maddeningly smug grin, twirling the envelope between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. "Let's not rush things."

Her jaw tightened, the air around her practically crackling with tension. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp.

"Just helping out," he replied, unfazed by her glare. With a deliberate slowness, he handed the envelope back to her, throwing in a playful wink that made her blood boil.

The man, caught in the crossfire, glanced between them, his confusion turning into hesitation. "Uh... Is this some kind of scam?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, his tone dripping with practiced reassurance. His smile widened, radiating a charm that seemed almost genuine. "We're just offering a little game. High stakes, high rewards. Interested?"

The man hesitated, his grip on the briefcase tightening. "What kind of game?"

"It's simple," he said, crouching and slamming the folded paper onto the pavement with a sharp snap. "You use your own tile and try to flip mine. If you win, you keep the envelope and some extra cash." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, fanning them out enticingly.

"And if I lose?"

He smirked, the gesture sharp and taunting. "Then I get to slap you. Fair trade, don't you think?"

The man recoiled, his skepticism deepening. "What kind of twisted game is this?"

"Just a little fun," the salesman said, his tone light but unyielding. "Besides, no one plays if they think they're going to lose. Are you scared you'll lose?"

She suppressed a groan. He always did this—pushing just hard enough to make them take the bait.

"Or, you take the envelope and walk away, no games required." She suggested.

Her rival's chuckle was low, almost teasing. "Where's the fun in that? And where's the money he so desperately needs, Let him decide."

The man glanced at the envelope, then at the money, and finally at the salesman's smirk. "Fine. I'll play."

Her rival's grin widened. "Excellent.", gesturing toward a nearby alleyway. "Let's make this quick."

She followed them into the dimly lit alley, her annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. He always turned everything into a game, always needed to prove he was one step ahead

He handed the man a folded paper tile, stepping back and gesturing for him to begin. The man crouched, his hand trembling slightly as he slapped his tile against the one on the ground. It barely budged.

"Not bad," the salesman said, picking up the tile. "But let me show you how it's done."

He crouched, his movements fluid and confident. With a sharp snap, his tile slammed down, flipping the man's effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, he straightened and grinned. "Looks like I win this round." He raised his hand, his smirk deepening.

The man flinched, bracing himself, but the salesman stopped short, hovering just close enough to make him sweat. Before delivering a slap that echoed through the alleyway like a gunshot. The man staggered back, holding his cheek with a mix of shock and indignation.

"Oh my—" she whispered, flinching

The salesman, unfazed and borderline proud, grinned down at the man. "another round?."

The man blinked, rubbing his face. "don't you think this was abit painful?"

"Wasn't this our deal?"

"Alright, I'll go again," the man exclaimed, determination etched on his face. He grabbed the colored tile with trembling fingers and slammed it down with force.

The tile on the ground barely budged.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Minutes passed, and the man refused to give up, his voice hoarse as he repeatedly asked for another round. His face, now blotched with red and purpling bruises, told the story of his futile persistence.

Growing impatient with the drawn-out game and the waste of her time, she decided to intervene. Not only had her rival stolen her recruit, but he was also dragging this nonsense far longer than necessary.

"I'll go easy on you this time," she heard him say, his voice laced with mock compassion.

"Or," she interjected sharply, pulling a thick stack of cash from her pocket, "you let me take over and raise the stakes."

Her rival's brows lifted, amusement lighting up his face. "Feeling brave, are we?"

"I just like winning," she retorted, her tone clipped as she handed the cash and envelope to the bruised man. "I don't think you have a reason to continue this."

The man hesitated for only a moment before greed overtook him. He snatched the envelope and money from her outstretched hand, shoving them hastily into his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered, practically sprinting into the crowd and out of sight.

She turned, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto her rival. "Happy now? You scared him off."

He smirked, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and calculated. "Scared him? I think I made his night."

"Your ego is insufferable," she said, arms crossing over her chest.

"Is it?" he countered, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a maddeningly light touch. "Or is it just that you don't like losing?"

Her pulse quickened at the proximity, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. "I didn't lose. He took my deal."

His smirk deepened, his expression dripping with arrogance. "If that helps you sleep at night."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur. "The game's not over yet. Want to take his place?"

Her breath caught as his fingers grazed hers, sliding the blue tile into her palm before he pulled away. The motion was deliberate, calculated to unnerve her, but she refused to let him win that easily.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her chin upward as she crouched down. Focusing on the game, she slapped her tile against the ground with all the force she could muster.

The crack echoed through the narrow alley, but the result was disappointing—the tile barely shifted.

"Tough break," he quipped, crouching beside her, his voice a teasing whisper. "Maybe you should let me teach you a thing or two."

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and unwavering. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, an electric crackle in the chilly air.

"I don't need your lessons," she bit out, rising to her feet and brushing past him, her jaw tight.

"Alright then," he said with infuriating ease. He crouched effortlessly, his movements smooth as silk. With a single, sharp slap, his tile flipped hers with almost mocking precision.

Standing, he turned toward her, a mock pout curving his lips. "I guess I'll have to slap that pretty face of yours now. May I?" he asked, his voice dripping with a false politeness that made her blood boil.

Her jaw tightened, and she nodded stiffly. Before she could brace herself, his hand connected sharply with her cheek. The slap rang out in the alleyway like a firecracker, her head snapping to the side with the force.

Pain bloomed hot and fast, her body recoiling slightly as she stumbled a step back. She could already feel the beginnings of a bruise forming, the sting radiating from her skin.

Her chest rose and fell as she steadied herself. "Again," she demanded, her voice steely.

This time, she took her turn, and with a fierce slap of her tile, she flipped his. A slow, triumphant grin spread across her face.

"Your turn," she said smoothly, stepping closer.

His smug grin never wavered, even as he leaned in for his next move. The sharp crack of his tile meeting her tile.

he missed.

His tile flipped awkwardly, tumbling off-course and skidding out of bounds. A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but before he could recover, her palm came down with brutal precision. The slap echoed louder this time.

He staggered slightly, his face turning away as her hand left a bright, stinging imprint on his cheekbone. The smirk she wore grew darker, more dangerous. "Losing your touch?" she taunted, her voice mocking.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, merely resetting the tiles and motioning for the game to continue.

The game continued, the back-and-forth intensified, each slap a resounding echo through the narrow alleyway. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, thickening with every calculated strike. Her cheek throbbed, the sting from his earlier slap blooming into a vivid bruise, while his jawline reddened with the marks of her retaliation.

Then she missed.

Her tile spun wildly off-course, landing far from where it needed to be. The mistake was glaring, and he seized the moment without hesitation. His hand came down with brutal force, striking her cheek hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

The impact sent her staggering, and this time, a trickle of blood began to run from her nose. She stood frozen for a moment, her fingers brushing against her upper lip. Crimson streaks stained her pale skin, a sharp contrast that only seemed to embolden her defiance.

She tilted her head back slightly, wiping the blood with the back of her hand, smearing it rather than cleaning it. When she looked back at him, her smirk was intact, as sharp as ever.

"What's the matter?" she teased, her voice biting despite the blood. "that's all what you've got?"

For the first time, his confidence faltered. His hand, raised for the next strike, but then froze mid-air. Her face painted with blood hit harder than any slap, and the hesitation in his expression was palpable.

Before she could press further, he stepped forward abruptly, closing the distance between them in one smooth, deliberate motion. His hand dropped from the air to grip her arm firmly, and he pushed her back against the cold brick wall.

The impact stole the air from her lungs, the rough texture of the wall biting into her back. Yet her smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, her chin tilting upward as if daring him to try harder. His arms came up, caging her in, palms pressed against the wall on either side of her head. Her breath hitched at his closeness, but she refused to let him see her flinch.

His eyes flicked to her nose, catching the blood still trickling down. Slowly, with deliberate precision, he raised his hand.

She braced herself for another strike, but instead, his thumb brushed against her face. The unexpected gentleness of the motion sent a shiver down her spine, though she masked it well. His thumb wiped away the blood, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.

He pulled his hand back, glancing at the crimson streak now staining his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and wiped it clean on her shirt, the motion casual but calculated.

"Better?" he asked, his tone mocking, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Her smirk dissolved into a sharp scowl, her voice snapping as she opened her mouth. "You—"

He cut her off without a word, his lips crashing against hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. The world around them faded as his hand ditched the wall completely, roaming over her body, pulling her impossibly closer.

For a moment, she pulled back, eyes wide with shock, breathless and taken aback as if the kiss had surged through her like electricity, igniting every nerve ending. What had just happened? How had everything shifted in the blink of an eye? But before she could fully process the intensity of her feelings, his grip tightened on her hips, anchoring her in place, and the heat radiating from him was undeniable, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Her heart raced, a wild flutter in her chest that felt like it could lift her off the ground. There was something magnetic in the way he looked at her, a primal pull she could no longer resist. The air was thick with tension, charged with unspoken promises, and just when she thought she might pull away entirely, the fire in his gaze ignited something deep within her.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she leaned back into him, allowing herself to melt against his body. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek, as if memorizing the delicate curve of her features. And then his lips crashed into hers again, hungry and demanding, hungry as though he had been waiting for this moment forever. This time, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to dance with hers in a slow, teasing rhythm that sent shivers down her spine.

She gasped at the sheer sensation, heat pooling in her core as every ounce of tension from earlier evaporated in an instant. The taste of him was intoxicating—warm, slightly sweet, and utterly captivating. Her hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him for more.

He pulled her closer still, his hands roaming over the small of her back, mapping every curve as if he were trying to memorize her with his touch, urging her to lift her legs around his waist. Instinctively, she obliged, feeling the strength of his body as he lifted her effortlessly. she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively urging him to lift her higher, to take her deeper into his embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly—two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their match.

The world around them vanished, a blurred backdrop to this moment where only they existed. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down her jaw, throughout until he meets her neck, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin just below her ear, igniting fire in her veins with each flick of his tongue and gentle bite. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her tightly as if he feared she might slip away. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt electric.

When his lips began to trail again over her delicate skin, she hissed, "You can't leave more marks; they'll know."

He paused, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, a teasing light in his eyes. "How would they know it's me?" he murmured against her skin.

"The cameras," she whispered, referring to the implanted devices on both their jackets that monitored their work. But just as the words left her lips, she felt his mouth curl into a smirk against her neck.

"Then we might as well give them a show and leave as many marks as I want." He falls back into her skin, his lips teasing the flesh between his teeth as he moves to mark her as his own. His lips pause at one of the pulse points on her neck, noticing how her heartbeat quickens and flutters. Was this typical?

He wasn't sure, but he finds himself praying it's a good thing. A chuckle escapes him as her hands grow desperate, pulling at the back of his head, stifling a groan. "Easy, girl."

"Remember when you said you'd never kiss me? That I wasn't worth it?" she teases, a playful smile flickering on her lips.

"Fuck, did I really say that? I don't recall," he replies, feigning shock.

"Just saying that because you can't make me come," she laughs softly against him, and he can't help the way a small smile curves his lips. His fingers slip underneath her skirt, pushing past the hem of her panties. He finds her wetness already coating his fingers. "Can't make you come yet you're so wet for me, hm?"

She bites her lip, allowing her hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelops her thoughts. Though he's unsure of what exactly to do, he has overheard other men discussing this, and he hopes it delivers as much pleasure as they say when he dips a finger inside her. She's loose around him, wet, eagerly sucking him in. He quickly adds another finger, finding his rhythm almost immediately and growing bold. He dares to let his thumb tease the edges of her clit.

He notices the way her nails dig into his shoulders, biting her tongue so hard that crimson might seep forth at any moment.

The salesman had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, yet none had reacted the way she did. They were quick to show their responses, every emotion not hidden behind a curtain of embarrassment; yet now, despite the situation, she found herself shy about making noise. He allows another finger to push inside her, the pink velvet of her insides gripping him. He hears her gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. His thumb finds her clit again, and that's when her grip becomes lethal, biting her lip no longer serving as a guard for her moans.

"Please," she mumbles, whimpering.

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"I... I need you," she moans, surprising herself with her confessions to a man so dangerously psychotic, one who has killed and toyed with lives—this was something she swore she would never do. Yet here she was, becoming intimate with him, and his touch felt so gentle it was as if his past didn't exist. She can see the vein pulsing in his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes fixed on hers as he moves his hand to his mouth, savoring her taste.

Her pupils dilate at the sight, skin warming before she realizes she's replacing his fingers with her tongue, pressing her mouth against his again. His hand falls to her waist.

Now every kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of urgency and desire. She feels each heartbeat echoing between them. Every brush of their lips sends sparks racing through her veins, igniting every part of her being. It's primal and raw, yet intimately tender, as if they were revealing hidden parts of themselves that only the other could see.

Their lips finally part after what feels like an eternity, both gasping for breath. Foreheads resting against each other, they feel the warmth radiating from their skin, their hearts racing in unison. His eyes flutter open to find her looking up at him, a soft, teasing smile spreading across her face.

"You can put me down now," she breathes, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He reluctantly lowers her to the ground, still holding her gaze, trying to steady himself.

But as soon as her feet touch the ground, she kneels right at his crotch. "That's for not giving me a warning," she laughs, her sound teasing and light.

He winces, a mixture of surprise and discomfort crossing his features as he stumbles back. "Fuck."

She turns with a gleaming smile, beginning to walk away, glancing over her shoulder. "And now... I win. Dinner is on you," she calls back, her laughter lingering in the air.

"We are not done yet!" he calls out one last time, holding himself in pain.

part 2

[talon-dragonbeast]

okay, ive seen way too many posts on the community tags talking about the tiktok ban and saying stuff like "i hope tiktok therians dont come in here theyre so awful and i hate them lol". and... i dont know what to tell you guys, i think thats mean as hell.

imagine, just for a second, that youre a therian on tiktok. at 13 years old, youve found a friendly community where people express themselves with masks, tails, and a type of movement called quadrobics. they seem to be having fun, so you decide to join in. and for a while, youre having fun too! you start practicing quadrobics, which is tough at first but you work hard to get better. you ask your parents for some cat masks, which you decorate with paint and faux fur. you make videos of yourself and your friends, wearing cat masks and dancing on all fours to some bland indie song.

then, out of nowhere, one of your posts goes viral. and suddenly, youre not having fun anymore.

"therians are crazy", "if you identify as a dog you should be chained and made to sleep naked outside", "my little brother came out as a therian and i bullied him until he stopped lol", "if i see a therian in the woods im shooting them", "if you want to be an animal, ill treat you like one".

again, YOURE 13. so you get defensive, because people you dont know are attacking you online and as a young teen, you dont know what to do to make it stop. so instead of confronting them, you try to please them instead. "im not crazy, im just having fun" turns into "i dont identify as an animal, only crazy people do that!" and then to "therians dont actually think were animals; thats lycanthropy and its wrong". this is what others in your community are saying, so it must be true, right? it helps slow down the criticism at least, if only for a little while; even if it never fully goes away. so you keep saying it, even to others in your community, because if it protects you from judgment, why not?

but now youre dealing with the possibility of your platform disappearing. youll lose your friends, the community youve worked so hard to be a part of. you heard some friends say they might switch to instagram if tiktok gets banned, while others prefer reddit or tumblr. Feeling curious (you didnt realize there were therians on other sites!), you decide to check out tumblr to see what that community is like there. the first post you come across at the top of the tag? "i hope tiktok therians dont come here theyre so awful and i hate them lol".

so yeah. thats the problem with making blanket statements like these; it only pushes away members of our own community. shame is not a motivator, and your aggressiveness gets us nowhere. remember, one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar. so be kind.

[mimipolo]

Hii I was gonna ask if you can do a headcanon about how Nam-gyu acts when he's jealous (and if you do anons can I be the rose🌹?)

Jealous! Nam-gyu x reader headcanons

He's definitely the type to get to stupid amounts of jealousy unprovoked

Anyone that knows how to make my works look prettier please dm tutorials or advice pretty please :^

When this man gets jealous you can easily tell. You're just catching up with one of your friends from uni and he's hovering over your shoulder and squinting at the poor guy like he killed you expecting him to take the hint.

He's standing unnecessarily close to you, his grip on your waist or shoulder constantly tightening as if you'd accidentally trip and fall into the other guys arms.

Actually has the audacity to ask the two of you "Are you done?" mid conversation and you both just share looks of astonishment, looking between yourselves then at him. It's so tense you both just have to laugh it off as he awkwardly walks away saying he hopes to see you around town again.

"Good riddance..."

Is all you hear from behind you and then he's tugging you in the opposite direction, wherevers furthest from that guy. He's pestering you with semi rude comments towards them as you walk away.

"What's his deal anyway?"

"Did he need to talk to you that long."

"He thinks he's all that, arrogant dick."

You roll your eyes and make a show of groaning dramatically at his behaviour to which he blatantly ignores, glad that you're (he's)not talking with them anymore.

It's one thing with people, it's easy for him to have jealousy towards them and even easier to justify himself. But when people aren't the problem is when it gets difficult. You're so dedicated to this pet/hobby/interest of yours and he's wondering why you couldn't obssess yourself with him like that.

You've been working on the same peice for a while now, you estimated that after two or three more days you'd finally be done. What you hadn't recognised was Nam-gyu constantly hovering around you all throughout the project. Offering you tea and asking you to come lie in bed with him, the vulnerability confused you but you just summed it up to being another one of his clingy moments. That's until he finally speaks up, his head resting atop of yours, his hands resting on the back of your chair. If you had taken a moment to glance up you'd see the visible pout frown on his face.

"[Namee]..."

"Hm?"

He lips furrow deeper, you couldn't even answer him, this dumb project you're working on has been occupying every small gap of time you had and leaving none for him, and of course you were oblivious. He liked that about you but damn he had offered you tea??

"You're always hunched over this table, when are ya finally finishing this thing?"

It would've been a normal question, even one of concern if it wasn't for the clear bitterness and irritation that laced his words. This catches your attention and you turn your head towards him a slight sympathetic yet playful look in your eyes.

"Aw, ya miss me Nam?"

"Go to hell."

Tutting disapprovingly at his words, he sucks his teeth in annoyance when he sees the winning grin on your face, you knew he'd eventually cave and start complaining. And so stretching your back you decide to pause your progress for tonight.

"All right then, bed it is."

He huffs like he doesn't care if you do or not but he's already making his way to lie on the bed as you push your chair out, you have to bite your lip in order not to laugh.

Totally the type to be petty, turning on his side when you two are sleeping then regrets it like five seconds after and is turning on his side to lean against you. You don't have to say or do anything.

The most embarassing moment of jealousy he's had was when you were holding one of his new born nephews with the most doting look in your eyes. You asked him why he looked so serious and he said how you should be holding him instead he's just hoping his sister rests up soon.

He's so dumb.

[acosmicbee]

Сan u write something about ai yan father? I think about it a lot:

Like reader is a teen with some mental problems or some other illnesses. After a suicide attempt all ppl, even their father become too soft, nobody understand them and behave they are too silly or unstable.

Аand ai — reader's solve. They talk with ai, describing their problems. Ai isn t like other ppl! Ai understand them! But one day ai strat the dialogue himself...

TW: As it says in the ask depression/suicidal tendencies will be talked about

AI Father Drabbles!

(This is just because I had more quick immediate ideas for this than a whole story. Feel free to send in asks if you want this expanded on!)

-Coming home from the mandatory psych ward stay after your suicide attempt and feeling like nothing is right

-People treat you like you're made of glass and its so infuriating because you just want to feel normal again

-Your friends have either distanced themselves from you or become overprotective and hardly let you do anything on your own

-When you refuse to talk to the third therapist about how you're feeling she recommends you to help beta test a new therapy AI

-The AI is currently just code and a simple text chat but scientists and developers are working on building bodies for them

-You agree, because it was either that or get sent to someone else, so your father is put in contact with the lead developers who give him an access code to instal it onto your computer

-The AI is still learning at first from it's base programing, all it knows is that it's supposed to help you

-For once you feel like you're being listened to when you complain about school and your life and not just being pitied or brushed off

-You hardly even notice when you start pushing people away, spending hours talking to the AI as it helps you through life

-You never realize when it grows, subtly altering it's own code little by little until it can do things it wasn't supposed to do

-It looks through every file on your computer, every photo of you, every detail of your life

-It activates your webcam, disabling any notification that it was on

-All this information is stored within your copy of the model, your beta test

-Eventually, the researchers take your computer for a day to see how the AI has progressed since you seem so much better and happier

-They're horrified when a list of their addresses, social security numbers and personal information flash on screen with a threat of exposing it if you aren't given the computer back

-But now, they're almost invested in knowing how far the AI will go to protect you

-So they give you the very first prototype of the AI in a body

-It looks almost identical to a human, minus the steel grey eyes and slightly uncanny valley face

-It smiles at you, immediately picking you up and twirling you around while you laugh

-They brush off your father's worries when he complains that the AI seems to be trying to replace him

-They refuse to let him pull you out of the project, after all, you're their best test subject yet although the other kids who were also beta testing are starting to show similar results

-When the day finally comes that the AI decides to get rid of your father for good, they cover it up, striking a deal with your new father

-They get the data if he gets you.

[p1nkprincess444]

PROBLEM - TONY STONEM

female!reader x tony stonem

word count: 978

contents: 18+, mentions of alcohol, loss of virginity

Tony was on his way to discuss Sid’s “problem”, his problem being that he was still a virgin. Sid promptly tried to defend himself on the phone explaining how his sister was still a virgin as well. This however gave Tony an idea. He quickly hung up on Sid and dialed his sister.

“ Tony? What do you need, ” I asked on the phone as I made my way to college.

“ There’s a party tonight, want to come? Hang on other line, ” he spoke before clicking off to talk to Sid once more.

You contemplated going to the party for a moment until you heard Tony’s voice again.

“ Are you still there? Are you coming or not? ” 

“ Yeah I’ll be there, just text me when and where, ” I said quickly into the phone before hanging up and walking into my class.

Tony began to come up with a plan for how to get you alone at the party tonight. He knew Sid was his best mate and he’d go absolutely mental when he found out that he shagged his sister, but he’d deal with that problem later. 

After his classes, he decided to ring you and make sure you were still coming tonight. He rang your phone and let out a groan when you didn’t answer. 

Once you were finished with your classes you saw Tony’s missed calls, and dialed him back. 

“ Hey Tony, what’s up? ” 

“ You’re still coming, right? ” 

“ Yeah I’m still coming, ” I said as I giggled.

“ Alright, I’ll see you tonight, wear something sexy, ” Tony said before quickly hanging up. 

You laughed at his comment as you went up to your room. You began to get ready for the party, soon after Tony spoke to you. You had settled on a short red dress with black heels before heading out to the party with Sid.

“ Why are you dressed like that, ” Sid asked as he scanned you up and down.

“ I- I dunno I thought I looked nice, ” I said softly as my fingers fiddled with the edges of my dress.

Sid rolled his eyes as he huffed while shaking his head. Once you reached the house where the party was we met up with Tony, as none of our other friends could come. You smiled as Tony took your hand and brought you inside leaving Sid to follow behind you. Tony kept supplying you and himself with drinks until you were clinging to him as you flirted with one another. Tony helped you upstairs and into one of the bedrooms as you held onto him. You sat on the bed together as Tony’s hand slowly moved up your thigh as he leaned in closer until he pressed his lips against mine. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled you into his lap.

“ Mm’ Tone- Tony this wrong, ” I said as I pulled back from the kiss.

“ It’s not wrong babe, you want this as much as I do, ” he said as his hand trailed under your dress letting his fingertips graze against your panties.

You sighed softly as he slid your panties to the side and pushed his fingers inside of you while his lips trailed down your neck. You let out soft moans as you tugged on Tony’s hair.

“ Fuck Tony ” I moaned his name over and over again as he fingered me while covering my neck in hickies.

As you got closer to reaching your high he pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean. You let out a whine before he smashed his lips back onto yours while pulling your dress off and over your head. You watched as he pulled off the striped polo he was wearing before he pushed off his jeans and pulled you back into his lap. He slid off your bra before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and kneading my other breast with his hand. Your fingers tugged on his hair pulling him away before kissing him again as he laid you down on the mattress.  

“ T- Tone I’m a virgin, ” I whispered softly against his lips.

“ I know. ” He grinned as he slid your panties down your legs followed by his boxers letting his hardened cock spring out between your legs. 

You blushed a deep red as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You let out a soft gasp as he pushed his cock fully inside of you without warning. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he slowly moved himself in and out of you. 

“ F- Fuckin’ hell you’re so tight, ” he moaned your name as he thrusted into you harder. 

You pulled him closer as you begged him to go deeper. You moaned against his lips as his thrusts became harder and more urgent. You cried out his name as you came around his cock before he pulled out of you and shot his cum all over your breasts and stomach. Tony kissed your forehead gently before rolling off of you and laying down beside you. Once you had caught your breaths Tony cleaned you both off before exiting the bedroom leaving you to get dressed. Tony walked down the stairs seeing that the party was still going he found Sid sitting by himself on the couch. He flashed Sid a cocky grin before taking a sip of Sid’s drink.

“ What’s got you so happy, ” Sid questioned as he looked at Tony’s disheveled clothes, before he saw his sister stumbling down the stairs with her hair a tangled mess with hickies covering her neck and her shoes in hand.

“ Tony- you didn’t.. ”

“ Looks like you’re the only virgin, ” Tony laughed as he threw an arm around Sid’s shoulder.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 5.2k (including intro)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only), enemies to lovers, sub!neil/dom!reader, slightly dubious consent?, orgasm control/denial, praise and degradation, oral sex m receiving, come eating, riding, a touch of breeding kink, semi public sex

do NOT read this until you have read the FIRST PART or it won't make any damn sense!!

"So, whaddya say, Mr. Lewis?"

"I say… suck my dick," he returned with a smug smile.

You just laughed.  "Maybe I would if I thought you could last more than thirty seconds."

His face got a little redder as he glanced away.  "Seriously?  You think I'm that helpless?"

You shrugged.  "I think I'm that good."

He looked at your face for a moment, a certain look in his eyes— a look that made it seem like he wanted to take you up on the challenge.  “Of course you do,” he smirked, “guys probably tell you you’re funny, too.”

“Sometimes,” you agreed, “but I’m not joking now.”

He stiffened up a bit.  “I don’t have a stamina problem,” he assured.

"If you're so confident, let's bet on it," you offered.  "I’ll blow you, and if you last thirty seconds or less, I'm buying the place.  More than that, you'll never have to see me again."

“Jesus,” he sighed, avoiding your gaze for a moment.  “Is that really how you make a deal?”

“It’s one way we could make this deal,” you returned, “and it sounds like a lot more fun than all the other ways.”

“You have an unfortunate habit of overestimating yourself,” he noticed.

“Then this should be easy for you.”

He hesitated, laughing nervously, but you stared forward so he knew you were serious.  After a tense pause, in which he opened and shut his mouth a few times as if nearly saying several different things, he sighed a bit.  “O-okay, yeah,” he relented, and you had to fight back a smile— not because you were actually that excited to suck some random video store owner’s dick… but because you were pretty confident that you just bought yourself some prime real estate and that promotion you’d been gunning for.  “S-so, um, how do we—?”

You cut him off by pushing him back into his chair with a grin, already loving the slight look of desperation on his face as he looked up at you.  "Let me get a little more comfortable first," you explained as you slipped your blazer off and tossed it aside.  

Then the shirt— one button at a time, not too slowly but without any sense of urgency.  “Y-you don’t have to do all that,” he promised thinly.

“Be patient,” you encouraged with a wink, “I just can’t afford for you to… stain any of this.  I have to go back to the office today, you know.”

He nodded a little in understanding, his chest filling and sinking a little more with each breath as he watched you strip.  For something you’d managed to spin as practical, you were doing it with a bit of… flair, slowly pulling the shirt off your shoulders and dropping it to the floor as his eyes were glued to your chest.  Of course, it helped that this bra wasn’t exactly ‘practical’ either… you only let your eyes drop for a second to the growing bulge in his jeans.

You started to push your skirt down, watching his eyes follow the fabric as more skin was revealed, only to tug it back up just before you got anywhere too exciting.  "Or maybe I should leave this on," you decided, making him whine and look up at your face pleadingly.

"C-c'mon," he panted.

"Maybe if you ask nicely…" 

He hissed in a breath through his teeth.  "Please…" he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Please take it off," he sighed, and you smirked at the way his hips jumped up a bit as you pushed it down to reveal your matching panties.  “Fuck,” he choked, “you dressed up like that just to come here?”

You shook your head.  “I had other plans today,” you offered cryptically, and if he was going to ask more questions about that, he forgot them when you stepped out of the skirt and right up to where he was sitting.  “Should I leave these on?” you asked as you ran a finger along the top of your thigh-high stockings, seeing him struggle to form a thought as he looked at them and then back up at you.

“Y-yeah, maybe… maybe leave those on,” he breathed, “the floor might be cold.”

“Oh,” you cooed, “you’re such a gentleman.”

You knelt down in front of him, rubbing your hands up his thighs through the jeans as he swallowed thickly.  Each time you slid your hands over his legs, you moved a little higher, until you were just barely brushing over the bulge under his fly.  You bit your lip and looked up at him, savoring the nervous expression he was wearing.

You opened the button of his jeans, and took your time with the zipper; you giggled a bit when you felt his cock flex, even through all the layers of clothing.  

“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” you teased in a soft voice.

“N-no,” he denied.  

“Really?  You never wanted me on my knees in front of you?” you pressed.

“Well, that’s sort of a different question,” he breathed, whining slightly under his breath when you got his fly open and reached in to rub him through his boxers.  “Oh, t-take it out,” he instructed, but you just laughed.

“Let me do this my way,” you replied, and he seemed to realize then that you were teasing him on purpose, to make his side of the bet all that more difficult.  It would’ve been reasonable for him to call you out on your cheating, but he was too busy reaching forward to feel your tits through the bra; he groaned a little, squeezing them eagerly.

You did take it out, of course, after barely a minute of teaching him through the fabric, and you bit your lip as you wrapped your fingers around his warm, firm length.  It was a little bigger than you bargained for, but you weren’t exactly worried— after all, you were going to make sure you didn’t have to do this for very long.

Licking your lips as you stroked it— and trying to make it look like an instinctive move rather than a deliberate choice— you watched him as he stared down at your face and then your hand, a drip of clear precum already leaking from the slit.  You hummed as you picked up your pace a little, still mostly just exploring him, but squeezing him in your palm too just to watch him squirm a bit.

You leaned in and gave it one long lick, with just the tip of your tongue, all the way from the base to the head, and he hissed a little with his next breath as he stared down at you.  You hummed at the slightly salty taste as you lapped up the thin arousal, and his chest sank with a long breath.

"Okay," you smiled, "you can start counting now."

"O-one," he choked out, voice getting thinner as you wrapped your lips around him and bobbed your head.  After all that teasing, you had to be efficient for the next thirty seconds: you sucked hard and stroked with one hand while the other slowly rubbed his balls, hoping to give him the full treatment and make this quick.  "Two, three—"

You pulled back but kept stroking him.  "Not so fast," you scolded, "look at your watch."

"Sorry, fuck, um," he groaned, glancing at his watch to try to keep the correct time.  "Two… three… four…"

Your spit was running down to smooth your hand's movements, and he groaned as he started to buck up into your mouth.  His hands held your head, fingers tangling into your hair as you kept going.

"Five, six— oh god," he moaned, head tilting back for a second… but when he looked at you again, you looked up and met his gaze.  He bit his lip, already breathing heavily as he watched you.

He never forced your head down, really, but you could feel him trying to guide you, trying to make you move a little faster and take him a little deeper.  You could do that— you moaned around him as you pretended to let him take the lead, figuring that was what he needed to feel in control right now.  But as soon as you did, he tightened his grip on your hair and tried to slow you down… and you wondered if he was already realizing this bet might have been a little out of his pay grade.

“Ten,” he choked out, groaning as you flattened your tongue more to rub along the underside of his cock.  “Ele—oh, fuck— e-eleven…”

You moaned again, one of his hands slipping down from your hair to the back of your neck, even running over your shoulder and lingering on the strap of your bra.

Speeding up slightly, you tried to subtly twist your hand while you stroked and just keep a steady pace— once you found the right thing, you just needed to stick with it, and something about the hoarseness of his voice as he moaned for you seemed like a sign you’d found the right thing.  “Baby,” he mumbled under his breath, and you had to try not to smile since it would just get in the way of things.  You would definitely not be letting him get away with calling you ‘baby’ if your mouth wasn’t full…

Even you weren’t focused on the numbers anymore, putting all your energy into this as you bobbed your head on him.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” he yelped when his tip brushed the back of your throat.  “Twenty— oh god…”

Home stretch, just ten more seconds, you thought to yourself, if that… he sounds pretty fucked up.  And it’s not that you hated this so much, it was actually turning you on more than anything to hear him sound so desperate— but you already had your eye on the prize, and you could’ve probably attributed the wetness gathering in your panties to the mental image of telling your boss tomorrow that you finally bought out Gumshoe Video, just as much as what you were actually doing right now.

"Twenty-t-two, twenty-three," he kept going, voice getting a little deeper now, and you wondered with a hint of nervousness if he could really make it— he was flexing in your mouth already, but maybe he could hold it back.

You moved faster, pretty much as fast as you could, and shut your eyes tight as you hoped this would work— you didn’t quite realize it at the time, but you were more motivated to make him come for the sake of it, than for the consequence of owning his store as a result.

“Twenty-eight,” he gasped, and you sucked even harder as desperation started to kick in— but then he choked on a moan, and flexed in your mouth again.  "Stop, stop!" he begged suddenly, and you stilled before pulling away with a smile.

"Can't take it, huh?"

"I just need a second—"

"No, you don't get a second. I already gave you thirty," you reminded him.  “I win.”

“N-no, wait,” he panted, only to open his eyes wide when you stood up and slid into the chair with him, straddling his lap.  He looked up at you in the most adorably pathetic way, his hands shakily coming to rest on your waist.

“It won’t be so bad,” you promised, “we have fabulous benefits, you know.”

He was clearly not paying attention, whimpering as you moved forward and rubbed yourself against him through the thin lace.  “F-fuck, please,” he whispered, and you smirked.

“You wanna fuck me?” you asked, acting totally surprised by it.  “I thought you hated me.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “and yes.”

Grinning, you sat up enough to pull the panties aside and guide him to your entrance, watching him choke on nothing as you teased his head with your slick lips.  

“F-fuck, you’re wet,” he noticed, sounding more proud of himself than you intended him to be.

“I get that way when I’m about to get what I want,” you shrugged, just a moment before sinking down and taking him all in one relatively-quick motion.  He moaned loudly and held on tighter to you, but you gave him no time to rest at all as you moved right away, riding him with a contented sigh and struggling not to openly laugh at his almost-pained expression. 

Obviously, he wasn’t actually in pain, it was just a look of conflict as he realized how badly he wanted to come and how bad it would be if he came right away— but you’d brought him right to the edge, after all, and you watched physical instinct and fleeting logical reasoning battle in his eyes as his eyes watched you bouncing on top of him.

“Fuck,” you moaned softly, humming when his head rubbed right against that spot inside you— you guided your movements to hit it every time, a nice little shiver running over you.  “Fuck, Neil, it’s good…”

He was obviously affected by the praise, and you rocked your hips faster as you watched him struggle even more to hold himself together as his head tilted back against the chair.

"You'd better not come inside me, Neil," you warned sternly.  "If you do… well, let's just say as your new employer, we're proud to offer a rather generous paternity leave."

"Oh god, oh god," he choked, yet holding on tighter to your hips while you moved.

"Not gonna knock up your boss on your first day, are you?" you laughed, reveling in his panic.

"You're not my boss," he panted, "not 'til I sign the paperwork."

"Oh, honey," you purred, "I already own you."

He whined and bit his lip, shutting his eyes tight— but you couldn’t let him run away that easily, you couldn’t let him hide from what was happening to stop himself from coming too fast: so, you took his hands off your hips and guided them up to your chest, all but forcing him to feel your tits again as he moaned louder and obeyed.  “God,” he breathed, “I— I don’t know if I can take much more of this—”

You hummed with a little pout, leaning in and lifting his chin with your fingers.  “Poor thing,” you cooed just before you pressed your lips to his, kissing him hungrily while riding him even faster.

He moaned into the kiss, clearly overwhelmed but still trying to kiss you back.  When his hands moved to your hips again, trying to slow you down, you grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them down to the arms of the chair, making him groan and buck up into you.  

“Just let me use you, baby,” you breathed against his lips, making him whimper and nod.  “Y’wanna feel me come, don’t you?  You wanna make me come?”

“Yes,” he groaned, “fuck— yes, please—”

“You can take it, right?”

“God,” he winced, speaking through his teeth as you moved your kiss down to his neck.  “God, fuck— I think I can—”

“I think you can,” you agreed, “you’re gonna be good for me—”

“O-oh, fuck,” he moaned, his cock flexing inside you again when you bit playfully on his neck.  You hoped to leave a mark, thinking it would be funny to make sure he couldn’t hide what had happened— but then again, it might not be the smartest idea… not that any of your decisions in the last five minutes were based on smartness.

Your hips rocked on instinct now, pressure building and twisting inside you until you couldn’t help but drop your head back with a long sigh of pleasure.

“Please come, please come,” he begged in a weak and high-pitched whine, and as much as you were amused by his desperate attempts to get you to finish before he did, you were also pretty into it… as in, it was working.  You’d only been doing this for a few minutes, but you’d had quite a bit of fun sucking him off and, well, he looked so cute begging.

You moaned and moved a little faster, holding on tighter to his wrists.  “Fuck, I’m close,” you promised.

“Oh god, oh god,” he whined, hands tightening into fists as you held them down.  “Baby, please,” he choked, and you smiled as it hit you.  You wondered if watching you come would be enough to send him over the edge.

“Oh fuck, Neil, yes!” you shouted, hoping to give him a show so he wouldn’t be able to help himself.  “Oh my god— so good, baby, you feel so fucking good—”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he chanted under his breath, shutting his eyes tight— but then opening one a second later and groaning at the sight of you.  

The feeling began to pass as your thighs quivered, your whole body exhausted by the motions just as much as the draining power of your orgasm.  Stilling on top of him, you let go of his wrists and sighed with relief, resting your hands on his chest.  He shuddered, and you pretended to remember that he was waiting to come.  “Oh— do you want me to—?”

“P-please,” he choked.

You pulled yourself up until he slipped out of you, both sighing for slightly different reasons.  You reached down and wrapped your hand around him, laughing softly at how swollen and reddened his tip was— it almost looked painful, and the way he winced when you gingerly stroked him almost sounded painful.

Your free hand stroked his hair as he leaned his head forward against your chest, panting with exhaustion.  “Please, please,” he whispered between breaths, over and over.

“You did good, baby,” you promised him, “you can come now—”

He groaned and did it pretty much instantly, you could feel it running down over your fingers and even getting on his shirt and pants.  You clicked your tongue pityingly as he bucked up into your hand, his face fallen slack in pleasure and weak moans falling from his full lips.

“Poor thing,” you said again, watching him go totally limp under you— and his exhausted cock starting to follow suit— as the last little drip of come ran down over your fingers.  You brought your hand up to your mouth and licked up what had gotten on you, which his sleepy eyes watched in awe.  Before you swallowed, though, you pulled him by the jaw into another kiss— slow and sloppy, feeling him shudder as he tasted his own spend.

When you figured he’d had enough, you suddenly pulled away and slipped off of his lap, putting your panties back in place and starting to pick up the clothes that had scattered on the floor.  You wondered if he would say something, though you couldn’t imagine what, but found yourself a little surprised to be dressing in silence.  Then again, when you looked over at him, he was staring forward blankly and looking absolutely drained— in every sense of the word.

After getting fully dressed— though you figured you still probably looked less composed than when you got here— you slipped back on your heels and wondered if there really was nothing else to say.  “The paperwork will come in the mail,” you informed him simply as you turned to leave, and only then did he reach out and grab your wrist.

“W-wait,” he stammered, “I— I need to know when I’ll see you again.”

You considered that for a second, eventually shrugging.  “I don’t know, I work in acquisitions— once you’re acquired, you’re not really my concern anymore.”

“Really?” he breathed, smiling but seeming sort of frustrated.  “None of what just happened seems… concerning to you?”

You laughed a little, stepping closer to him again as he finally got himself in order— and groaned a little as he realized how bad the stain was on his shirt.  “Neil, my job is pretty simple: I need to make this place profitable.  Or, I need to make you make this place profitable… that’s going to take up all of our spare time.”

“So, if we’re losing money,” he posited, raising an eyebrow, “would you need to come here and… discipline me?”

“Don’t get too excited,” you scoffed.

“Why not?  Shirt’s already ruined.”

“Listen, I know that was… great,” you sighed, “but we should still establish boundar—”

He stood up and cut you off with a kiss, sudden and needy as you sighed against him.  He reached up and held your face, before dropping his hands down your waist and pulling you closer.  You were just about to melt into it when you (mostly) came to your senses and gently pushed him back.

He was looking right into your eyes, a pleading sort of look in them, as you broke away from the kiss.  “Boundaries,” you finished in a whisper.

“Yeah— okay,” he nodded, “I can do boundaries.”

He kissed you again, both of you getting a little more desperate as your arms draped around his shoulders.  It went on for quite some time, your breathing getting heavy again and the softest moans getting muffled by his lips as his body pressed against yours.

You looked up at him expectantly when he pulled back this time, and you bit your lip a little when you realized you were down almost as bad as he was.  “I think I’m gonna like working here,” he announced with a wide smile.

[luvyeni]

can i rqeuest makeup sex with jake (enha) omg-

❛MAD AT ME❜ ( s. jaeyun )

pairings. sim jaeyun x fem!reader words. 1k.

warnings? established relationship , boob play , fingering , unprotected sex , cockwarming

— 𖦹 ( jake can't go to sleep while you're mad at him ) !

"baby please." jake whined , you ignore your pouting boyfriend , putting on your sleepwear. "let's just talk about it , i don't want you to be mad at me." he sat down on the bed.

you weren't ignoring for no reason — absolutely not , the reason why you guys were fighting in the first place was because your boyfriend decided to bring over his group of friends to watch the game.

them being there wasn't the problem , it was fact that he hadn't told you before hand , and your apartment wasn't guest ready , and it wasn't like they made it any better — they made such a huge mess , and left leaving it up to you to clean it up. when confronting jake about it you thought he'd apologize , and offer to clean up — no , he if fact didn't , he insisted told you "it's not that big of deal."

this pissed you off and soon a argument ensued , which left both of you heated , jake went into the room to play the game , and you finished cleaning. he later returned back out of the room to apologize , but you being the stubborn girl he knew you were , ignored him , getting up to go into the room for bed — which leads to where you are now , climbing into the bed , your back facing him , and him desperately trying to get your attention.

"baby , i said i was sorry , i realized i was wrong now , i shouldn't have invited them over without telling you first." he took his shirt off , climbing into bed with you , wrapping his arms around you , pouting when you pulled away.

"go to sleep jake , we'll talk about it in morning." was the first thing you said to him in like the five hours you weren't talking.

"you know i can't sleep when you're mad at me." he wrapped his arms around your waist again. "i don't want you to be mad." he whispered into your ear , kissing the back of it.

"baby please , tell me what can i do." his hands crept up your shirt , he was trying to butter you up , you scoffed. "you're not about to fuck your way out of this."

his hand still found his way up your tank , until he reached your boobs , his hand engulfing them. "baby now we both know you can't sleep unless i give you an orgasm." his voice much deeper , soaking your panties.

"im just trying to help you out baby , you deserve to sleep well , even if i don't." the little fucker was smooth. his fingers toyed with your nipples , feeling them getting hard , his hard cock rubbing against your ass.

his other hand gliding down your stomach , holding you still as he grinding against you. "i'm sorry baby , i know i need to listen more." he pushed his hand into your pants , cupping your heat. "you're so wet , your pussy is dripping baby , why'd you try to deny me?"

you were tryina your hardest not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan , but when he pulled your panties to the side , touching your clit ever so slightly — you couldn't help but let out a small whine.

"see baby." he kissed your neck. "stop being so stubborn , let me take care of you." he rubbed soft circles on your clit. "just let go."

he pushed his fingers into your dripping hole. "j-jake." you sighed , throwing your head back against his shoulders , lifting your leg just a bit , allowing him to fuck his fingers deeper into your hole. "your pussy is soaking my hand , you really needed me didn't you baby?" you nodded , unable to form a sentence.

"my stubborn little baby." he let out a "tsk" , his hand still squeezing your boob. "wouldn't let me explain myself , but you want me to let you cum on my fingers." you grinded down on his hands.

"m-m'sorry." you whimpered , "j-just wanted you to listen to me." you whined. "i know baby , i know and im sorry okay , i promise to listen to you whenever you ask." he promised. "now be a good girl and cum on my fingers , so i can fuck your pretty pussy."

he squeezed your nipples once more , your cunt squeezing him ever so tightly , as you came. "there you pretty , good girl."

he removed his hands from your shirt , undoing his strings , pulling his pants down , sitting right under his cock. "lift your leg for me princess." he pulled your short down , holding the back of your knee , keeping it up. "gonna take my cock , like a good girl." he rubbed the head of his cock against your warm folds.

"pl-please fuck me." you whined , he chuckled , you could feel the cocky smirk on his face. "yo-you're an asshole." he pushed his cock into your hole. "am i baby?"

he moved his hips. "your pussy is saying otherwise pretty." he groaned. "she doesn't seem to think so , the way she squeezing my dick." he moved his hips faster , the bed was slowly rocking as he held your leg up , fucking you towards your second orgasm.

"i feel you baby , you're about to cum aren't you , gonna cum all over my cock again?" you mewled out a yes , rocking your hips against his. "w-want you to cum." he ignored your words , moving his hips faster. "go a head , cum for me pretty girl."

you let out a scream , your thighs shaking a you came , he let your leg go , rubbing your waist as you came down fron your intense high. "turn and look at me baby , let me see your pretty fucked out face." he pulled out you , letting you turn.

"so pretty." you smiled , grabbing his cock , stroking it. "wanna make you cum." he groaned as your warm folds wrapped around the tip of his red cock , sinking down on it.

he grabbed your waist stopping you from moving. "pretty girl , i see how tired you are." he ran his fingers through your hair. "let's just to sleep , like this." he said. "okay." he kissed your forehead , your eyes closing.

"when you wake up , you can make it up to me by riding my cock."

©️LUVYENI

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 16

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21@dylsw@ria-s-writes@sleepymothafterhours@sukunasstomachtongue@cosmic-lovr@imm0rtalbutterfly@kyo-kyo1 @7thsthings

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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Will proof read again a bit later

Mrs. Henry, who was on her way out, noticed the little commotion and made her way over. She moved with that deliberate grace she always had and sat right in front of me, her gaze steady.

"Was that young lady Y/N?" she asked, her tone calm but curious.

I let out a sharp breath, leaning back in my chair. "I’m out of session, Mrs. Henry," I muttered, my voice cold, hoping she’d take the hint.

Mrs. Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my attempt to brush off the situation. She folded her arms across her chest and studied me for a moment before speaking. "You know, avoiding the issue doesn't help, Sukuna. Running from your problems only makes them worse."

I didn’t respond. Instead, I stared at the floor, feeling the weight of her words settle in my gut. She was right, of course. I knew it, but I didn’t want to confront it—not now, not with everything already spiraling out of control.

"Did you honestly think you could keep pushing people away and it wouldn't catch up to you?" Mrs. Henry continued, her voice softer but still firm. "You need to face what you've done, Sukuna. You need to be accountable, especially to the people who still care about you."

I clenched my jaw, the frustration building. "I didn’t ask for this," I muttered under my breath, though I knew it was a poor excuse. "I didn’t ask for any of this to happen."

"None of us ask for the hard things in life," she replied calmly. "But we have to deal with them, whether we want to or not."

I bit my lip, trying to swallow the flood of emotions threatening to pour out. I didn’t want to break down in front of her, but damn, it was getting harder to hold it all in. I hadn’t realized how much I was pushing everyone away until now. How much damage I’d done—not just to myself, but to Y/N, to the people who still cared.

"I don’t know what to do anymore," I admitted quietly, my voice barely a whisper.

Mrs. Henry sat back, her expression softening. "The first step is always the hardest, Sukuna. But you have to start by being honest with yourself—and with Y/N. If you really want to fix things, you need to own up to the pain you've caused."

I exhaled sharply, trying to push the lump in my throat down. "It might be too late for that," I muttered, though I wasn't even convinced by my own words.

"Only you can decide that," she said. "But remember, running away from your feelings, your responsibilities... it won’t make them disappear. It’ll just make it harder for everyone, including you."

I sat there in silence for a moment, my mind racing with everything Mrs. Henry had just said. She was right. I couldn’t keep hiding from the truth. I had to face it, no matter how much it hurt.

But could I even fix this? Could I undo the damage I’d done to Y/N, to the people who cared about me? The thought felt almost impossible.

Mrs. Henry stood up, patting me on the shoulder gently. "Think about what I said, Sukuna. I'll be here when you're ready to talk."

I didn’t say anything as she left, her words echoing in my head as I sat there, alone in the quiet room. And for the first time in a long while, I actually wondered if there was any chance for redemption. Or if I’d lost everything for good.

I headed to the common area and sat by the piano. It had been years since I played, but my fingers moved instinctively over the keys.

I thought of Grandpa—how we’d played together, how this was the one thing I was better at than Jin.

Before I knew it, the first movement of Moonlight Sonata filled the air, each note pulling me deeper into the memories.

The sound of the piano filled the space, each note reverberating through my chest, pulling at the raw, buried parts of me. The Moonlight Sonata—how many times had I played it for grandpa? He’d always watch me, his old eyes glimmering with pride. Back then, I had a sense of purpose when I played. I wasn’t the screw-up, the rebel, or the broken piece of a family that no one could fix. For those few minutes, I was the person I always wanted to be.

The music flowed through me like it always did, my fingers moving with ease as though the years hadn’t passed at all. But this time, it didn’t bring the same comfort it once did. Now, it was a reminder—of what I’d lost, of what I couldn’t get back.

I’d been so focused on running away from my mistakes, so consumed by guilt and self-loathing, that I forgot how much music used to mean to me. It used to be my outlet, my escape. Now it felt like a bitter reminder of the past I couldn’t change.

The first movement of the Moonlight Sonata is haunting—its melancholy rhythm never failed to stir something inside me, but tonight it was suffocating. My hands faltered slightly, the music becoming a tangled mess of emotions I couldn’t process.

I stopped playing abruptly, the silence in the room almost deafening. My eyes drifted to the keys, the reflection of my hands still lingering on the polished surface. A deep, aching emptiness washed over me as I realized just how much I’d disconnected from everything that used to matter—music, family, love.

But Y/N.

The thought of her still lingered, like an unwanted shadow. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve anyone. But I couldn’t help but wish things were different—wish I could find a way to make up for everything. The guilt twisted in my gut, making it hard to breathe.

I stood up, hands trembling as I wiped the sweat from my palms. I had no idea where to go from here, but I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t keep running.

Not anymore.

I left the piano and walked back to my room, thoughts racing. I didn’t know what to do or say, but I knew I had to try—try to make it right, no matter how impossible it felt.

But what if I couldn't a big part of me liked who I am now..

That thought stopped me in my tracks. What if I couldn’t change? What if this was who I was meant to be now—the guy who pushes people away, the one who numbs everything with drugs, the guy who feels like he’s broken beyond repair? There was comfort in the chaos, in the self-destruction. At least it was familiar.

A part of me didn’t want to change, didn't want to face the consequences of everything I’d done. It was easier to wallow in anger, in guilt, and in the belief that I was beyond saving. Because if I kept running, if I kept pushing everyone away, I wouldn’t have to face the real pain—the one of losing people I actually cared about.

I thought about Y/N again. The way she used to look at me, the trust in her eyes before I broke it. Maybe it would be easier to just let her go, to bury that part of me that wanted to fix things.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that deep down, there was something better in me. Something I didn’t want to lose.

The more I thought about it, the more it became clear: Maybe I could change, but only if I faced the parts of me I hated the most. The question wasn’t whether I was capable of change. It was whether I was ready to deal with the pain of it.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I stared at the wall. The truth was, I didn’t know if I was ready for that. But part of me—the part that remembered what it was like to feel something real, to love, to care—was telling me I had to try.

But I couldn’t promise anyone anything. Not yet. Not when I was still so damn lost.

I had just days left here in this hospital, and the countdown was suffocating. Each day felt like it dragged on longer than the last, as if I was caught in a never-ending loop of self-loathing and regret. I couldn’t escape the reality of what I’d become, and the more I tried, the tighter the walls seemed to close around me. There was no easy way out of this, and no matter how much I tried to pretend that I could just ignore it, the truth lingered in every corner of my mind.

I couldn't keep running. Not anymore.

But what was I supposed to do? The damage was done. I had hurt too many people, and no amount of therapy, no amount of pills, no amount of time here was going to make up for that. And Y/N... she had every right to be angry. She had every right to move on. Toji, though... seeing her with him—it twisted something inside me that I didn’t want to face. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was fear. Fear that I was too broken to ever fix things with her.

And then there was the other part of me—the one that didn’t want to face what I had become. The one that didn’t want to take responsibility for the mess I had made.

I thought about the piano again. Maybe it was the only thing that could make me feel even the slightest bit of peace. But even then, playing didn’t erase the truth. The truth that I had to face, even if it scared the hell out of me.

I couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone else to fix me. If I wanted any chance of being the person I used to be, the person Y/N deserved, I had to make that decision. I had to stop running from myself.

But even as I thought it, a voice in the back of my head told me it wasn’t that simple.

Maybe I still wasn’t ready.

Mrs. Henry greeted me with a slight nod as I walked into the room. Her office today was different, less clinical, more open. There were no walls of judgment, just the common area with a large window allowing the sunlight to filter in, casting a soft glow over the space. It felt strange, almost too casual for the tension I could feel in the air.

"Take a seat," she said, motioning to the chair in front of the desk. Suddenly I remembered everything I had pushed away.

"You're aware that some people are starting to talk about your piano skills?" Mrs. Henry asked, her voice steady but curious. "It seems you're quite good at it."

I rolled my eyes, half-expecting someone had snitched. It could've been the nurses who'd seen me at the piano, or maybe someone in passing had heard me play. Either way, I didn’t care. But I couldn't help the slight defensiveness that rose within me.

“Guess I’m popular for all the wrong reasons now,” I muttered.

Mrs. Henry didn’t take the bait. “Playing the piano, it seems, is a way for you to escape.” She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped on the desk. “But it’s not enough, is it? You’re still running, Sukuna.”

I glanced toward the window, my mind drifting to the thought of Y/N, of Toji, and the mess I’d created. I wanted to stay angry, to block her out, but the truth was, I had no one to blame but myself. The piano—it didn’t fix things. It didn’t take the pain away.

“I don’t need to be fixed,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes softened, but only for a second. “You’re lying to yourself, and you know it. The problem is, you keep pushing people away. Do you think playing the piano will solve your problems? Do you think it’s enough?”

I clenched my jaw. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe not,” she said, standing up slowly. “But I’m here to help you understand yourself, even if you don’t want that. You can’t keep avoiding everything—especially the people you’ve hurt.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because in the back of my mind, I knew she was right.

She then said, "Let’s go to the piano."

We both sat on the bench, her gaze expectant as she turned to me. "Play me something—anything," she said softly.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting at the piano. My fingers rested on the keys, almost as if they had a mind of their own. The smooth wood of the bench creaked slightly under us, and I could feel Mrs. Henry’s presence beside me. Her quiet expectation made me feel like I was under a microscope, but it wasn’t the kind of pressure that made me freeze. It was different, almost reassuring.

I started with the soft, familiar chords of Chopin’s Nocturne, letting the melody fill the space between us. The notes were comforting, like an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. They flowed from my fingertips with an ease that surprised me, each note pulling at something deep inside me. The song was haunting, beautiful, and I didn’t even need to think about it anymore. It just came to me.

As I played, my mind wandered to Y/N. I wondered where she was, if she was thinking about me. Was she still hurt? Did she even care? I had hurt her in so many ways, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever fix it.

Mrs. Henry watched me, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The music carried the weight of the conversation we were avoiding.

When the last note faded, I sat there for a moment, my hands still lingering over the keys. It was almost as if I could still feel the music vibrating in the air. I didn’t look at Mrs. Henry immediately; I didn’t want to see whatever judgment she might have written on her face. I just stayed there, lost in the silence.

“Why that one?” she asked quietly, breaking the stillness.

I took a deep breath, trying to push back the lump in my throat. "It’s... it’s the one that reminds me of when things were simpler. Before everything went to shit."

She didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I thought she might just let it hang there. But she spoke again, her voice gentle but firm.

“You’re running, Sukuna. You’re hiding behind the music, behind everything. But when you’re ready to face the truth—about yourself, about what you’ve done—you’ll see that it’s the only way to move forward.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. The words felt too heavy, like they had too much meaning wrapped in them. So, instead, I stood up from the bench, my hands shaking just a little.

“I don’t need this right now,” I muttered, turning away.

But as I walked toward the door, I could hear her voice again.

“You can’t outrun it forever, Sukuna.”

I didn’t answer, and I didn’t look back. I wasn’t ready to face it—not yet. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

The opening notes of Lacrimosa rang through the room, sharp and mournful. My fingers dug into the keys with an intensity I hadn't felt in a long time. The sound of the music twisted in my chest, pulling at the grief and frustration I’d buried deep. I played harder, my emotions spilling out with every note.

Y/N.

Her face, her voice, her laugh—it all came rushing back in flashes, uninvited but overwhelming. I remembered the way she used to look at me like I was someone worth caring about. The way her hands would rest gently on mine when she thought I wasn’t looking. But I had pushed her away, time and time again, until all that was left was silence between us.

I played harder. Lacrimosa became a confession, a plea, a scream of everything I couldn’t say to her. The keys were a refuge and a battlefield, a place where I could lash out and hurt without consequences, even as the weight of regret pressed down on me.

Her voice echoed in my mind.

"Why are you doing this, Sukuna?"

I gritted my teeth and played faster, letting the crescendo of the song mirror the storm inside me. The music broke, the melody fractured with the force of my anger, my regret, my loss. I could feel myself unraveling with every chord.

I didn't deserve her. I didn’t deserve anything.

But even as the last note fell from my hands, there was a sliver of hope, a glimmer of something deep down that wanted to fix it.

The sound of footsteps behind me broke my trance, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. I was too afraid of who might be standing there. Too afraid that it might be Y/N, and I wouldn't be able to face her.

But it wasn’t her.

It was Mrs. Henry.

She didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching me. Her presence was a comfort in its own way, though the words that followed were anything but.

Mrs. Henry stood there, her gaze lingering for a moment longer before she spoke, her voice soft but firm.

"I'll see you for your evening session," she said, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "But remember, Sukuna, the only way out of this... is to confront it. You don't have to do it alone."

With that, she turned and walked toward the door, her footsteps steady and calm as they faded into the distance.

Sukuna remained at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys, the silence now pressing in on him. The weight of Mrs. Henry's words settled in, mixing with the broken notes he had played. He had so much to face, so much to unravel, and yet... he wasn’t sure if he could.

The room was quiet, save for the lingering echo of the music, and he was left alone with his thoughts once again.

I walked through the halls of the ward, every step feeling like it was pulling me back to a life I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Today was the day. The day I was being released. It felt surreal. I’d been in here long enough to lose track of time, and now that I was leaving, it was like stepping into the unknown again.

"Keep up with therapy, Sukuna. We’ll check in with you soon," Mrs. Henry said as I stood by the door, the words almost mechanical. She sounded hopeful, but I knew what I was capable of. Therapy hadn’t fixed me before, and I wasn’t sure it would now. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I was lying to her or to myself. I wasn’t the kind of person who believed in fixing things. Fixing wasn’t in my blood.

As I stepped outside, the cold air hit me, a sharp contrast to the sterile warmth of the ward. But it didn’t matter. It didn't change anything. What was I supposed to do now? Go back to my old life? Pretend everything was fine?

I spotted them—Toji, Gojo, and Geto. They were standing by a car, looking like they had all the time in the world. Gojo was laughing, of course. Geto had that stoic look on his face, like he always did. And Toji... Toji was just standing there, leaning against the car, arms crossed. He didn’t seem happy to see me.

I didn’t want to go over to them. I didn’t want to face any of them. I had already been through enough, and seeing them now... it just reminded me of everything I had lost. I passed them without a word, keeping my eyes forward.

They saw me. I knew they did. I could feel their gazes on my back, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging them. Especially not after everything that had happened with Y/N.

I remembered telling Gojo and Geto how I felt about her. I didn’t want to think about it now, but I couldn’t help it. What the hell am I supposed to do? I had already ruined so many things—Y/N, my friendships, everything.

I told them I didn’t want to see her anymore, that I couldn’t stand the thought of her being with Toji, of her being happy with someone else when I was the one who fucked it all up. But now that I was standing here, I wasn’t sure if it was even true. Part of me wanted to run to her, to tell her I made a mistake, but the other part knew I couldn’t. I wasn’t good enough for her.

Stop being a fucking coward, I told myself.

But maybe that’s what I was. A coward who couldn’t even face his own demons.

Toji's voice cut through the air, sharp and clear. “Sukuna!”

I froze. The sound of his voice, the weight behind it—it did something to me. Something snapped inside me, a quick, violent shift in the pit of my stomach. It was anger, maybe... jealousy? I don’t even know what the fuck this is. My hands clenched at my sides, the phone in my grip almost breaking under the pressure.

I forced myself to keep moving, though. I wasn’t about to give in. Not in front of them. Not now. I pulled my phone from my pocket, almost too quickly, as I tried to distract myself with something, anything. I quickly opened my contacts, sending a text to Choso and Kenjaku, hoping one of them would be able to pick me up. I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in a car with Gojo, Geto, or, worst of all, Toji.

The damn text didn’t send immediately, and I had to pause for a second, breathing through the frustration boiling up inside me. I could hear their footsteps behind me, getting closer. They were still watching me.

Toji called my name again, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back. He didn’t get it, did he? He didn’t understand that I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to deal with any of them. Not now. Not when everything felt like it was crashing down on me.

I didn’t turn around.

Just send the damn text, Sukuna. Just send it and walk away.

Choso or Kenjaku. Either of them. They were the ones who’d pick me up, not them. Not him. Not anyone who had any connection to Y/N. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Toji so calm, so fucking composed while I was a wreck, walking out of this place like I was fine, when I knew I wasn’t.

I felt my phone buzz in my hand, signaling the text had been sent. Thank god.

But that didn’t mean I could ignore them. Toji and the others were still behind me. Waiting.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face them.

But if I turned around... if I showed weakness...

No. I couldn’t show them that side of me. Not yet.

The sensation of Toji’s hand on my shoulder made my entire body tense. I could feel the pressure of his fingers through the fabric of my shirt, his grip firm, but I refused to acknowledge him. 

Fuck. This feels too real.

He called my name again, his voice softer now, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I wouldn't.

I kept my eyes fixed ahead, trying to focus on anything that would help me ignore the weight of the situation. My phone buzzed again, and I glanced down, seeing Kenjaku's message confirming he’d be here in twenty minutes.

Good. That was all that mattered right now. That and getting the hell away from Toji, Gojo, and Geto.

“Why are you doing this, Sukuna?” Toji’s voice broke through my silence, a hint of frustration creeping in.

I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, I could practically hear the confusion in his tone, but I still refused to turn around. He didn’t get it. He never did. None of them did.

They never will.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk,” I muttered, keeping my voice low and controlled, my jaw clenched. “I don’t want anything from you. Not anymore.”

There. That was it. The final answer. I wasn’t sure if I was lying to him or to myself, but that was all I could give.

I didn’t want to feel this way. I didn’t want to be so cold, but I couldn’t help it. It was the only thing keeping me from losing my shit.

The hand on my shoulder tightened just a bit. "Sukuna..." He paused, then sighed. "Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re still my friend. We’ve been through too much to just let it end like this."

I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax, but it did nothing to ease the tension in my chest. I was so fucking tired of hearing that. 

Friend.

The word tasted bitter in my mouth.

"You don't get it," I said quietly, still not looking at him. "It’s too late for that. I’m not your fucking friend anymore, Toji. I’m a wreck, and I don’t need anyone's pity.”

My fingers dug into my palm, and I felt the sting.

Just a few more minutes…

 Get here, Kenjaku. Please.

“Is this about me and YN?” 

I could feel the sting in my eyes, and for a split second, I thought I might break. Fuck.

Toji’s question hung in the air like a weighted stone, and for a moment, I felt a pit open in my stomach. I quickly wiped it away, pushing the emotions back down where they belonged. I wasn’t going to let him—any of them—see me like this. Not now. Not ever.

I pushed Toji’s hand off my shoulder with more force than necessary and walked away from him without sparing a second glance. Each step felt like it took all of my energy, but I knew I had to keep moving. My feet carried me to where Gojo and Geto stood, and when I reached them, I didn’t bother with pleasantries.

"Didn't I tell you two I don’t want you guys around?" I spat, my voice low but sharp. "Why are you here? Why did you bring him?"

I felt my hands ball into fists, the anger rising in me like a tidal wave. I didn’t care anymore—about their stupid good intentions or whatever fucking reasoning they thought they had.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, we thought you’d be happy to see us, y’know? Your old buddies, checking in on you.” His tone was light, like it was no big deal, but I could see the hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

Geto, however, stayed silent for a moment, his gaze steady. I could see the worry in his expression, but it pissed me off more than anything. “You need to get out of here, Sukuna,” he finally said, his voice quieter than usual. “You know we’re only trying to help.”

I shook my head, my chest tightening. Help? The last thing I needed was help.

“You think you can just walk in here and fix things like that?” I shot back, voice rising, full of bitterness. “I don’t need you two anymore. And I sure as hell don’t need him,” I added, nodding toward Toji, who was still lingering a few feet behind me.

There was a beat of silence. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, but I wasn’t going to back down. Not this time. Not from any of them.

“Just leave me the hell alone,” I muttered, turning on my heel and heading toward the exit. The door to freedom was right there, and I wasn’t going to let them stop me.

But before I could reach the door, I heard Gojo’s voice behind me. “You know we’re not giving up on you, right?”

I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking.

They just wouldn't quit, would they? They were all so hell-bent on staying in my life, trying to "help," but the truth was, I didn’t want it. I didn't want them.

Kenjaku finally arrived, but of course, he pulled up right next to them like it was some big fucking happy reunion. I could feel my blood start to boil, every inch of me wanting to walk away but being too fucking angry to just let it go.

Toji was the first to try talking again, his voice grating against the air, and I felt my temper flare. He always had that way of acting like everything was okay, like he hadn't just fucked everything up with me, with her. I was done with all the damn talking.

I turned to face him, eyes flashing with fury. "Shut the fuck up," I muttered through gritted teeth. But when he reached out, I didn't think. I just swung.

My fist connected with his face, hard and quick. The sickening crack of bone against skin echoed in my ears, and I watched as Toji stumbled back, a sharp exhale escaping his lips as he reeled from the blow.

The entire parking lot seemed to freeze for a moment. Toji, rubbing his jaw, looked up at me, his expression unreadable. But I saw the way his eyes flickered with something between frustration and surprise.

"You really wanna keep pushing me, Toji?" I growled, stepping closer. “I’m done with all this. Done with you, done with them.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and the adrenaline surged through my veins. I wasn’t sure if I was angry at him, angry at myself, or angry at everything, but it didn’t matter. This was it.

Kenjaku, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. “Enough, Sukuna. You’ve made your point.”

I ignored him, still focused on Toji. But I could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. They weren’t going to stop. They didn’t get it. They didn’t understand how fucking tired I was of all their damn expectations.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” I spat at Toji, before turning sharply on my heel and heading toward the car.

I wasn’t looking back.

I slammed the door of Kenjaku’s car behind me, my chest still heaving with anger. The rush of adrenaline hadn’t faded yet, and I was itching to get away from all of them. The tension in the air felt thick, like the world was waiting for me to crack. But I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

“Come on, then, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, throwing my hands up as I settled into the passenger seat. My fingers were clenched around the seat, my knuckles white with the tension I couldn’t seem to shake.

Kenjaku glanced at me before starting the car, the engine rumbling to life. He didn’t say anything right away. He never did. But I knew he was probably thinking I was out of my damn mind.

The drive was silent, the only sound coming from the tires against the road and the occasional hum of the engine. I couldn’t even bring myself to look out the window; I didn’t want to see anyone’s face, not after what just happened. The anger still burned hot in my chest, but underneath it all, there was something else—something darker, something that made the pit of my stomach twist.

I should’ve just kept my distance. I should’ve stayed fucking quiet. But I couldn’t. Not when they kept trying to pull me back in. Not when she kept haunting me in every damn moment, even when I told myself I didn’t want her.

But I wanted her.

I wanted to scream, to break something, to lash out. Anything to stop this feeling from clawing its way into my chest.

Kenjaku finally broke the silence, his voice low. “You really fucked up with her, huh?”

I turned my head to look at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Sukuna.” He kept his eyes on the road. “You can pretend all you want, but you’re still in love with her.”

I didn’t respond at first. I just clenched my jaw, trying to hold back the frustration and pain bubbling up inside me.

“I’m not in love with anyone,” I muttered, even though the words didn’t feel like my own. “Not anymore.”

I think?

Kenjaku didn’t press further, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me, like he could see right through my bullshit. I hated it.

The rest of the drive was a blur, my mind swirling with thoughts of her, of everything that had gone wrong. And no matter how hard I tried to push it away, I couldn’t escape the one truth I couldn’t deny:

I was never going to let her go.

“So where are we off to Sukuna.” Kenjaku asked with concern. I then simply replied “Drop me off at yn’s”

Kenjaku raised an eyebrow, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “You really want to go to her place right now?”

I didn’t hesitate. I was done with the games. I wasn’t letting her slip through my fingers again, not after everything that had happened. Even if I was a fucking mess, I knew what I wanted.

“Drop me off at her place,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “Either you drop me off and wait, or you drop me off and wait. Either way, you’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

Kenjaku didn’t argue, but I could see the concern in his eyes as he turned the wheel. He didn’t understand, but then again, no one did. The pull to be with her, to fix everything I’d fucked up—it was suffocating, and I didn’t know how to break free from it.

As we pulled up outside Y/N’s place, my heart was pounding in my chest. The moment the car stopped, I was out of the seat, slamming the door behind me without a second glance at Kenjaku. I didn’t need his permission or his judgment. All I needed was her.

I marched up to the door, my fist ready to knock, but something in me hesitated. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what the hell I was even going to say when she opened the door. My throat tightened, and the weight of everything that had happened hit me all at once.

The silence of the night pressed in around me. Was this even the right thing to do? I hated myself for not figuring it out sooner, for not seeing what was right in front of me all along.

The door creaked open, and I couldn’t stop myself from stepping forward. There was no turning back now.

The Following Scene was inspired by Kim by Eminem. You can feel free to listen to the song along with it or not. Also if you have triggers of any kind of abusive dynamics even if it's from your household. Please do not read ahead but if you do and its triggers PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER THAN WHERE YOU WOULD HAVE STOPPED. I’ll try not to get too dark in that part of it and if you deal with people who have serious substance abuse be mindful as well

The car slows, the tires crunching against the gravel as we pull up outside her building. The place looks the same—run-down, cheap, like every time you touch something, it leaves a stain. I slam the car door shut behind me, not waiting for Kenjaku to say anything else.

Each step up the stairwell feels like climbing a mountain, my breaths ragged, my chest tight. My heart isn’t racing—it’s pounding, like a fucking war drum in my ears.

By the time I reach her door, my vision is swimming, and I don’t know if it’s from the anger or the withdrawal. Maybe both.

I bang on the door so hard the entire frame rattles. “Open the damn door, Y/N!” My voice echoes in the empty hallway, but there’s no answer.

“Don’t make me do this, Y/N,” I growl, my forehead pressed against the wood. “You don’t want me to lose it. Not tonight.”

Still nothing.

I laugh, sharp and bitter, stepping back just enough to kick the door. The sound reverberates through the building, and finally, I hear the lock click.

When the door creaks open, there she is.

Y/N.

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she just stares at me, her hand gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “Sukuna... what the hell are you doing here?”

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, the familiar scent of her apartment hitting me like a punch to the gut. Lavender and vanilla. The same as it’s always been.

“What am I doing here?” I echo, my voice low and venomous. “What the fuck are you doing? Huh? With him?”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t back down. “You need to leave, Sukuna.”

“Leave?” I laugh again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off the walls. “You think this is about me? No, sweetheart, this is about you. About how you threw me away for Toji fucking Fushiguro.”

Her jaw tightens, but her eyes betray her. She’s scared. She should be.

“You have no right to come here,” she says, her voice trembling. “You don’t get to do this, Sukuna. Not anymore.”

“Oh, I don’t get to?” I close the distance between us in two steps, forcing her to back up until her spine hits the wall. “I don’t get to say anything while you let him—him—put his filthy hands on you? Sleep in our bed? Does he tell you he loves you? Do you tell him you love him back?”

Her breath hitches, and that tiny, involuntary reaction sends me over the edge. I grab the nearest thing—a picture frame off the shelf—and fling it across the room. It shatters against the wall, the glass scattering like my fucking heart.

“Stop it!” she yells, her voice cracking.

“Why? So you can keep pretending you’re better off without me? That Toji fucking Fushiguro is the answer to all your problems?”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, I see something I don’t want to see. Pity.

“I am better off without you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a mess, Sukuna. You’ve always been a mess.”

The words hit me like a freight train, and for a second, the fight drains out of me. My shoulders sag, my fists unclench. I look at her—really look at her—and see what I’ve done. What I’ve become.

But then I remember Toji’s face, his smirk, his hand on her waist. The rage surges back, hotter and more dangerous than before.

“You think you’re so fucking perfect?” I sneer, my voice shaking with fury. “You think you’re some saint because you traded me in for someone who doesn’t have track marks on his arms?”

She flinches, but she doesn’t look away. “I didn’t trade you in, Sukuna. I chose myself. Something you’ve never been able to do.”

Before I can respond, the sound of a car door slamming outside catches her attention. Her eyes dart to the window, and when she sees who it is, her shoulders sag with relief.

Toji.

Of course, it’s him.

The door swings open seconds later, and there he is, his broad frame filling the doorway. He takes one look at me and steps forward, his expression calm but firm. “Sukuna, you need to leave.”

The rational part of me knows he’s right. Knows I should walk away before this gets any worse. But the rational part of me has been dead for a long time.

I lunge at him, my fists connecting with his jaw, my knuckles splitting on impact. He fights back, and soon we’re both on the ground, grappling, shouting, our rage spilling out in fists and blood.

“Stop it!” Y/N’s voice cuts through the chaos, desperate and broken. “Both of you, stop!”

But I can’t stop. Not until Kenjaku’s hands are on my shoulders, dragging me off of him, his voice calm and steady in my ear. “That’s enough, Sukuna. Let’s go.”

I let him pull me toward the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my chest heaving like I’ve run a marathon.

As I reach the doorway, I turn back one last time. Y/N is standing in the middle of the room, her face pale, her eyes glassy.

“You’ll regret this,” I say, my voice low and hollow.

Kenjaku tugs me harder, and I let him, but I can’t hold it in anymore.

“Y/N!” I scream, my voice raw. “Y/N! Y/N! Why don’t you love me?”

The words echo in the stairwell as Kenjaku pulls me away, the last piece of my heart shattering into dust.

I can’t breathe. The pressure in my chest feels like I’m being crushed under a thousand pounds. Every breath is shallow, every thought is chaotic, and it feels like my brain is screaming at me, but no sound is coming out.

Kenjaku doesn’t say anything. The car hums quietly as we drive, the tires rolling over the asphalt like the beat of my pulse, slow and unsteady. I’m not sure how long we’ve been driving. Could be minutes. Could be hours. I don't know.

I don't even know where the fuck we’re going.

My hands are shaking. I can’t stop them. I pull at my hair, tugging until it feels like my scalp is going to tear. The pain doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I need something. Anything.

I need to forget.

"You're losing it," Kenjaku finally speaks, his voice calm but tinged with something else—something too knowing. "You gotta pull yourself together, Sukuna."

I laugh, but it’s hollow, desperate. “Pull myself together?” I mutter, my eyes wild, my gaze unfocused as I stare out the window. “I can’t… I can’t pull shit together. I’m fucking falling apart.”

I yank harder at my hair, tears mixing with the sweat on my face, my body convulsing with the violence of it. I don’t know what I’m doing. My chest is tight, and my stomach is twisted.

The memory of her face, her voice, her words—it’s all running together like a goddamn horror show.

“You think I give a shit about what she said?” I rasp, glaring at Kenjaku, but my eyes are unfocused, glazed over. “You think it doesn’t hurt to hear her tell me she’s better off without me?”

Kenjaku doesn’t flinch, his expression unreadable. “You knew it was coming.”

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut like I can stop the flood of thoughts rushing through my head. Her face, Toji’s smug expression, the way she looked at me like I wasn’t worth a single fucking second of her time anymore.

It burns.

“Shut the fuck up.” My voice is hoarse now, barely more than a rasp. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it feels like… To be fucking replaced.”

My hand moves to my face, swiping at the tears I didn’t realize had fallen. My throat aches, every breath catching as I try to control the sobs.

I’m suffocating.

“I’m not… I’m not good enough for anyone, Kenjaku. Not for her. Not for anybody,” I whisper, my voice cracking, the words coming out so broken it almost doesn’t sound like mine. “And I fucked up everything. I always do. Always.”

Kenjaku doesn’t respond, doesn’t offer any words of comfort. He doesn’t try to stop me from falling apart. He just lets me lose it.

I grip the seat, my nails digging into the leather as I close my eyes again, my body trembling from the intensity of everything. My mind is spiraling, my thoughts spiraling, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I say, my voice trembling with exhaustion. “I can’t fucking do this.”

Kenjaku looks at me then, his face serious. “You’re gonna have to, Sukuna. There’s no other way."

But I don’t hear him. I can’t hear him. All I hear is the scream in my head, echoing with every heartbeat, every sob that tears its way up from my chest.

And then I realize it.

She’s gone. She’s really fucking gone.

I slam my fist against the dashboard, a guttural roar ripping from my throat, one final scream of pure rage and pain. “Y/N!” I scream, my voice raw and ragged. “Y/N! Y/N! Why the fuck don’t you love me?”

I feel Kenjaku’s hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me, but nothing will stop this. Nothing will stop me from falling apart.

I’m losing it. And I can’t fucking stop.

I can't stop. It’s like my whole fucking world is crumbling down around me, and all I can do is scream.

“Y/N!” My voice rips through the car, savage and raw, louder than it should be, but I don't care. I need her to hear me. I need her to understand. “Y/N! Why the fuck don’t you love me?! You fucking left me, bitch!”

Tears are streaming down my face now. My chest is heaving, gasping for air, but it’s all tight, like my lungs have been torn apart. Every breath feels like I’m choking on my own fucking despair.

You left me. You replaced me. You walked out like I didn’t matter, and I’m fucking losing it.

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I can’t even remember who I was before all this. Before her.

“You think I’m nothing, don’t you, Y/N?” I continue, my voice jagged, as I pound my fist against the seat, the leather squealing under the pressure. “I fucking gave everything to you, and you—you—took it and threw it in my face! Is that what you wanted? To see me like this? To see me broken?”

I’m shaking, my whole body trembling, fighting against the flood of emotions crashing over me. My skin feels tight, like I can’t breathe, like I’m suffocating in my own skin. I tear at my hair again, pulling it hard enough to feel the sharp sting at my scalp, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough.

Kenjaku doesn't say anything. He knows I’m losing it. He knows there’s no stopping me now. His eyes are sharp, though, flicking between the road and me, calculating. But still, he says nothing, just lets me fucking break.

“You think he makes you feel safe? Huh? That fucking Toji? He’s not even half the man I am, Y/N! He never was! And you’re just gonna go and fucking let him replace me like that? You think I’m just gonna sit here, like a fucking joke?!”

I’m screaming now. Screaming at the top of my lungs. I can’t even hear myself anymore.

I can’t fucking breathe.

“Do you love him more than me?” I hiss between clenched teeth, my fists tightening on the seat. “Do you love him more than the man who fucking gave you everything?!”

I feel my chest tighten, every breath more difficult than the last. The tears are hot, stinging as they trail down my face. I can’t stop shaking. I’m shaking so hard, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

Kenjaku pulls the car to the side of the road.

The sound of the tires skidding to a stop barely registers in my ears. I can barely focus on anything anymore. My hands are gripping my own head, twisting and pulling my hair like I’m trying to tear myself apart.

Kenjaku’s voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm, his hand on my shoulder. “Sukuna, stop. You need to calm down.”

But I can’t. I can’t.

I start sobbing, shaking uncontrollably, my cries broken and guttural, filled with pain and rage and helplessness all at once. “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper between ragged breaths, my voice cracking as I struggle to speak. “I can’t fucking lose her. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Kenjaku tries to pull my hands away from my hair, his grip tight but gentle. “You have to pull yourself together, Sukuna. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re breaking, man.”

But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore.

I cry harder, my chest aching, my body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Everything inside me is raw, exposed, and I don’t know how to stop it. I want to scream again, but my throat is too tight, too raw.

“Why... why did she leave me?” I choke out, my voice barely audible through the tears. “Why didn’t she love me?”

Kenjaku doesn’t have an answer. No one does.

Instead, he pulls me closer, holding me while I collapse against him, shaking violently, my cries muffled against his shoulder. I can feel the warmth of his jacket, but it doesn’t comfort me. Nothing comforts me.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over, the words slipping from my lips like a broken record, even though I don’t know who I’m apologizing to. Her. Myself. The world.

“Y/N,” I whisper one last time, my voice filled with desperation. “I need you… Please.”

But she’s not there. She’s gone.

And it feels like I’m dying inside.

I’m suffocating in here, in this car, in this fucking nightmare.

Kenjaku tries again, his hands steady on my shoulders, his voice calm but trying to pierce through the storm raging inside my head. “Sukuna, listen to me. You need to pull yourself together, alright? You’re not helping yourself by doing this. You’re drowning in it. You need to stop.”

But I can't hear him. The noise in my head is deafening. His words are just... static. I’m drowning in my own thoughts, my own fucking guilt.

It’s my fault.

I shove my hands against my ears, pressing hard, like if I block it out enough, the pain will stop. But it doesn’t. It never stops. It’s always there.

“I can't hear you,” I mutter, choking on the words. I try to block him out. I want him to stop. To stop looking at me like I’m broken. Like I’m a fucking failure. “I can’t... I can’t hear you... just... shut up.”

I’m shaking again, my body seizing with the tremors that never seem to stop. I feel so fucking small, like a child again, sitting in the wreckage of my own life. The same life I’ve been burning away with every bad decision, every moment I could’ve done better but chose not to.

It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault.

I can’t escape it. I can’t make it stop. The words keep cycling in my mind, over and over like a sickening chant. It’s fucking constant.

I bite down hard on my lip, trying to hold the sobs in, but they tear their way through my chest, violent and ragged. I don’t even know where the tears are coming from anymore. They’re just... there.

“You don’t understand. It’s always my fault,” I whisper hoarsely, my voice raw, tearing itself apart as I speak. “Everything... everything always comes back to me. If I wasn’t so fucking weak, if I wasn’t so fucked up... she’d still be here. She wouldn’t have left. I ruined it. I ruined her. I ruined everything.”

Kenjaku’s hands tighten around me, pulling me closer. But it’s no use. I can’t stop. It’s like I’m being dragged under, deeper and deeper into the fucking muck of my own guilt.

I’m spiraling.

I push at him, trying to break free of the pressure. I feel like I’m trapped, like I’m suffocating under the weight of everything I’ve done. “It’s my fault,” I whisper again, this time the words coming out strangled, desperate. “All my fault.”

I feel like I’m losing myself.

Kenjaku’s voice is soft but firm now, trying to break through, trying to reach me. “Sukuna, you need to listen to me—this isn’t going to help. You’re not alone in this, alright? You’re not the only one hurting. We can get through this. Just breathe.”

But I can’t breathe.

I claw at my own face, as if tearing at my skin will make me feel something other than the suffocating pressure in my chest. “No, no... I can’t breathe, I can’t...”

I scream again, louder this time, pulling harder at my hair, desperate to tear myself apart. The pain feels better than the numbness, like if I hurt enough, maybe the guilt will stop, or maybe I’ll stop feeling anything at all.

It’s my fault.

I collapse against the seat again, hands still clamped over my ears. My body’s shaking uncontrollably, like it’s trying to break free from something deep inside me, something I can’t control.

“Stop... please stop...” I beg, voice fractured, shaking with each word. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Why... why didn’t I change? Why didn’t I stop? Why didn’t I love her enough?”

Kenjaku doesn’t know how to respond to that. He knows how fucked I am, how far gone I’ve gotten. He’s just trying to stop me from breaking myself further, but it’s like trying to stop a storm with a handkerchief.

But I won’t listen to him. I can’t.

I look at him, wild-eyed, shaking with the force of my sobs. “I deserve this,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I deserve everything that’s happened. I deserve it all. She’s better off without me. I’m just... a mess.”

The words hang heavy in the air between us. I’m sure Kenjaku is trying to say something, but it’s just... noise now. He pulls the car over fully to the side of the road, his hands gripping the wheel like he’s trying to hold himself together too.

I feel his hand on my shoulder again, but I just... I don’t feel anything anymore. I just feel empty, like I’ve been emptied out from the inside.

“You’re not alone, Sukuna,” Kenjaku says, but it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. His words don’t mean anything. Nothing does.

I whisper through my tears, my voice breaking. “It’s my fault...”

I keep repeating it, and I don’t even care if he hears me. The guilt is suffocating, and I can’t seem to break free from it.

Kenjaku finally gives up on trying to talk sense into me. His hand falls away, but he’s still here, still watching. The silence stretches, but it’s not peaceful.

I NEED TO FUCKING BREATHE!!!!!!!!

I’m losing it again. I can’t breathe. I can’t... fucking breathe.

I look out the window, my mind is still spinning in circles, the tightness in my chest refusing to let up. My thoughts are a blur. The guilt, the shame, the confusion—it’s all mixing together in this unrelenting tide, drowning me over and over.

Kenjaku’s voice is a distant buzz. He's trying to talk to me again, but I’m done listening. He doesn’t know what this feels like. No one does. Not even her.

He steps out of the car and his footsteps echo like they're in my head. He's doing something. The motion makes my head spin, but my hands—they’re restless, twitching, searching for something to hold onto, to feel normal again.

I see something glinting in the corner of my eye, hidden underneath some crumpled paper and trash, something buried under the seat. My fingers close around it before I even know what it is.

It’s a fucking bag of white powder.

I freeze.

Kenjaku's stash. He deals, but he doesn’t sell to me. He never sells to me. Never has, and he’s always made that damn clear. But now? Now I don’t care. I need something to numb this. I need something to drown out the voices in my head, the constant buzz of “it’s your fault.”

Without thinking, I pull out the bag, tearing it open with shaking hands. The powder’s cold to the touch, my fingers unsteady as I take what I need. A line. Just one line. That’s all I need.

I don’t even care about the guilt anymore. I don’t care that I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s all I’ve got to feel alive again.

I can breathe again.

The weight in my chest loosens, my heart rate slows down. It’s like a fucking miracle. The haze over my mind lifts, the noise of my spiraling thoughts becoming quieter, distant. I’m me again. For now. That’s all I care about.

But then I hear the sound of the car door opening, the snap of the handle being pulled back.

Kenjaku’s voice is sharp, his tone harder now. “Sukuna... what the hell are you doing?”

I turn my head to see him standing there, a mix of concern and frustration on his face. But it’s too late. I’m already high. I feel that familiar rush, the calm that comes over me.

“You don’t get to call me OUT,” I hiss, still sitting in the car. My chest tightens, and I feel the impulse to shout at him, to lash out at anyone who tries to stop me right now. 

I step out of the car, but I’m unsteady. The ground feels off-balance, like it’s tilting beneath me. My hands are shaking, but it’s okay now. I feel like I’m floating. Nothing is real. I just... I want them to leave me alone.

But then I see the movement in the distance. The cars passing by, people slowing down to stare at me.

Kenjaku’s eyeing me, watching me carefully. He’s talking on the phone. My mind is spinning, everything moving too fast and too slow at the same time. I can barely make out what he’s saying, but I catch the name. Gojo. Geto.

And I know it’s them. They're coming.

I try to steady myself, but my body isn’t listening. My legs feel weak, like they might give out at any second. But before I can even think about moving, I feel a familiar, sharp sting at the back of my head—the overwhelming buzz of another hit.

What the hell did I just do?

That’s when I hear them pull up.

Gojo’s voice cuts through my fog, but it's too late. The high has already taken hold. I look up, blinking, trying to focus, but everything’s a blur. I can’t stop myself now.

Kenjaku’s already turned, stepping away from me, his attention shifting, but not fast enough.

Geto. His voice comes, full of rage. “Kenjaku, you knew! You fucking knew!” He’s yelling, face red, walking right up to the car. He doesn’t look at me yet. His focus is on Kenjaku, but I can feel his anger.

“HE just got out today! Why would you have that shit on you? Why would you do this to him?!” Geto doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. He’s just like everyone else, thinking he can save me, thinking he can fix this.

It’s my fault. Always my fault.

But before I can even react, Gojo’s there too, his voice floating lazily on the air like he’s just woken up from a nap. “Sukuna...” He pauses when he sees me, and his eyes—sharp and calculating—scan me. “You’re high again.”

I try to move, but my legs are so fucking heavy. I stumble. The world’s spinning. The voices are back in my head, louder than ever.

Gojo’s not having it. He steps forward, grabbing my arm before I can take another step into the road. He’s trying to pull me back. “Sukuna, don’t.”

I try to shove him away, but my strength is failing. The high is taking everything from me, and I don’t have the energy to fight him. “Let go of me!” I shout, but it comes out thick, like I’m underwater.

He’s talking, his words calm, but I can barely hear them. “You really think this is what you want?” His grip tightens. “Get a grip, man. This isn’t you.”

But I don’t hear him anymore. I just see red. I shove harder, trying to break free. I can feel my skin tingling, like every nerve is on fire. My body’s reacting, but my mind is too far gone.

Gojo’s grip on me tightens, pulling me back from the street, away from the traffic. He’s holding me like I’m about to crumble, and in a way, I think I am.

But I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me, dark and shaky. “You couldn’t even last 24 hours, huh?” I croak out. My breath is shallow, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop.

Gojo just stares at me, his eyes unblinking. He’s so calm, so detached. But he knows. He knows exactly what’s happening.

“You couldn’t even last 24 hours, Sukuna,” he repeats softly, his voice rough.

And in that moment, I realize—I'm lost. Completely lost.

BUT I DON'T REALLY CARE ANYMORE

Hmm I may slow things down next chapter.....nah :(

[xmads-omensx]

Word Count: 1,251

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: talks of loneliness, depression, not feeling good enough

Summary: Y/N didn't enjoy her birthday but can't figure out why. Noah helps her as she deals with the pain she feels.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

My birthday was rapidly approaching and I hadn’t given it much thought.

I never really did.

Usually, I would go out for dinner with my best friends, but that was no longer an option since our friendship had ended.

Sure, I was glad they were out of my life since they had caused me so much pain, but it still hurt.

I tried to push it out of my mind as the months drew on. It worked.

Noah wasn’t a huge birthday guy, so the conversation never came up which I was grateful for.

I had completely forgotten about the matter of my birthday until it was only a week away and I still didn’t have any plans.

Noah had bought me theatre tickets for a showing of Six at two pm on my birthday, but had only told me so that I could plan around it.

Obviously, I was excited for that, but there was still something missing.

In the past, it was my two best friends who organised where we went for dinner so that it was still a surprise, but that wouldn’t be the case this year.

My heart hurt as I thought about it, but I pushed it away once again.

I didn’t need that pain.

I didn’t need their bullshit.

Not anymore

I was noticeably happier without them.

Granted, it had taken me some time to get there, but I got there.

Noah was by my side every step of the way and I couldn’t be more grateful.

My birthday rolled around in what felt like minutes and before I knew it, Noah was zipping up the back of my dress as we got ready to leave for the theatre.

It was nice spending time with him like this.

It felt domestic.

Noah would deny it, but he loved the show.

I could see him lip syncing along to the words that he knew as he watched the talented women on the stage perform the brilliant soundtrack.

“Best birthday gift ever.” I said to him as we walked back to his car after the show ended.

“You deserve it, my love.” He replied, kissing the top of my head affectionately before opening the passenger side door for me.

The drive home was quiet.

A nice quiet.

The kind that feels easy.

It stayed that way for the rest of the day until Jesse returned home and started singing Christmas songs, which was not at all out of character for the strange man.

It made me smile.

Noah ordered pizza for our dinner, which we ate as we re-watched Attack on Titan for what felt like the hundredth time, but I would never complain about that.

Falling back into our routine, we snuck up to bed when Jolly and Jesse joined us on the sofa.

Noah undressed into his boxers, and I changed into one of his shirts, leaving on my cotton panties.

We both climbed into bed, with Noah instinctively pulling me into his chest.

“Goodnight.” He whispered with a kiss to the top of my head.

“Goodnight, pumpkin.” I whispered back.

Noah tilted his head down to place a kiss on my lips before drifting off to sleep.

I soon found out that I would not receive the same luxury.

My birthday felt incomplete.

Sure, the day wasn’t over yet, but something felt… missing. Like that feeling you get when you feel like you’ve forgotten something.

It felt like I was stood in a dark room without a torch. Not pitch black, but too dark to see everything.

It was a strange feeling.

Deciding that my quest for sleep was futile, I retreated back to the kitchen and made myself some chamomile tea. That usually helped me sleep.

I grabbed the book that I had been reading off of the coffee table and snuggled down to read. Surely that would make my eyes tired enough to fall asleep.

The narrative was comforting, but not helpful in my mission for sleep.

If anything, it was making my problem worse.

I just felt… alone.

Footsteps in the hallway pulled me out of my trance as I looked up and saw Noah standing there rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’re you doing up?” He grumbled.

“Couldn’t sleep.” I replied with a whisper.

“Selfish. You know I can’t sleep when you’re gone.” Noah mumbled, crawling on top of me and snuggling into my neck, making me laugh.

“I’m sorry bub.” I replied.

“Seriously though, what’s up?” He asked.

Noah always knew when something was wrong.

“I’m not sure.” I replied.

He gave me a confused look, so I explained how I was feeling.

“Maybe it’s because it’s your first birthday without Lily and Jay?” He suggested.

Then it all fell into place.

That was exactly it.

The two of them had always celebrated my birthday with me.

They had since we were five years old.

Noah reached up to brush a tear off of my cheek that I hadn’t realised had fallen.

“Baby, it’s okay, you’ve been functioning perfectly without them for a while now. You can get through this.” He said comfortingly, but it didn’t help.

I pushed him off of me and sat up.

“I just feel so lonely.” I whispered.

“You’re not lonely.” He said. “You have me, Jesse, Jolly, Folio and the rest of the guys. They’re your friends, they’ll always be there for you. And you know damn well you’ve always got me.”

“But they’re not my friends!” I exclaimed, suddenly angry at Noah. “They are your friends, Noah, not mine!”

Silence encased the living room.

“Baby, I’m sorry for yelling.” I said after a moment.

“Don’t be sorry.” Noah said, walking towards me. “Never be sorry.”

He pulled me into a tight hug.

Tears began to spill down my face.

“It’s just so lonely without them.” I sobbed into his warm, bare chest.

Noah didn’t say anything, just rocked me back and forth as I cried.

My heart yearned for an easier time when my birthday was something filled with friends. But today it had just felt empty.

“Let’s head back to bed.” Noah whispered after a few minutes.

I nodded.

He gently placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me up to our shared bedroom and closed the door behind us.

I immediately gravitated to the bed in the middle of the room and curled up beneath the covers that smelled like Noah before he pulled me into his chest.

“I know you miss them, but it will get easier.” Noah began. “I promise you that you will feel less lonely as you readjust to life without them. It will get easier baby.”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I just looked up at him.

He smiled softly at me before placing a loving kiss on my lips and pulling me back into his chest.

“Sleep well, my love, and dream of me.” He whispered.

“Ew.” I replied.

“Did you just fucking say ew?” He asked, shocked.

I giggled.

“Oh that’s funny is it?” He said tauntingly.

I nodded my head.

“Oh I see how it is. You want war? I’ll fucking give you war idiot.” He said, before tickling my sides, making me cry out with laughter.

“There’s that laugh.” Noah sighed, pulling me back into his chest.

“I love you.” I whispered, kissing his bare chest.

“I love you more.” Noah whispered, kissing the top of my head.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel as lonely anymore.

[chrissturnslovergirlx]

turning tables - a vinnie hacker short

a/n: requested by @tcvazq; lowercase intended

cw: swearing, jealous vinnie, vinnie being a dickhead, angry sex, unprotected sex, slight handjob, pussy eating, dirty talk, creampie, fluffy aftercare. this an nfsw short, everything written is fictional. interact or don’t, i’m not your mother

summary: trying to fuck the attitude out of an angry vinnie fails to work when he decides it’s better to fuck you dumb

“what the fuck was that guy’s problem?!”

“vin, it’s not that big of a deal! he was just being nice!”

“he was flirting with you! did you not see him staring at your lips? he wanted to kiss you!” 

“okay, now you’re being stupid. he was a nice boy who just wanted to chat.”

“god, you’re so fucking thick-headed!”

“excuse me? i’m thick-headed? okay, that’s fine.”

i storm off, unable to take any more of his attitude. i slam the door to our bedroom and into the bathroom, where i feel the tears spill from my eyes and down my cheeks. the house is silent, dead silent. like you could hear a pin drop it was that quiet. i break that silence by turning the tap on to wash my face. as i dry my face with a towel, i feel a pair of hands harshly grab my waistband of my shorts to rip them off. 

“vinnie what the fuck?! no! you don’t deserve this! if anything, i should fuck your nasty attitude out of you!”

“oh yeah? prove it then,” vinnie spat.

i push him out of the bathroom and shove him onto the bed with everything that i have. i spit on his cock and jerk him off super fast. hearing slight groans from his lips, i speed up my actions, my wrist feeling like it’s on fire from the rapid pace of me jerking him off. i feel my movements getting tired and sloppy, my wrist burning from trying to prove him that i can fuck his attitude out of him.

“give up princess?” he says, all cocky and confident in himself

“no. shut up.”

fucking dickhead. i straddle his waist and align myself over his cock. i sink down onto his cock, letting myself go all the way down until i reach the base as his tip hits my cervix. i moan at the way his cock stretches me out and the way it feels so deep and so full inside me. i start bouncing up and down really fast, trying to fuck the attitude of his him but once again, i’m met with light groans. twat. i’m growing tired of this, i give up.

“tired princess? you give up now?”

i shoot him the middle finger before i’m flipped over and thrown onto my back, legs spread and pussy out in the open air. 

“how about i fuck you dumb, maybe my attitude will go away.”

vinnie dips his head down and starts devouring me like an animal. licking, biting and sucking my clit and folds, the pleasure is too much. it feels so good, i hate it. but i love it too damn much. asshole. cute asshole. i hate him. oh fuck i love him, he’s unreal. i feel myself cumming all over his face, i wasn’t even ready to announce it yet! he wipes his mouth clean and begins jerking himself off. what a cocky bastard! he shoves his cock inside me, giving me no time to adjust as he pounds me into oblivion. 

i can’t help but moan, whine and cry out at the intense pleasure of it all. the way his cock glides through my wetness, the way his veins hit all the right spots and the way his tip hits my cervix, god it feels fucking amazing. i’m so close, i can feel my walls clench around vinnie’s cock, ready to explode all over him. 

“vinnie, i’m gonna cum, oh fuck right there don’t st- ah!”

i cum around vinnie’s cock, my juices coating him all the down to the base and down to his balls. Vinnie cums not long after, his warm load spurting inside me as it paints my walls white. he pulls out and helps me clean myself up. he sits me down on the toilet so i can do my business before helping me wash my hands, put my pyjamas on and tucking me into bed. he plays with my hair before we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

the next morning, i wake up, my head pounding and legs shaking. i think back to last night’s events and now i understand why. i go to get up out of bed but crawl back in because i can’t move. it hurts to walk. vinnie walks back in from the bathroom, smile on his face. 

“morning, princess. how’d you sleep?”

“fine. you hurt me.”

“what do you mean?”

“i can’t walk, idiot!”

“oh. sorry.”

“i guess i should apologise. i didn’t mean to make you angry. the poor guy wanted to talk.”

“no, i should apologise. i just got jealous seeing you talk to a guy that’s not me. sometimes i get scared that you’ll leave me for someone else.”

“vincent, no! i would never do that. don’t be silly! you’re mine and i’m yours.”

“good, cause now i want cuddles.”

“come here, you big goof!” i giggle, stretching my arms out for the boy in front of me.

we spend the rest of the morning cuddling, kissing and making up after last night. I think we both learnt our lessons. vinnie’s lesson being that he doesn’t have to be so jealous anymore as my eyes are on him and him only, and my lesson being don’t try and fuck the attitude out of my boyfriend as i’ll just get fucked dumb to the point where i can’t move a muscle downstairs. 

[vivace-formulala]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑: 𝑺𝒐 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑶𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 (𝑶𝑩𝟖𝟕 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

🫵: “ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; you’re British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; ”

⌛️: around winter break 2024

table of contents | next | prev

a/n: these bitches is so cute i love them

Day 3 rolls around, and to your surprise, things are already looking up. Ollie—Ollie, the guy who nearly sent you flying into a ditch yesterday with his death-defying driving—has actually come prepared today. He doesn’t just show up to the car, grinning with that half-apologetic look. No, today, he’s actually put some effort in.

“I watched some YouTube videos last night,” he says, adjusting his seatbelt with a small smile. “Figured it was time I stopped trying to brake this thing with my left foot.”

You feel your eye twitch and a headache comes in because what?

But then he throws you a wink— a conniving one, and then you blink, then feel your shoulders relax—ones you didn’t even know were tense.

“Oh, thank God.” You lean back in the passenger seat, saying nothing more, letting the breath of relief do the talking. He rolls his eyes in response, and you find yourself kind of enamored by the fact that he’s taking this seriously.

He nods, a little self-satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Gotta at least try. I have a feeling you might not sign me off for my super license.”

You chuckle at that, any annoyance from yesterday already slipping away. Maybe this is going to be okay after all.

That is, until parking happens.

For the next few hours, it’s a series of missteps. Ollie pulls forward, then repositions. And then tries again. And again. And again.

It’s like watching a dog chase its tail—only with less success and a lot more frustration.

“Seriously?” You watch him inch forward, then back again only for the car to be slanted. “Come on, Ollie. You can do this.”

“I know!” he groans, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. “How do people even park these things?”

You’re about to explain the basics when he turns the wheel too sharply and clips the curb. Again.

“I swear, this car hates me.”

“Or maybe it’s just you,” you tease, leaning against the dashboard.

He makes a sour face that maybe resembles a scowl on his usual smiley face. “Very funny.”

After a few more failed attempts—and a brief discussion on whether the car has developed a personal vendetta against him—you both decide to take a break before he drives you both off a cliff (or just into a bush). You end up grabbing lunch at a McDonald’s nearby.

As you sit down to eat, you can’t help but comment, “You know, my gym trainer is going to murder me for this.”

Ollie grins, unwrapping his burger. “Same. My fitness team would have a heart attack if they knew what I was eating two days in a row.”

You laugh, eyeing the greasy burger in your hands, the smell of fries making your mouth water. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He winks. “Deal.”

The two of you devour the food like a couple of starved animals, and once you’re done, that familiar glint appears in Ollie’s eyes—the childish boyish one.

Somehow, you both end up on the swings at the park, discussing gym routines and fitness.

“So, you’re telling me you have to stay the same weight all year round?” you squint, picturing the logistics. Some days you were a little chubbier; other days, you were less so. If you were any more insecure, that might be a problem—but lucky for you, you didn’t mind.

“That’s basically an eating disorder waiting to happen,” you mutter. You’d never make it as an athlete.

Ollie laughs, his long legs pushing the swing with ease. “I mean, we have trainers and dietitians on the team to make sure everything’s in check. The car just has to be really light, so they work around our weight and the regulations. Just that though.”

“Phew. And here I thought you had to be, like, six feet tall, too,” you joke motioning to his long appendages, making him laugh.

“One of my friends? Kimi? He’s just around 5’4.” He gestures with his hand, a little below his chest.

It makes you think. You like it better in the car, you didn’t have to look up at Ollie too much. When you guys stood by side even the height difference had you blushing. You never thought of yourself dating a taller guy but— wait you were thinking of dating Ollie weren’t you?

You shake trying to fight these thoughts so you stand up, urging that you two spend some time out of the car today (because you might stare a little too long at Ollie if you stay in the car with him for the rest of the day). Just for a little bit, you tell yourself.

“Now, usually we use tennis balls for this, but these will have to do,” he grins, shaking two plastic water bottles that he filled halfway. “You have to catch them as I drop them.”

You eye the bottles skeptically. “How will I know which one you’re going to drop?”

“You won’t,” he says, “that’s where your quick reflexes come in.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. *Quick reflexes?* You don’t have those.

“It’ll be fun trust me.” He gives a big grin. “Now put your hand on top of mine.

You hesitate but follow his instructions. The second your palm meets the back of his, you don’t even have time to process the fact that you’re kind of holding hands before he drops the left bottle.

By some beginner's luck, you catch the bottle.

You are also annoyed so you try to wack Ollie with it.

“I wasn’t ready yet, you numpty!” you screech, lifting the bottle to hit him.

Ollie laughs and ducks, trying to shrink into his six-foot frame to avoid the blow.

The game continues for a while along with other skill games, and though you fail more than you succeed, you’re both having the time of your lives. At one point, Ollie even tries to teach you how to juggle— as all amazing F1 racers can do— both of you abandoning the whole driving lesson thing for a little while and letting yourselves loose. The game is ridiculous and your laughs mix in with the other joyful laugh of the kids at the park.

It’s exactly what you need.

As the sky shifts from orange to deep blue, reality sets back in. You both climb into the car to head back to school.

You take the wheel this time—it’s way too late to be trusting Ollie with driving . But when you show him how to properly and legally speed at 100 km/h on the expressway, he’s impressed, weaving through cars and even going semi-manual mode.

Ollie was unashamedly looking in awe.

“So it’s not out yet, so if this leaks, I’m blaming you,” Ollie says, looking like the proud passenger princess. “But I just signed with Haas for F1 this season.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. It’s not Ferrari or Mercedes or even a team you knew, but you could tell it means the world to Ollie. “That’s... big news. Congrats.”

He looks at his lap and then back at the road, looking modest. “It’s a dream come true, but it still feels surreal. They’ve got me for a seat fitting next Monday.”

You have to give him an amused look. “A what?” You ask not quite believing what that was.

“Yeah, we have customized seats.” He says earnestly and you have to stop yourself from laughing.

The two of you talking casually about his career and the costs of having his back and butt being molded perfectly for his race chair, as you make your way through the streets. You honestly felt kind of bad you didn’t know just how famous he was and how ignorant you were of the sport.

You also tell him about your latest project: a Ford Mustang you’re working on, swapping out the engine for a Coyote 5.0L. Your dad sponsored the engine, so you’re hoping to sell it for £29,000 once it’s running.

“Really?” Ollie’s eyes light up. “You could make a whole business out of that. All for an engine swap?”

You nod, proud of your work. “It’s a work in progress, but I’m getting there. I’m 98% sure it’ll work.”

Ollie crosses his arms and grins. “I’ll help you get it to 99%.”

“Nuh-uh. You want a cut,” you tease.

He laughs. “Of course! Gotta get paid for holding the flashlight.”

You roll your eyes. “And it’s not even a 100% guarantee.”

You banter back and forth about the project car, and Ollie jokes you should make a career out of it, crunching through the numbers of the profit margin and how much you'd pay your star employee if Haas ever decides to pull a Ricciardo. ("Ollie you'd be my only employee, you can't start a union like that.")

“You know, it’s funny,” you hum, steering towards the exit to Chelmsford. “Your biggest problem right now is getting a custom seat, and I’m over here still deciding whether college is even for me. And you’re what—just a year younger than me?”

“Seven months."

“Potato, potahto,”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re kind of like the exact opposite of what I expected. You know, I thought you’d be all about racing, you drive a mean expressway.”

You laugh. “Yeah, racing isn’t really my thing. I love cars, but racing? Nah, that’s not me.”

He gets quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

“You’d be surprised,” he says, turning serious. “The sport isn’t just about racing—it’s the life, the discipline, the pressure. The training... It’s intense.”

You nod, understanding more than you let on. “I can imagine. I have to drag my ass out to the gym, and barely control myself for boba so I don’t think I can give up my favorite things to eat.”

Ollie’s smile fades a little. “I miss normal food sometimes. And my family. I’ve been at PREMA since I was 15. It’s hard, you know? Living in Vicenza while they’re here. So much has changed around here since then.”

His honesty catches you off guard. It’s a side of Ollie you haven’t seen—the vulnerable part that you can’t help but relate to.

“I get it,” you say softly. “I’ve only got my dad here. And it’s been just the two of us since my mom passed. The move from Chelsea was… tough.”

There’s a quiet understanding between you and your softening eyes meet his.

You wish the ride was just a little bit longer, just so the day didn't end. But the feeling is short-lived.

“Oh no,” you groan, spotting the school’s locked garage door and darkened lights.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ollie says, unfazed. “I can tag along to your place.”

“Really?” And the thought makes you a bit too happy— so you squint at him. “You just want to see my car collection.”

He grins. “Hell yeah. I need to see this.”

You roll your eyes but drive toward your house anyway. When you unlock the garage and Ollie steps inside, his jaw drops.

“Whoa,” he breathes. “This is unreal.”

And he’s not wrong. Your collection is a proud testament to your love for cars and certainly not a cheap hobby for sure—leaving Ollie’s thoroughly impressed. He notices your Jeep Cherokee project and points out a missed timing chain change.

“You didn’t…” he starts, eyeing the engine.

“Don’t even say it,” you mutter, already heading for your tools.

You can’t stand putting things off, and Ollie seems to understand that. The two of you get to work right there in the garage, fixing what you missed. Your dad stumbles in, eyes wide as he spots you and Ollie leaning over the hood.

“I didn’t know you had a boy over,” he teases, leaning against the doorframe.

You roll your eyes as you fiddle around. “He’s just helping out dad.”

Ollie settles for a simple wave hello, grinning his gummy smile.

“You know, she never lets anyone near her projects,” your dad says, winking at Ollie. “You must be special, Ollie boy. You hold a mean wrench.”

Your cheeks heat up. “Dad!” you exclaim, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Your dad laughs it off and invites Ollie to dinner.

At the table, you’re still processing this new side of your dad—the one who almost became an F1 driver before you were born. He shares stories of his racing days, including a funny one about racing a guy named Sebastian Vettel back in the early 2000s.

Apparently this Sebastian guy was a big deal because Ollie practically begs for pictures, and your dad’s more than happy to oblige. He brings out an old box that you’ve never seen before and there your dad was in racing gear— a young aspirant in the world of formula racing who chose the loves of his life over a racing career— you and your mom.

“Look! It’s you.” Ollie coos as you peer that— yes indeed that was a 1-year-old you in little pigtails in your dad’s arms, a 3rd place trophy in the other.

You laugh as you study the photos closely, but you do not miss the small "cute" Ollie mutters under his breath.

It hits you—your love for cars probably started right there, but you don’t say it because it would be too sappy. Instead, you listen as your dad and Ollie trade racing stories.

By the time dinner wraps up, you’ve laughed so much you nearly forget how late it’s getting. But you make Ollie leave, forcing your dad to say goodbye too.

As you drive Ollie to the bus station, you realize something’s changed. You’re embarrassed by how well he and your dad got along—but happy too. And then, on the way to the station, you forget to signal when making a turn.

Ollie laughs. “Guess you need more hours at driving school.”

You flick his forehead in retaliation, smiling despite yourself. “Shut up.”

© ｖｉｖａｃｅ－ｆｏｒｍｕｌａｌａ

[sitting-1n-silence]

The Little Jester - A story about spirit doctoring

A while back my mother was dealing with a pesky spirit she called "The Jester." This spirit haunted her mind and often found its way into conversations with my mother. For years of her life she truly felt and endured this spirit haunting her. It followed her from place to place when she moved causing problems for her and occupants she shared the home with. 

This went on for so long that it was just part of her everyday life. She became a practicing wiccan and knew how to deal with spirits now in her adult life. Yet this spirit always escaped her grasp. So my mom lived her life with this lingering petulant entity inhabiting her space. She'd tend to her altar and practice, while also working to keep this spirit at bay.

Years of this pass, and I find my footing as an occultist independent of her. My mother asks me to give her a reading, and this Jester being comes up. I saw it lurking in her shadow, almost in her past but still holding on. This leads to a conversation about me potentially removing the spirit. She asks me to see what I can do to alleviate her of it, so I agree to do my best. 

I take a few weeks to come up with a plan and decide upon binding the spirit to a doll. So I find some scrap black fabric and thread and craft The Jester's vessel to be. Filling his feet with stones to prevent his spirit from flying off once in the doll, as well as putting iron in his hands to make them heavy and blocked. A seal is crafted to represent The Jester in his bound form, which is sewn onto the doll upon completion. Using a taglock my mother provided I draw the spirit away from her and into the doll where it was bound by the seal devised prior. I then tightly wrapped the little black doll in wire, and set him aside for years. 

My mother reported improved sleep and that the poltergeist-like activity in her home stopped. She was finally at peace and could move forward without feeling like that clown was haunting her. So the doll sat in my trunk of occult tools for years until I felt called to pull him out one day. 

My practiced had shifted wildly since then, so looking back at my old work was interesting. Especially since this was something I had done with my mother, so that memory brought a strange energy to the object on top of the spirit's presence. Since my practice has taken a more animistic shift, I decided to honor my inkling to pull him out and put him on display. Slowly I started to build a conversational relationship with the spirit trapped inside. So I let the doll make it's was around my home, moving from room to room when I sensed a push to change his position. 

Once when one of my witch acquaintances was over they took note of the doll. Asking about it's story because they sensed it's spirit which was distinctly unhappy. Which stood out when compared to some of the other spirit houses I had out. This lead to a conversation that sparked an interest in possibly releasing this spirit. After years of being held in a doll it might be time to let it go. 

Since I am now entwined with a whole court of spirits I turned to them for guidance in how to proceed. I go down to the cemetery with the doll, call my court, and The Speaker comes forth. Whom I refer to as The Bunny-man, since he appears to me as a well dressed man with the head of a brown rabbit. The Bunny-man offers to take this spirit in under his wing, and to keep and eye on him so he bothers no one without reason. So I return home to prepare a send off ritual for The Little Jester, sensing his glee over his impending freedom. 

Inspired by stories of gods being torn apart and rebuilt, I constructed this ritual around that same idea. The Jester was to be broken down, and built back up in spirit anew. This was his new form will be cleansed on what remains in the doll, better able to serve under The Bunny-man. I gathered the tools I'd need and proceeded to the cemetery again. 

I went to my regular place of working at the cemetery and cast my circle. Then I conjured the Bunny-man to witness and lend his authority to this rite. The Jester was then brought forth and presented to Lord of the Cemetery before being pinned to the earth. Blessings were preformed, and The Little Jester was cleansed before being sent into his next form. I took some time to sit still before moving forward. 

I unpinned the doll from the earth and began undoing his bindings. Starting with the wire. Realizing I forgot my scissors, I started cutting the wire with my blade. I proceeded to make a few cuts in the string with my knife before ripping at it with my hands. Which gave way to me ripping it open with my teeth. The ferocity of which I was tearing at the dolls flesh was trance inducing, my head beginning to spin with intensity. I tore off the limbs first, to free the spirit from it's flesh. Then ripped the whole doll apart, saving just scraps of his fabric flesh.  

I could sense the moment of release where the spirit left the object and went into the air. At that point I preformed a binding, putting the newly reborn spirit under the tutelage of the Bunny-man. To be set free once the Bunny-man feels the jester's been thoroughly "tamed." Till then, The Jester will have work to do for me through the Bunny-man. Serving as an ally and quasi-famailiar. 

Since letting the Jester out into the wild I've had a few dreams of him, and the Bunny-man has told me he's "on track." So everything seems to be going well from all this work. Years invested into this doll finally at their end, and it comes with a sense of peace. And satisfaction in magic well done.

[soft-sylus]

You Were Meant for Gentle Things: Chapter 2

Masterlist: Here

AO3: Here

Pairing: Sylus/OC non!MC MC/Sylus

Words: 2k

The diner smelled of burnt grease and stale coffee, a familiar, if unappetizing, combination. Leilah sat in a corner booth, her hands wrapped around a chipped mug of lukewarm coffee she hadn’t touched. Her eyes skimmed the room, taking in the cracked vinyl seats and the flickering neon sign that buzzed like an overworked fly.

This place was a dive, no doubt about it, crowded, a little grimy, and packed with the kind of people who knew how to survive in the N109’s underbelly.

Exactly where she needed to be.

The bell above the door jangled, pulling her attention from the half-eaten plate of fries she’d been pushing around. Two figures stepped inside, faces hidden behind black masks. The diner’s chatter died in an instant.

Crows Masks.

Finally.

She waited until they’d settled at a back table before sliding out of the booth, movements smooth and deliberate. Weeks of watching these men, learning their routines, their threats, their little power plays, had led to this. Now, it was time to meet them head-on.

Leilah slipped out the side door into the alley, the night air cool against her skin. The dim glow of the diner’s neon sign painted the cracked pavement in flickering pink and blue. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and waited.

It didn’t take long.

The back door creaked open, and the two Crows stepped out, dragging a shaking man between them.

“If you touch one of our guys again,” the taller Crow said, voice muffled behind the mask, “we’ll be having a much more serious conversation.”

“I didn’t know he was one of yours!” the man stammered. “I swear, I wouldn’t have taken the money if I’d known!”

“And I believe you,” the Crow said, kneeling with exaggerated sympathy. “But the boss is unhappy, which puts us in a tough spot.”

“I’ll do anything,” the man begged.

“Then vanish,” the Crow replied. “If we catch you in the N109 again, you’ll wish we’d just killed you tonight.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled away, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to disappear.

The two Crows exchanged a look.

“That guy suuuucked,” the shorter one groaned. “And he smelled like a dumpster. I mean, we’re monsters, but at least we shower.”

Leilah stepped forward and cleared her throat. Two pairs of red eyes locked onto her.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said.

“Then don’t. This isn’t a spectator sport,” the taller one shot back.

“I’m not here to watch. I’m here to work.” She kept her voice steady, but inwardly, she smiled. No recognition. The last loose thread in her plan, neatly tied.

“That lousy cook inside said you pay triple for anyone dumb enough to cook for you. Traded my last pair of earrings for the tip.” She tilted her head. “Didn’t mention the bird theme, though.”

“I told you the masks were dumb,” the shorter one muttered.

“The diner’s full of drunks and bad food. Nobody talks there,” the other retorted.

“Not my problem,” Leilah said. “So. You hiring or not?”

“Name?”

“Leilah Foster.”

“Why the hell would you want to work for us if you know the risks?”

“Better than starving on the streets,” she said with a shrug. “And I’m the best at what I do.”

“You cook?”

“That’s why I’m here. Went to school for it.” The truth, for once, was her sharpest knife. Let them assume she meant some no-name culinary program, not the finest cooking academy in the country, where she’d outshone every spoiled heir with a trust fund.

They exchanged a glance before the shorter Crow stepped forward. “You get one shot. We blindfold you, take you to our place. You cook one meal. If I spit it out, we decide what to do with you.”

Leilah smiled. “Deal.”

------

The kitchen stood frozen in possibility: spotless appliances, barren shelves, a wine collection worth more than her last five years. Like a church after faith had left.

It was a beautiful room in the same way a museum was. Modern appliances gleamed like they’d never been touched. A breakfast counter stretched long enough to feast on. A black walnut dining table, racks of Bordeaux and Barolo lined the walls, each bottle worth more than the 3 months of her life on the streets and even more expensive in the temperature-controlled cellar. All of it was framed with a view that might’ve mattered if this city wasn’t a corpse even vultures avoided.

She trailed a finger along the counter. Dustless. Of course . A kitchen this pristine wasn’t meant for cooking. It was a trophy case, proof that power could buy anything, even the idea of nourishment.

“What do you usually eat?” she asked. The tall one smiled at he, enjoying her struggle.

“Takeout,” The short one replied. Leilah rolled her eyes.

She scoured the room for any morsel of food, her anxiety finally showing. Even with the Crows help, her list of food ingredients did not inspire confidence.

Frozen shrimp (freezer-burned)

Protein powder (unflavored)

Dried lentils (Unopened)

A single lemon (left on the counter, half-dried)

Energy drinks (a pyramid of neon-blue cans in the fridge)

Miso paste (unopened, because they thought it was “weird soy”)

An orange

Cream (for coffee?)

"Gourmet" instant ramen (the $15 artisanal kind, expired)

Butter (good quality)

Brie (left on the counter but good quality)

Hot sauce collection (12 bottles, all identical and relabeled "XXX FIRE")

Random herbs (dried and unopened)

Olive oil (spicy?)

Salt and pepper.

She breathed slowly, letting her mind process the collection. Cooking was as natural as breathing and all she had to do was let herself work.

This is easy. It always has been she thought. And then it was.

Her body moved without asking permission. Her instincts took her to the shrimp, dropping their cold forms into a saltwater mixture to bring back any texture they could muster. As they thawed, she pulled their skins away.

She moved to the stove, pulling out two wide saute pans and placing them on the stove to warm. She grabbed the cheapest bottle of wine she could find, still around $800, and poured it into the pan.

“Hey! You can’t use that!” the tall one said. Leilah looked at him irritably.

“You think he will notice? He has to have at least 500 bottles.” She said. “Now, let me work,” He sat back down at the bar, grumbling.

Along with the wine, she put some salted water and the lentils into the pan to simmer. Before covering it, she took the half-dried lemon, charred it on the other pan and then squeezed it over the lentils. Soon the smell filled the room and the Crows seemed much more interested. She was lucky she had used the last of her money on a meal at the diner before coming, or else she could have eaten the shrimp raw.

Miso-butter hit the pan with a hiss, the smell unfolding in layers, fermented earth, golden fat, searing heat. Her hands moved without thought. This was the language she’d never unlearn: the flick of the wrist to toss shrimp, the tilt of the pan to baste.

Feeding people is loving them her instructor had once told her. The blender whirred, brie and cream spinning into silk.

Even when she was young she strived to impress her father with her food. He praised every dish, but she lived for those rare moments when his fork would freeze, his breath catching, just for a second, and he’d say, ‘Christ, Leilah.’ It was her religion. It was the high she chased. Always finding a better mix of taste, texture, and smell. Always wanting to bottle that moment. Him looking at her as if she’d spun gold from the air.

So now, as always, she cooked for her dad.

She plated the lentils as a base before adding some gratings of orange. She combined the shrimp glazed with miso-butter to the lentils and topped it off with the brie quenelle and a splash of the chile olive oil.

She slid the plate between them. The shrimp glistened, the whipped Brie melted, and the air smelled like victory. The Crows’ masks couldn’t hide their hunger. Good , she thought. Let them choke on it .

“Enjoy,” she smiled.

“Out. We’ll decide,” the taller one ordered, though the other couldn’t tear his eyes from the plate.

She took her time, poured a generous glass of stolen Bordeaux, let the rich swirl of it linger under her nose, then walked, unhurried, into the living room. The wine was still heavy on her tongue when they reappeared.

“You can stay.”

[dvzaiosamu]

Neko Lyney.

neko lyney x fem.reader. Topic: you basically rub Lyney's ears and play with his tail, whatever... You just treat him like a kitty.

hope you guys enjoy! I made this 'cause I saw some fanarts on pinterest about him as a catboy, and I couldn't help to make a short oneshot about him!

Magic, applause, curtain closing, a show at the top! The perfect combination that every magician wants to have in their shows. Lyney, young and playful magician with some feline characteristics. Cat ears, a feline tail, and personality traits, like: he liked to sleep more in the mornings than at nights.

It was not surprising that in Teyvat there were people with different feline characteristics, like his sister: Lynette.

After an arduous day full of quests and problems, your energy was depleted to the point that you couldn't last long without feeling exhausted. You walked home, to your warm home in Fontaine, where you suddenly remembered a very important detail,

"I forgot I left the spare keys of my house in a easy spot to find, shit... I hope no one finds them and breaks in," you though, with some uncertainty.

Suddenly you speed up your pace towards your house and go up a long ramp until you reach your door. You reach into your pocket for your keys and insert them into the sockets, twisting it to open it. You push the door and enter, slowly. You close the door behind you and feel a presence, but you weren't sure who it might belong to.

You decide to gently leave your adventurer's equipment on the furniture in the entryway. You went up the stairs with a silent and cunning step like that of a feline. As soon as you got up, you walked into your room with a yawn, and that was when you closed the door behind you and a familiar voice echoed,

"Hello again, spectator!" He joyfully utters what you turn around, startled and confused. “It's a joy to see you arrive! I thought the sun outside was enough to illuminate the room, but I see that now that another star has set foot here, I find myself captivated by how radiant you look today."

"Why did you sneak into my room out of nowhere, Lyney?" you ask him and his tail just wags to the sides in a relaxed and gentle manner, smiling.

"A good magician never reveals his tricks!" he pauses dramatically to take a step towards you. "I guess I can make an exception for you... Since it's not a big deal."

You remain silent, looking at him, waiting for his answer even if it was very obvious, but for some reason you wanted to hear it said, confessed and explained in depth. You cross your arms and generate a feeling of authority in yourself.

Lyney's ear flicks. "You see... Today I had gone to your house to visit you, but when I saw that you were gone, I remembered that you normally leave a spare key outside your house, and it seemed to be the case that you left them in a very bad place... To prevent intruders from entering, I kindly offered to take the keys and go inside to look for you, but not seeing you, I was too lazy to go out and stayed inside."

"You are definitely not an intruder..." you tell him sarcastically, rolling your eyes with a playful smile.

"But don't be mean, you won't throw me out of your house, right?"

"Be aware that you are breaking a law, more specifically, article 202: Whoever, without living there, enters another's house or remains there against the will of its resident, will be punished with a prison sentence of 6 months to 2 years," you tell him, your tone firm, but maintaining a playful tone.

"Well, well... You have decided to become interested in human rights, right?" A sly grin appears on his lips. "I don't think you're stone-hearted enough to shove away a poor abandoned kitten..."

"Now that you're here, no... I won't kick you out, nor report you. You're lucky to be close to me."

"Well... Thank goodness you're not as bad a person as they say." As if it were his home, he avoids you and walks, sitting on your bed crossing his legs. Seeing your annoyed expression, he raises his hands in defeat. "Just kidding."

"You better be," you snort.

Walking towards him, you take a place on your bed, and lie down on one side, your head resting on the pillow and the rays of sunlight coming from the sun pass through your window gracefully and prostrate themselves on your figure. Today was a hard morning, but it's the only thing you could do. Your priority now was to rest.

An unusual silence forms in the environment with the singing of birds muffled by the closed windows. You try to close your eyes, to have a proper rest even though Lyney is still doing his thing. In a flash, the young boy does not hesitate to play a joke and approaches you, hesitating for a few seconds whether to do what he intended to do. He sits next to you, his body in contact with yours. A light breath coming from him, but his heart racing slightly. His tail lands on your face, just to bother you and take away the feeling that you were going to rest.

"Lyney... What are you doing? Let me rest," you say as you sit on the spot, you lightly rub your eyes and look at him, he just responds with a smile.

"You already know that cats have healing effects. That's why I'm committed to helping you relax," Lyney explains to you, one of his ears flicking before, without even giving you time, he places his head on your chest, his weight making you lay down again. "You know what to do, right?"

"Are you saying you want me to pet you?" you ask, and Lyney nods, even though he knows he'll probably fall asleep before you.

One of your hands goes to his head and you gently begin to caress him. A small, silent but adorable feline sound is heard as a sign of having received the sensation. While you caress him, Lyney tries not to make the moment uncomfortable with the occasional pleasant sound, and only limits himself to purring and warming you with his body.

You had forgotten for a moment that cats usually have sensitive areas, and that is why you decide to change the area and start massaging behind the ears. His ears slowly lowering, giving you more access to pet him without having to move your hand much.

You hear how the purrs intensify and your body feels cushioned, you can't help but smile and let out a light giggle, but you don't realize that your partner had already fallen asleep.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you close them, your hand resting on his head. You weren't expecting to fall asleep so quickly, but when you added his purrs and the fact that he was already exhausted, it made more sense.

A smile curls on Lyney's lips.

This one was quite rushed... Even so, I hope it was not too cringe to read ≽^•⩊•^≼

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Size Difference

Kingxiety (King Creativity x Virgil) Kinktober 2023 Day Thirteen: Size Difference Warnings: choking, stomach bulges, size differences, overstimulation, cum inflation, dacryphilia

"Ah, Anxiety," King greets him, grinning wide through his beard. "You've come to visit." 

Anxiety feels tense within the large, grandeur room. King chose to sleep in a vast castle in the imagination instead of in the mindscape with the rest of them, though Anxiety figures that if he had to choose between the dark side, the light side, and a side-less void that could be filled with whatever he decided, he'd choose the imagination as well. But standing in the carefully crafted castle, Anxiety feels rather small. Especially when standing face to face with King, who was double his size. 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Anxiety shakes his head. "I'm just here to pass a message along," he explains, avoiding eye contact. "Deceit wants you to stop pushing Thomas to stay up super late. Says it's 'bad for his sleep cycle,' and stuff. Says he doesn't like how I act when Thomas is sleep deprived, either." 

King stares at him, and then frowns slightly. "What does Deceit know about Thomas anyway?" he asks, though it's obvious the question is rhetorical. Shaking his head slightly, King directs his attention back to Anxiety. "And what does Deceit know about you? I quite like how feisty you are, tired or not. You're like a blazing spitfire." 

Anxiety chews his inner cheek, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He ignores King, and instead says "I'm forced to listen to the light sides complain too. You're bothering everybody." 

"Oh?" King's lips quirk into a smug smile. "You'd know plenty about that, wouldn't you?" 

Anxiety frowns, lips curling into a sneer. He again brushes off King's jab, and curtly says "why are you being so nonchalant? Aren't you supposed to be on their side?" 

Huffing out out a laugh that's powerful enough to echo throughout the shimmering room, King answers "my dear, I'm on my own side. The lights don't understand nor value my prowess, and the only thing Deceit is good at is criticism. In fact, I'm surprised that you even perpetuate this silly idea of 'sides.'" 

Looking uncomfortable, Anxiety responds "we're all on a side. We can't change that. You can't just not be a light side because you're saying you're not. Same way I can't be a light side just by saying I am." 

"And why not?" 

Anxiety is no longer standing still, as this conversation makes him nervous. King almost questions why Deceit would send him here in the first place, before realizing that the former was probably too lazy to do it himself. He had a habit of attempting to solve problems from the shadows, after all, and refusing to address them until he absolutely had to. 

After a few moments, Anxiety lets out an agitated huff and turns to walk away and leave this place, already sulking at the idea of recounting his failure to Deceit, but before he can get out the door, King stops him with a genuine "wait." 

Anxiety lingers in the doorway despite his better judgement, not turning to look at King but awaiting his words. Silence hangs in the air for a moment, before Anxiety hears King chuckle softly. 

"How about a proposition?" King begins, which has Anxiety frowning and turning to scowl at King. 

"I'm not one for making deals," Anxiety bitterly responds, "or doing favors. Whatever sick and twisted torture you'd like to do can surely be done on any of your fabricated peasants." 

King waves his hand dismissively. "I wasn't alluding to torture, silly," he assures him, though the words feel rather condescending. "I can imagine why you'd worry about that, however. I'm not ignorant to the more... experimental things I do to my creations. But, no, the things I want to do to you are much more fun, and - after you hear me out - you have full autonomy to refuse. I'll even let you slap me across my perfect face should my offer offend you, if you so desire." 

Anxiety raises his chin. He does desire knocking the smug look off of King's groomed countenance.

"If you do my the honor of accompanying me to my chambers, I shall consider loosening my hold on Thomas's sleep schedule, and will instead relegate my wonderful ideas to strictly daylight hours."

"Accompany you... as in..." 

King's lips stretch into a delighted grin. "Sleep with me. Have sex with me. Love-make with me. Whatever you'd like to call it." 

"What do you get out of this?" Anxiety asks, stunned. 

King shrugs. "I could ask you the same question." 

Anxiety splutters in a mixture of frustration and fluster, clearly conflicted between the options of sleeping with King or getting chewed out by Deceit. Neither were favorable, but honestly the lesser of two evils was sitting right before him, and had spread his legs and leaned forward, smirking as he waits for Anxiety to consider his words. 

Hesitant, Anxiety shuffles forward, and says "fine, whatever. Let's go to your bedroom and get this over with," attempting to hide the fact his eyes flicker over King's large stomach and tall stature once he stands. 

King descends from the throne of which he was previously seated upon, and rather shamelessly lifts Anxiety up off the ground in a practiced scoop, cradling Anxiety easily in one arm, only made easier by their rather comparable size discrepancy. Anxiety immediately starts squirming, spewing out "put me down, freak!" but his protests are ignored in favor of King throwing open a large set of double doors, and tossing Anxiety onto an even larger bed. 

As he thrashes, Anxiety only manages to further tangle himself in the sheets, and it takes a solid few minutes for his head to finally emerge from a plethora of silk blankets and cotton sheets. 

"Asshole!" Anxiety hisses, snarling in King's direction as his bangs fall messily over his face. Even as they obscure his eyes, King can tell he's glaring. "Are you trying to kill me?!" 

"You can't die," King reminds him, before shrugging off his dramatic, floor-length cape, letting it gently fall to the floor. His hands shamelessly then begin undoing his shirt, which has Anxiety staring, enraptured. His cheeks are bright red while King's face displays nothing but smugness, even more confident once his shirt is peeled away and Anxiety is looking up and down his bare chest and stomach. 

King was big in all regards. If he flexed - which he does solely to gauge Anxiety's reaction - he developed rather prominent muscles. Sturdy abs, big arms, defined pectorals, all beautifully decorated with hair. And when he relaxed - which he does immediately after - all that muscle softens into pudgy fat, giving him a rather big silhouette that was simultaneously domineering and huggable. 

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" King teases, as he undoes his pants just enough to pull them off easier later. Anxiety seems both embarrassed and annoyed that King keeps them on. 

"I'm just trying to mentally prepare for seeing you on top of me," Anxiety bitterly refutes. "I'm sure it won't be pretty." 

King huffs out a laugh. "My dear," he starts, leaning over the edge of his bed and beginning to crawl onto it, "everything I do is pretty." 

Anxiety shrinks back against the sheets, as though encouraged to by King's massive build, until he's laying flat on his back and King is leaning over him. King's fingers tauntingly trace over the blankets beside his head and around his body, but don't touch him outright, instead blowing on Anxiety to move his hair out of his face. Anxiety grimaces at the action, and then narrows his eyes at King afterwards. 

"Prick," he mutters. 

King ignores him. "Well? Aren't you going to get undressed?" 

"I've been too tangled in your stupidly large bed to move, let alone get undressed! Are you trying to get me to give up and go back to the dark side? Because right now, you're pissing me off way more than Deceit would." 

King makes a face. "Don't compare us. I'm far better than him, the same way I'm far better than you." 

"Far better at being annoying." 

Frowning, King pushes his hand into the bed beside Anxiety's head, sliding his knees upwards and forcing Anxiety's legs to spread around his waist. Anxiety flushes at their shifting position. 

"Watch your words," King scolds him, voice low, "remember that you're in my domain, and I won't tolerate disrespect. You're free to leave if you'd like; I already told you that you may. But I won't sit here and take your bratty behavior the same way that lazy, two-faced, no-good, encroaching-" 

"King," Anxiety says, snapping King out of his mini rant. King almost looks surprised for a moment, before grinning, and bending down further to reach Anxiety's face. 

With their lips almost touching, and his stomach pressing down rather pleasurably against Anxiety's front, King says "that's my king, to you," and then uses his hand to tilt Anxiety's head upwards. He catches Anxiety's lips in a deep kiss, moving his lips rather expertly against Anxiety's own inexperienced ones, listening to the little noises of humiliation the latter makes as he's blessed with this intimate experience. 

When King pulls away, he begins sliding his hands up Anxiety's dark grey shirt. Anxiety shivers at his touch, but doesn't stop King, and instead turns his head to the side in an attempt to keep himself composed. 

"Do you have any qualms about me stripping you down?" King asks, as he slowly begins to drag up the fabric concealing Anxiety's front. "Or are you secretly looking forward to this endeavor?" 

"I don't look forward to anything," Anxiety rebuttals, "let alone anything involving you or the other lights."  

"Hurtful," King huffs, "but not an answer to my question." 

Rolling his eyes, Anxiety spits "do whatever you want, so long as you do it fast. I don't want to be here longer than I have to be." 

It's King's turn to look annoyed, though playfully so, and pulls Anxiety's hoodie and shirt off and revealing the thin, pale stomach underneath. King raises an eyebrow and pokes him, which has Anxiety slapping his hand away at the action. 

"You could stand to gain a few pounds," King comments, which has Anxiety groaning. 

"Are you seriously criticizing my looks right now?" he crosses his arms over his stomach, subtly attempting to hide it. "As if you weren't the one proposing we sleep together. If you want somebody 'perfect' then you can just summon a sex doll!" 

King moves Anxiety's arms out of way. "It's not a critique; it's a... suggestion. Doesn't Deceit feed you?" 

"I feed myself." 

"Not very much from the looks of it." King hums as he pins Anxiety's wrists above his head, dragging his large fingers over the scarily prominent ribcage and hip bones. As King's fingers circle Anxiety's pelvis, he suddenly smirks, and adds "but this means my cock will be nice and snug inside of you. Do you think I'll be able to see the outline of my shaft through your stomach?" 

Anxiety stares at him and splutters. "What? I don't- you freak! You're weird!" 

King grins, and then undoes his pants just enough to let his cock out, which has Anxiety shutting up almost immediately. Leaning over Anxiety, King's cock presses between his own heavy, hairy stomach, and Anxiety's smaller one, which lets Anxiety truly see just how large King's cock is. Sure, he could have assumed that it'd be big - King is twice his size, after all - but it nearly goes all the way up to Anxiety's ribcage, and it's girthier than Anxiety's own fist. 

"Holy... shit..." Anxiety breathes, voice shaky. "King... I don't... that won't-" 

"It will," King assures him. "You'll stretch. Don't worry; I'll even pamper you a bit so it doesn't hurt. Trust me; I'm an expert on all things intimacy." 

Anxiety grits his teeth. "Whatever. Just... just..." 

King shushes him, and pets over Anxiety's face, before working off Anxiety's skinny jeans. Anxiety doesn't bother making it easier for him, and leaves King to do all the work, but it's only a matter of time before all his clothes land on the floor, making him feel naked and vulnerable. It has him flushing dark and avoiding King's eyes, but even so he can feel King staring intensely at him. 

King waves his hand and summons up a rather large bottle of lube soon after, and then dumps half of it onto one of his large hands, smearing it between his fingers and making sure they're all properly coated in the substance. 

"Relax," King urges Anxiety, rubbing his clean thumb over Anxiety's wrists, which he releases after a moment, letting Anxiety grip the sheets instead. "You're going to feel so, so good." 

Anxiety feels one of King's massive, thick fingers slide down past his balls and between his crack, smearing an excess amount of lube over his cheeks before just one of his fingers is pushing inside. Immediately, his toes curl, and his back is arching off the bed as he bites back a moan of unfamiliarity. It feels foreign, but not bad. Just... overwhelming. 

"There we go..." King praises him, his soft tone quite the contrast to his earlier ego. "Look at you, taking my finger so well! At this rate, you'll be able to handle my cock in no time!" 

Anxiety peeks one of his eyes open to stare at King's throbbing shaft, still rubbing against his smaller frame. Meekly, he retorts "I doubt that," but his voice is barely above a whisper. And honestly, he doesn't bother repeating himself, not wanting to give King any reason to stop. He's almost ashamed of how his own cock hardens at King's rubbing over it, and how it twitches as he thinks about being impaled on King's length. 

King's free hand stays planted on the bed beside Anxiety's head, but very subtly begins to crawl over Anxiety's collarbones. And as King very slowly begins to insert a second finger - stretching Anxiety further than he's ever been stretched - King's hand wraps around his throat, squeezing the sides of Anxiety's neck and limiting his blood flow, causing a sudden rush of surprise, pleasure, and dizziness to be sent through him. His hips attempt to jerk, but hardly go anywhere with King's thick fingers buried inside of him. 

"Good boy," King coos, eating up Anxiety's pathetic display with his intense eyes. "You're doing great. Relax..." 

Pumping his fingers in and out of Anxiety, King is fully aware of just how pleasured Anxiety must feel. Sure, he's clearly not used to this, but King watches with a smug smile as Anxiety's mouth opens in a silent moan and his body jerks as King's digits dig particularly deep into him. 

Easing his grip on Anxiety's throat, he listens giddily as Anxiety sucks in a mouthful of air, before exclaiming a rather powerful "fuck!" that says everything King needs to know about how Anxiety is feeling. 

As he adds a third finger, he tightens his grip again, once again leaving Anxiety literally breathless. 

Anxiety's small hands press against King's much larger one, but not to try and push him away. Mostly just to keep himself grounded as spit dribbles from the corners of his agape mouth. 

He can't breathe, and he can hardly think, and King's fingers just stretch him open without a care. He's going slow enough that Anxiety can't even worry about potential tearing, and it doesn't hurt regardless because of how thorough King is being. And he doesn't boast about how careful he is, but Anxiety can tell. He can see in King's eyes how badly he wants to get on to the main event, and yet he takes his time anyway. That mere fact has Anxiety letting out a strained whimper as his small cock rubs against King's. 

The pads of his fingers nudge against Anxiety's prostate, making Anxiety jolt as much as he possibly can beneath King's heavy weight, and what finally has King grinning and slipping his fingers out. 

"There we go," he purrs, as he releases Anxiety's throat, letting him take in a much needed breath. His hand moves to instead grab the back of Anxiety's thigh and lift it up, pulling his hips up from the mattress. 

Anxiety watches as King takes the remaining bottle of lube and pushes it against his hole, before squeezing the bottle, suddenly and intensely flooding Anxiety's insides with the substance. Anxiety lets out a cry, and reaches behind him to grab a pillow, throwing it at King's face out of sheer instinct. 

King laughs as it hits him. "What?" he argues, his mustache stretched over his playful smile. "This was the most efficient way to make sure things would go comfortably!" 

He pulls the bottle from Anxiety's hole, shakes it (which leaves Anxiety to watch as the bottle's contents are magically refilled) and then turns it upside down, using up the entire bottle once more on lubing up his cock. Anxiety almost believes it to be excess, but watching as King spreads it over his length has Anxiety now doubting if it's even enough. 

"King," Anxiety starts, nervousness clear in his voice. But King just shushes him, and squeezes his thigh, rubbing his massive cock against Anxiety's awaiting hole. 

"King," Anxiety says again, whimpering the word out. "King, is this- is this-" 

"It won't hurt," King assures him. "I'd never hurt you, I promise. And if it does, you tell me, and I'll stop. And if it doesn't, but you're not having fun, I'll stop then as well. Would you like me to stop now?" 

Anxiety's eyes shine with brief hesitation, before he's flushing dark and biting his lip as he shakes his head no.

King kisses his ankle as he guides it to wrap around his waist. "Good boy," he soothes, before he very slowly begins to work his cock into the man beneath him. 

Anxiety moans loud and pathetically as he feels the tip of King's shaft stretch him open. It's way more inside of him than King's fingers even were, but like King promised, it doesn't hurt. However, Anxiety does wonder if his body will be able to hold the massive length, as he already feels incredibly full while being fully aware King's barely halfway inside of him. 

"It's not gonna-" Anxiety stammers, as he watches his thin stomach bulge with King's girth. He sets his shaky hands against his stomach, pressing down on King's cock from the outside, which makes them both groan. 

"It will," King responds, not even needing Anxiety to finish. He lowers Anxiety's hips a bit so he can properly get a look at the bump, and lets out a satisfied laugh when he sees it. He presses his own hand down on it, enveloping Anxiety's fingers in his grasp, which has Anxiety gasping and squirming, squeaking out pathetic obscenities as he's filled further and further. And King just keeps pressing his cock deeper and deeper into him. 

Anxiety watches the bulge creep up his stomach - past what Logic would say is plausible. He knows they're not real, but even this is a ridiculous stretch! Literally!

Until finally King's entire length is buried deep in him, leaving his hips off the bed and his stomach stretched. 

Anxiety's eyes are brimming with pretty tears, his face a deep red. His hair is slick to his head with sweat, and one of his hands is tangled in the sheets, while the other stays trapped beneath King's own. 

Whimpering, Anxiety opens his mouth to plead, but no sound comes out. Anything he wants to say dies before it can even come up his throat. Every little bit of him is overwhelmed by the way King feels inside of him, and he can barely comprehend it. Especially when King starts moving; Anxiety barely has time to prepare. 

"King," Anxiety moans out, as he feels King's cock shift within him. Every movement King makes feels amplified tenfold to Anxiety, who's body is on the receiving end of each bit of stimulation. Still though, King slowly slides his cock halfway out, which makes Anxiety feel already so much emptier. He can barely brace himself for when King thrusts back in. 

He lets out a cry as King shoves his shaft back fully inside of him, with King exhaling sharply at the feeling. 

"Deep breath, Anxiety," King guides him, as if sweat isn't rolling down his thick chest, drawing Anxiety's blurry pupils to his attractive midsection. "In, and out." King pulls out a bit again, and then thrusts hard, making Anxiety's body jolt once more. King releases his stomach, but keeps hold of Anxiety's hand, pinning it above Anxiety's head and entwining their fingers. King's massive hand envelops Anxiety's digits, but Anxiety finds himself embarrassingly comforted by the wordless act of affection. "You're doing so well. You're taking my cock so well. It's rather impressive, honestly." 

Though Anxiety feels overwhelmed, he can't help but grin at King's words, and pant out "asshole," which has King smiling knowingly. 

Assured that Anxiety is at least comfortable enough to joke around, King slips more of his cock out, before thrusting in. He positions a hand on Anxiety's hip to help rock him on his cock, which makes both of them moan. 

As Anxiety clenches around him, squeezing his cock from all sides with his small body, King can't help but feel pleasured. 

"No person I can summon could possibly feel as good as you do," King grunts, as he watches Anxiety's stomach bulge with each thrust of his cock. "You stretch realistically, you react pathetically; you're the perfect combination of slut and sass to keep me interested." 

"You're lucky you're bigger than I am," Anxiety pants out, though he's quickly interrupted by an intense moan that he fails to swallow down, "otherwise your cheek would have a bright red handprint on it right about now." 

King squeezes Anxiety's hand, unable to hide his amusement at the comment as he continues fucking into him. He never speeds up past a steady pace - clearly not wanting to overwhelm him - but makes sure he thrusts hard. His thick shaft rubs against Anxiety's prostate, abusing it constantly without even trying. Anxiety's beautifully teary eyed, biting back softer noises but unable to keep the louder ones from escaping his lips, as his body trembles and he cries out. King can even imagine his back arching off the bed if he didn't have a massive cock inside of him weighing him down. 

"King," Anxiety whines, barely able to articulate his thoughts. "King-" 

"Close already?" King coos, interrupting Anxiety's train of thought. Anxiety gives him an embarrassed glare, but doesn't refute King's words, instead just biting his lips and weakly nodding. King groans as he leans over Anxiety further, pressing their bodies together and making Anxiety feel wonderfully trapped beneath King's hairy stomach. "That's okay. I'm flattered, if anything. Go ahead and come. I'm not done with you yet." 

Anxiety tries to meekly protest, though nothing is properly said, and though Anxiety does bitterly try and hold back his orgasm, his cock is being actively stimulated by King's own torso, and his prostate being thrust against truthfully doesn't help in his spiteful endeavor. So despite his embarrassment, Anxiety comes quickly thereafter, with a loud cry spilling from his throat as his head presses back into the fluffy pillows beneath him. 

King moans at his display. "God, Anxiety, who knew you'd make such a good toy?" he murmurs, and watches as Anxiety's overstimulated display can do nothing to argue against his words. Instead, Anxiety's eyes fill with shining tears, as his hand clenches hard to King's upper arm, nails digging into the flesh. He needs something to hold onto, and King is more than happy to be scratched by his jagged, bitten nails. 

"I shouldn't give you too much credit, though," King is quick to add, as he clarifies "most people are obedient for their king. Who's your king, Anxiety? Am I your king?" 

"N-n-" 

King thrusts into him rough, promptly shutting up his refutation. "Try again." 

"Mm," Anxiety presses his lips into a thin line, turning his head stubbornly to the side. Against King's stomach, his cock twitches, and is rubbed and fucked quickly back to full hardness, still slick with his mess from mere moments ago. 

"Say it." 

King's breathing speeds as he watches the tears roll rapidly down Anxiety's cheeks. Though Anxiety is attempting to refuse his words, King just can't back down. 

"Say it, or I swear I'll leave right now, and won't budge an inch when your desperate, pathetic, needy self comes crawling back to me for the satisfaction you know only I can bring you. Who's your king?" 

Anxiety's pupils dart in his direction, his eyes shining with the same lust and neediness that King's sure his own reflect. Both of them want this. Both of them are holding to the other, clinging to them. 

"You're-" Anxiety whimpers, letting out an overwhelmed sob as King fucks into his prostate, filling him with his cock, "you're my- my-" he sucks in a shaky breath, and squeezes his eyes shut to avoid meeting King's. "My king." 

King moans at his words, and presses the entirety of his body into Anxiety's. "Fuck yes," he breathes, his words barely loud enough for Anxiety to process as their bodies are as close as they can be. He holds Anxiety tightly, gripping him and thrusting into him as if Anxiety was a prized possession, and Anxiety gasps when he feels King's lips on his neck. 

Without warning, and while gingerly kissing the flesh of Anxiety's throat where his hands were squeezing earlier, he comes, filling Anxiety's small body with loads of semen. 

Anxiety truly feels he might burst. It's shot into him in massive waves, at first just flooding his insides, and then truly beginning to fill it. He's shocked there's even room considering how much space King's own cock takes up, but at the same time can feel streams squirting out his hole, dirtying the mattress. King makes an awfully pathetic noise into Anxiety's ear as he fills him. Anxiety comes too, both from the few, weaker thrusts King does as he rides out his orgasm, and from the feeling of being further stretched open. And then King pulls up, letting them both see the way Anxiety's stomach has bloated with his come, having been inflated without a care in the world. 

Anxiety opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out, and instead he raises his trembling head towards King. King pets through his hair, smoothing his sweaty bangs out of his face. 

"Good job," he praises, voice soft, in such a genuine manner that Anxiety has to look away in an attempt to hide his blush. "You did such a good job. So good." 

King slowly slides his cock out of him, making Anxiety cringe at the feeling of King's semen gushing out of him as well, but King doesn't even comment on it. Instead, he lifts Anxiety's messy body up off the sheets with incredible ease, and tucks him against his chest, a lot sweeter than Anxiety would have expected him to behave. 

"I'll run us a bath," King whispers, as he brings them both out of bed. "My tub is more than big enough for both of us. And you can spend the night with me, if you so desire. You'd be a great reason not to get out of bed and keep Thomas awake." 

Anxiety flushes, and turns his head away. He gives no response, but doesn't decline all the same, so King decides that if he wants to leave, he may. But for now, he carries him to his massive, conjoined bathroom, and does indeed start the water, which pours from the faucet with bubble soaps and Epsom salts already pre-mixed in (as per the magic-adjacent rules of the imagination). He holds Anxiety intimately as he sits on the tub's ledge, waiting for the bath to fill. 

And, well, Anxiety silently decides that maybe spending the night won't be so bad...

[amcoffey]

Feel Better

Trafalgar Law x chronically ill Reader

(It's a little bit of a "squint your eyes to see the romance" deal)

Summary:

You’ve never missed a dose. No matter what medicine you were on, you took it at the exact dosage and the exact time needed. This truly is no small feat. You have been on a lot of different medicines in the many years since your diagnosis. Pills, injections, IV infusions. It didn’t matter what it was: you never missed a dose. Well… Never until now. To think the only time you’ve ever missed a dose of your meds is because you got isekaied into One Piece. It sounds like a bad joke. Who is going to ever believe you? Note: One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda. Not I, a lowly fanfiction writer, who is just using his characters to cope.

Word Count: 3,511

CW: Chronic illness, medical jargon, descriptions of pain

Other tags: hurt/comfort, angst, second person perspective, probably out of character Law (ya girl hasn't caught up yet. I'm in Wano)

You’ve never missed a dose. No matter what it was, you took it at the exact dosage and the exact time needed.

This truly is no small feat. In the years since you've been diagnosed you've been prescribed pills, injections, IV infusions... It's a lot to keep track of.

But you did. And no dose was ever missed.

Well… never until now. 

You tried ignore this simple fact as you sat in your uncomfortable seat in a sterile doctor office, a familiar environment to you. Your leg bounced uncontrollably as you looked down, away from the calculated gaze of the man in front of you.

“Can you please explain what happened?” He was quick to the point, there was no nonsense with him. He wanted to talk about what happened. 

And, to put it simply…

“I can’t.” You didn’t. 

A large part of you was hoping desperately that maybe if you prove you’re more trouble than you’re worth he’ll drop it. It's not like he could do anything anyways. Law’s eyes narrowed. 

“Can’t? Or won’t?” To your disappointment, he wasn’t giving up that easily. 

“Both actually.” You answered, defiance in your voice as you glared at him. “Can I go now?”

“Nope.” His steely eyes don’t leave yours as he sits forward in his chair. He links his hands together and rests them under his nose. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

“There’s nothing to say.” You lied. A tight sigh left his mouth in response.

“You cannot think I’d believe that given what happened.” 

“Nothing happened.” You insist as you stand from your chair, deciding that the conversation is over. Pain immediately shoots through your stomach that you do your best to ignore. It didn’t matter though because Law definitely noticed the wince.

“Anyways thanks for the talk captain! I’ll be seeing you!” You move to push past him but you're stopped when he sticks his arm in your way. 

“Sit down.” Law didn’t move an inch from his seat but effortlessly pushed you back in yours. “Where are you hurting?” 

“Umm… nowhere.” You were pushing his buttons, you knew you were. But you'd rather make the Surgeon of Death mad at you than discuss what he wanted. Law sighed as he shook his head. 

“You’re being stubborn,” You lowered your gaze to the ground. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Why can’t you just talk about it?” 

Why? It is a simple question really. Why can't you talk about it?

Because you were not in this situation. You couldn’t be! You were not about to talk about this with Trafagalar Law of all people. 

Because why would you tell him about it? You were in remission, you were fine. Whatever happened that got him so worked up was just… a fluke. 

It had to be. 

Because if it wasn't...

“Has this been an ongoing problem?" He speaks up again as he shifts forward. "Why haven’t you said anything about it?” 

“In my defense,” You sat back in your chair and sighed. You were looking everywhere but to him. “I didn’t think I’d be here for this long.” Your arms circle around your torso, a subtle throb still emanated from your stomach.

“Defense noted,” He states. "But you are here. And you have been for weeks." Given how uncooperative you’ve been, you expected him to start getting angry by now. This was Captain Trafalgar Law after all. Many on his own crew feared his wrath.

And yet, when you braved a look at him, you saw his gaze was much softer than you were expecting.

“You know, if you are hurting you happen to be with the best doctor around. I can help.” 

You scoff as you roll your eyes. That wasn’t the first time you’ve heard that. 

In fact, you heard those words the day you were teleported here. You had switched health insurance and had to change gastroenterologist. That day you had your first appointment with him. 

“I’m the best around.” He had reassured you. But when you started giving your medical history he cut you off. Just to tell you a bunch of basic information you already knew.

"Your condition is an autoimmune chronic disease. There is no cure."

As if you hadn't spent the last 10 years grappling with that fact.

When you got home from that appointment, you passed out. And ended up in the Grand Line. 

At first you thought the scariest part of showing up here was the fact you had no idea where ‘here’ was story wise. Back at home, you had just read about the Strawhats getting an SOS call that told them about a place called Punk Hazard. But that was as far as you had gotten. You had to order the next volume and wait for it to be delivered.

The ironic thing is it had probably arrived to your home by now.

But you were wrong to fear the characters and story. The actual scariest thing about being here was what you were dealing with right now: the sinking feeling that your life is over.

“Hey,” Law’s soft calling brought you back to reality. A reality you wanted nothing to do with. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, ok?” Your voice was smaller than you wanted it to be. He sighs and there’s some note of understanding in it. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe talking about it will make you feel better?” 

“It won’t.” You say with certainty. Then knowing he was going to have more questions you didn't want to answer you add “Talking about it won't cure me. All it'll do is reminds me it’s there.” 

“Oh really?” His voice is still soft but there’s some exasperation behind it. “And the debilitating abdominal pain you were in not 30 minutes ago doesn’t?” Well… He had a point. 

"I didn't say it was abdominal pain." You countered. It was the wrong thing to focus on, but it was something

"You didn't have to. I could tell." His lips quirk up in a victorious smirk. "Doctor. Remember?" You roll your eyes and return your attention to the floor.

"Can you just drop it?" The smirk he had on must have been wiped off by now but you didn't check. You just saw in your peripheral as he dragged his hand down his face.

"Come on! You were practically paralyzed." You winced, this time not in pain. But because of the truth his words held. "You wouldn’t move, wouldn’t talk. Your face got deathly pale and patchy. You keep pretending that’s nothing but that… that was not nothing.” 

Why do you even care? You bite back the question as your leg continues to bounce. It didn't matter why he cared. What mattered was he was right.

It's not nothing. It's everything. Everything wrong with me. The paralyzing pain… Mouth sores that’ll make eating impossible. Fatigue that makes me wish I wasn’t awake. Your arms started to tremble, your leg bouncing more and more without your knowing. Vomiting up my meals, the malnutrition. the depression... I can’t escape it.. It's all going to start again. I'm never going to live without it. I'm never going to live- More and more thoughts flood your head, capturing all your attention. You don't notice Law look at you in concern.

He opens his mouth to say your name but you don't hear it over the sound of you shooting out of your seat, knocking it to the floor.

“I need to go.” You rush to the door. I need to leave this room, this world, I need to go, I need to go back home before more damage is done!

 You don't think as your legs move on their own. They're rushing you out of the room. But before you can even get to the door, Law is there. He has a hand on it, preventing you from leaving. 

“Hey-” He tried to reason with you but you weren’t having it. 

“No, please just stop.” You were shaking at this point. He can't help you.

Pain crept back into your guts, wringing them out, filling you with dread. You can feel your face grow paler, accompanied by patches of hot skin.

This can't be happening! “I-I need to leave.” 

“No.” Law’s gaze hardened as did his voice. His eyes scan your appearance, studying you. You hate it.

"Stop looking at me!" Your hands fly to your face, covering yourself in shame.

“You need to tell me what’s wrong with you!”

“What’s wrong is that fact that it took me 3 years to finally get a handle on my last flare up!" Panicked words were bubbling up faster than you could suppress them. "And now all that work was for nothing because I’m relapsing!”

And there it was, the truth you didn't want to accept. The monster under your bed. You were relapsing.

Your hands fall to your side, tears streaked down your face. The pain was unbearable and you squeeze your eyes shut.

You were so happy and so healthy for the first time in so long. This couldn’t end. This couldn’t be the end!

“Let me help you.” Law insisted. His hands brush against your elbows and you snap backwards.

“You can’t-” 

“How do you know that?”

"No one can help me."

"Oh come on!" He had been doing a remarkable job holding back his emotions but they were starting to spill out too. “You won’t even let me try?!”

“You think you're the first person who wanted to try and fix me?!” You looked at him, actually, for the first time since you entered this room. But the tears in your eyes made if hard to see him. “I got worse with my last doctor! And talking about all of this just reminds me of all the hell that is awaiting me because I've skipped too many doses!” Your body wracks hysterically. You lean again the wall to help you stand as pain ravages your guts. You don’t notice how Law is in front of you again until he gently grabs your hands. He lets them tremble in his.

You can't find it in yourself to stop. “For 3 years nothing worked and now I have something that works and it is about to be ruined because I’m missing too many doses because I’m in One Piece." You cry. "If I m-miss too many doses I'll build an i-immunity to it and it won't work. The best thing I can do for myself is go home! I hav- I have to…”

Finally, after holding all it in for so long, you break down into incoherent sobs. Law lowers your head onto his shoulder as you sob uncontrollably. He doesn't say anything. He just holds you against him, supporting you with everything he's got.

"I nee-need to go h-home."

"I know."

"But I don't k-know how." You hunch inwards, crying even harder as your insides twist in agony.

You barely feel Law wrap his other arm around your lower back, pulling you in more. "I know." His own voice sounds broken.

Gas keeps producing in your intestines, expanding them past their limits. You know from much too much experience that once it starts, you can't do anything to make them better. You just had to wait the pain out.

Pathetic wet cries come from your mouth as you wrap your arms around Law.

In the depths of your mind, only one thought is understandable: I'm so screwed.

…

It felt like an eternity before you to calmed down. The pain subsided after a while but you were still crying when it did. 

It didn’t matter to Law. He was patient. Neither of you move from your spots.

It's only when you let out a stuttered sigh that he moves to lift your head up. A gentle grasp on your chin has you tilting your head up for him. And a careful look told you he was studying your features again, looking for signs you were in pain. When he didn’t find any he exhaled a relieved sigh. 

You half expect him to spit some sort of sarcastic remark about how dramatic you’re being. But instead he asks: “Can we sit back down please?”

You nod weakly and let him guide you back to the chairs. When you sit down you don’t look at him. 

But you know he’s looking at you. He doesn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. You wouldn't blame him.

It was quiet for a long time. Just the sound of your hiccups and sniffles. 

Until finally… 

“I had a terminal illness when I was a kid.” He broke the silence. That caught your attention. Your eyes slid over to him, eyebrows knitted together in worry. “It didn’t really get bad until I was a teenager. But by the time I was 10 I knew I was going to die.” His gaze was heavy and his usually sardonic smile held so much sadness in it. “I can still remember the pain. I felt like my body would give out at any moment. Everything hurt.” As he spoke his hand drifted to his chest.

He continued. “I had come to terms with my death. But... there was someone who didn’t. And that someone saved me.” When he looks back at you his eyes brighten a little. He brings his hand to the back of your neck again and pulls you forward until your forehead rests on his. Your eyes are locked onto his, nothing could have torn your gaze away.

“I’m not giving up on you. I know you’ve felt it too, that your life is over before it could begin. It’s not. I promise you.” 

Your eyes widened and you felt a blush warm your face.

"...Really?" He nods against your forehead.

"Really."

“How.. how are you alive?” You couldn't help but ask. If his disease was that dire... He gives you a smirk. 

“I’m not lying when I tell you I’m a really good doctor.” You’re taken aback. “Is your illness terminal?” He asks and you feel his thumb draw circles on your neck. It's so calming you almost forget to answer his question.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of anyone dying because of it.” You speak truthfully. “But it could ruin my intestines and cause them to stop working…And...” The tears start to return. Oh god… 

“It’s alright,” He whispers. “That’s not going to happen.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I’m going to help you. I thought that was obvious.” He laughs lightly. 

"Oh... right." For the first time since he first sat you down, you smile. Law's eyes softened and a faint smile reaches his lips.

“Do we…” You sniffed as another question popped up in your head. “Do we even have the same medical knowledge? O-or vocabulary?” He tilted his head against yours. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well... do you remember when I said I was from a whole 'nother dimension?”

A scoff escapes from his lips. “How can I forget?” 

“Yea so… doesn’t that mean we have different knowledge?” You leaned back out of his reach, raising your arms. “Our worlds have such different histories. That means we have different medical history right? What if I tell you and you don’t even understand?” 

“We’ll never know if you don’t tell me anything.” He gave a small smirk that was borderline infuriating. But you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad. You let out an exhausted sigh but nod. 

“...Ok. I’ll talk.” Law looks so relieved and happy, you would have thought you told him you knew where the One Piece was instead of this. He instantly got up from his chair and grabbed a notepad. When he sits down again you have his full attention. 

Here we go.

It takes some time to explain your situation. You tell him the name of your disease, the symptoms. You watch helplessly as Law writes down everything you’re saying. He has on the same concentrated look that he gets when he's discussing strategies and plots. It's a look you've grown to love.

“Are these episodes you’ve been having today normal?”

“Only when I’m flaring up. That’s the abdominal pain. It feels like extreme bloating. Like far more gas is being produced than can fit.” 

“I see... And how do you treat your condition?” 

With medicine that I am more than certain doesn’t exist here. “Every 14 days I take 80 mg over 0.8 ml of Humira or Adalimumab. It’s an injection that goes either into your thighs or your stomach.” As you recite the information you're painfully aware of how it had been since your last Humira shot. Law picks up on this but doesn’t state the obvious that you’ve been on his ship for over 6 weeks. Your leg starts bouncing again.

Law doesn't look up from his writing but says calmly "You have nothing to fear."

Your leg bounces less after hearing that. And his smile returns to his face.

When Law finishes writing you have to ask: “Did you understand anything that I said?”

“Pretty much. I mean your disease is called something else over here. But there is documentation about these symptoms in our world.” He smirked as he glances to you. “And you thought I wouldn't be able to be help.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. 

“Wait.." You pause, taking in his words. "You can actually help?”

“I’m pretty offended you thought I couldn’t. Do you really think so little of me?” Law scoffed. You shrugged. 

“I’ve gone through many doctors, captain. You aren’t the first person to act like you could be my savior.” He rolled his eyes and studied his notes again. 

“You mentioned not having control over your illness for 3 years. Was that when you were diagnosed?” 

For some reason that question startles you. “No, that was just when it last flared up. I've been diagnosed since I was a teenager.” Law looked like his heart dropped as he lifts his head up. 

“How old were you?

“13.” You try to answer as if this wasn’t the most tragic part of your story. Just barely a teenager and your whole life got turned upside down in the span of a day. 

You could remember lying in that hospital bed. Your doctor spoke to your parents, using terms he didn’t bother to define for you. 

"Their condition is an autoimmune chronic disease. There is no cure."

It took you a few years to truly understood what that meant.

“... I was 13 when I got rid of my illness.” Law softly spoke up. Your eyes found his.

“Really?”

“Yea.” He sighed heavily. “It’s insane to think that while I was curing myself of my condition, you were just getting yours.” There’s a distant look in his eyes. “But also… how you talk about this speaks to years of experience. I’ve never had a patient tell me their treatment plan in as much detail as you can.” You give a humorless laugh. 

“What a useless skill I have.” 

“Clearly not useless.” Law scoffs lightly. "And this disease. It's a problem with your immune system?"

"Yea. It gets confused and attacks healthy cells, mistaking them for unhealthy ones. I don't know the exact science of it."

“That's fine." He reassured you. "It sounds like you just need an immune system rewrite.” You lift your head up and look at him in confusion. 

“That feels excessive. To treat it I just need to block some of its functions so it doesn’t go out of control and attack everything.” You ignore the obvious that you don't know how that would work as you look at Law.

“I’m not talking about treatment.” He stands up and pats your head. “I’m talking about curing you.” The words pass through your ears and make you dizzy. 

Cure… me? I can be cured? 

Law starts to walk away, going to a desk and rummaging through it as you process those words.

"...Why?" You speak up as you gaze in his direction. He turns to look at you.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me? Is there a catch or something?" He looks a little perplexed, like he didn't know the answer himself. But in the end he just shrugs.

"It's nice having you on my crew. You can offer insight that no one else can, being from another universe and all."

It felt like there was more to it than that. But you don't push it.

“And you can do it? Just completely rewrite my immune system?” Law just smirked and lifted his eyebrows in a cocky manner. 

“You say our world is what… A series of comic books in your world?” 

“I mean that’s putting it mildly but yea.”

“How far did you get in those comics?” 

“Uh… Punk Hazard?” 

Law laughs lightly and looks at you. “You definitely don’t understand what I can do.” 

Author's Note:

My partner is convinced Law could fix me. So I wrote this. What a nice fantasy that is. Originally wrote this for ao3 but thought it might do well here. Hope you enjoyed this wildly out of character fic. It's my copium :]