#like i'm not just saying that because i don't like him i think it would just be a really good way to subvert expectations

[madamechrissy]

Blueberry Yum Yum - oneshot preview/taglisttt

Pairings - Fratboy Plug Sukuna x Nerdy stoner reader

This will be a cute ass lil smut oneshot where you fuck your plug and he gets down bad from your coochie aha, reader is a freak, Sukuna will whimper. will be smutty and explicit, preview here is just mentions of sex and weed smoking, college AU

Comment to get tagged babesss you know the drill, will be out next week 🫶🫶🫶 preview below!

"What if we like... had sex?" Sukuna starts coughing up the thick smoke of his purple haze, wondering if it's fucking laced with something as you sit there, blunt in your hand and your legs crossed, casually smoking it as if you brought up the fucking weather.

"The fuck did you say!?" He demands after he catches his breath, you inhale your blunt now, you're by far his nerdiest client, you shocked him when you asked to buy from him the first time.

You scream good girl, certified Velma from Scooby-Doo - annoying 'actually - jinkies' nerd. The two of you even hanging out was a fucking anomaly, a mathlete and a frat boy, one he didn't try to figure out. He enjoyed selling weed to you and smoking with you, hearing your stupidly intelligent thoughts, he enjoyed looking at you too. Sure you were fucking gorgeous in that soft, sweet way.

So what the fuck was this!?

"It's been a while," you murmur, handing him the blunt back now, he takes a huge rip, coughing again as you speak. "If I'm not really your type it's cool."

"If you're... you... I..."

"Shit, it's fine. Calm down. Just was thinking it'd be fun." He keeps staring at you, mouth wide open, and you sigh, rolling your eyes. "Dude it's fine don't freak out. Forget it."

"Forget it? The fuck?" He's glaring ruby eyes at you, while you take a wad of money our of your little black backpack, decorated with anime pins all over and a ridiculous amount of keychains.

"Here," you hand him the cash, fingers brushing for a moment while he just stares. "Shit, I made it weird."

"Yeah you fucking did. Who just says that?" He glares right at you, thin brows low over his narrowed eyes, those sooty pink lashes too fucking pretty and long, god you're jealous of them!? Are they so pretty because you're baked?

"Sukuna, you've fucked like half the girls I know, I have heard you're pretty good at it." He blinks again at that, a rare blush to his cheeks, not fitting his cocky persona while you put out the blunt, letting it smoke against the tray. "Here's the money. Thanks again."

You turn, and he grips your wrist, pausing you, it feels way too good. Not only has it been way too long, Sukuna was fucking hot, every time he got too close you felt that heat, you literally clenched when he just brushed a big hand across your shoulder to grab something. And your boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, you thought maybe it would be fun to fuck him, Sukuna is sexy as fuck and chill. Now you want to disappear, clearly reading the room wrong as usual.

You suck at that.

"You wanna fuck me? What like... some friends with benefits? Or one time shit?" He stands, hovering so fucking tall, you turn and look at him, blazed whites of his eyes red, you swallow nervously, eyeing the tattoos on his chest in that thin white wifebeater that's just unfair to wear around you while you're ovulating, you can see his nipple piercings through it, and it's doing too much.

"I thought like once, if we liked it sure we could do it more. If we're both single and... get along... plus you're hot."

"Yeah I am." He grins and you roll your eyes.

"You know... never mind."

"Wait brat, shit." You sigh, looking up at him now, as he turns you two him, his cock twitching just looking at your dilated eyes behind thick glasses, your parted lips. His fingers brush against the softness of your sweater, watching your nipples press against the material.

"It's cool if you dont want to. Like I am chill about it promise." He fingers the edge of your sweater, blitzed off his ass wondering if you're some fucking dream for a moment. But he feels the heat of your skin as his fingers slip up your waist.

"Think you can keep up with me, huh brat?" He murmurs then, snarky with his smirk. You step closer, your finger drifting up his hard chest.

"The question is if you can keep up with me, Sukuna."

Taglist open!! my pairings are as ridiculous as ever lol

Perm tagss @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[rexhya]

Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

[creamflix]

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN ZAZA ! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief your college banned weed, your grades are hanging by a thread, and you definitely did not plan on making your plug your most consistent situationship. w.c 9.8k

risk assessment lots of weed usage and references (this is not based off of #experience for the most part, please be safe & check your sources xx), crack & fluff, female reader, university au, meet-ugly, somewhat ooc characters, misogyny, poor queer assumptions, breaking the 4th wall, city-girl reader, opposites attract, depictions of social anxiety, legally blonde and 2010's anime references, uraume cameo ft! naoya, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, gojo

a/n the whole concept of a plug romance was ib by my baby @lacyblades's plug gojo series, make sure to check it outt ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

You weren’t expecting much when you decided to message a guy called Naoya Zenin for a dime bag — just some weed, maybe a weird vibe, and a quick escape. But you should’ve known something was off when everyone who smoked weed gave you that same look.

That solemn, pitying, godspeed-soldier look.

One girl even muttered “I'll pray for you” under her breath, which was a bit dramatic. You were getting dope, not going to war. But then again, they all said the same thing: Naoya’s shit is gas, but he’s the worst fucking person you’ll ever meet. You figured they were exaggerating. You’ve dealt with weirdos before. How bad could he be?

Well.

You found out the moment he opened the door with his stupid bleached-blonde hair, gold chain, and a shirt that had “NO SIMPING ZONE” printed on it like a threat. The hallway already reeked of superiority complex and a mango vape pod. “Who's it for?” he asked, not even a hello. 

You blinked. “What?”

“The weed,” he said, waving the baggie like it was a cursed object. “Your boyfriend? Roomie?”

“Uh. Me?” you said slowly. “It’s… for me?”

And it was like you had kicked his ego right in the crotch.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you smoke weed?”

“…yes.”

“Like, by yourself?”

“What the fuck is this, a survey?”

He squinted at you like you just told him women had human rights. His face pinched, his lip curled, and you could practically hear the internal misogyny revving like a chainsaw. “Look,” he said, setting the baggie down like it was contaminated, “I'm just saying, it’s kinda unattractive. Like, girls who do drugs? Yikes.” 

You stared. “You sell drugs.”

“Yeah, to guys,” he said, like that was the natural order of things. “Or like, chill chicks. Not…” he gestured vaguely at you.

“Not what?”

“Not, you know. Girls.”

It took everything in you to not put him through a wall. You had come into this with the utmost neutrality. A plug is a person, you told yourself. We don’t judge. But here he was, looking like if insecurity were personified by an anime villain with frat boy vibes, actually trying to cancel the deal because you dared to have a uterus and smoke up. “I don't think I'm comfortable selling to you,” he said, arms crossed like he was laying down some moral high ground. “It's just not feminine.”

“Oh no,” you deadpanned. “What if I stop being feminine and grow chest hair. Will my boobs fall off too?” 

Naoya did not laugh. He looked offended on behalf of the concept of gender. 

You stood there for a moment, blinking slowly at this man who would probably cry if a woman outsmoked him, wondering if it was too late to just start growing your own goddamn weed. Or if the hallway cameras would catch you if you kicked him in the shin and ran. 

“I'm not selling to you,” he said again, arms folded. 

“Cool,” you said, turning around. “Then I'm telling every girl on campus to never buy from you again.” 

His eyes bugged. “Wait, what—”

You didn’t wait. Naoya Zenin could keep his opinions and his za. You’d rather go sober than fund his self-inflicted sexism. Besides, rumor had it a guy took gacha bribes, and he didn’t mind if your pronouns were she/her/hitting-that-shit.

—

The house party was loud in that way only bad parties are — bass thumping through your knees, a fog machine making the entire room smell like burnt plastic, and some poor girl crying in the bathroom over a man who probably owned Yeezys. You weren’t even sure why you came. Boredom, maybe. You hadn’t seen anyone you liked in the first ten minutes, and you were seconds from leaving when the crowd split like the red sea and in walked… him.

Naoya Zenin. But not the "no simping zone" shirt Naoya. This was party Naoya. His hair was slicked back, jaw sharp under dim strobe lights, silver chain glinting under a jacket that suspiciously looked like real leather. He smelled like something expensive and infuriating — like pepper and pine and generational wealth. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked good. If you really didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked hot. 

But you did know better, so you stood very still and hoped he didn’t see you. Spoiler: he did. He made a beeline straight to you, sauntering like he owned the party, the house, and every sad soul on the aux. “Hey,” he said, voice practically smirking. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I'm suddenly woman enough to sell weed to.” He chuckled like you were being so dramatic. “Nah, not for sale.” He pulled a sleek, perfectly rolled doobie from behind his ear.

“This batch is just for testing.”

Testing.

You glanced down at it. It was beautiful. Thick, crisp, neat. Probably rolled with tweezers in a windless room while a choir sang in the background. The DJ switched tracks to something that sounded like a washing machine being sacrificed. You felt your brain scream a little. “Testing?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. You could smell his cologne now — rich boy cinnamon and something spicy enough to hurt your feelings. “Gotta know if it’s worth selling to, you know, guys. Not girls.” He smirked like he was being cute. You wanted to set him on fire.

And yet.

The blunt in his fingers was practically glistening. You were two shots of pineapple vodka in, and the DJ just played the third remix of “Mr. Brightside.” 

Fuck it. You took it from him, muttering a bored “light it.” 

Two hits in and you knew you were screwed. It was good. Like, ruin your night and make you vulnerable to a Zenin good.

And he was watching you far too closely. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or a man who knew he had something you wanted, and was way too smug about it. “So?” he asked, leaning in. His voice was smug, sweetened with that particular brand of you should be lucky i’m even offering you this. “Good enough for the boys?”

You exhaled slowly. You could lie and say it sucked, but your lungs were singing and your brain was on vacation. You knew it. He knew it.

You didn’t answer.

He leaned back, arms crossed, pleased like a cat who caught a bird with one paw. “I knew it,” he said, low. “I saved this batch for you, y’know.” 

You blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d show up.” he shrugged, too casual, too cocky. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

You blinked again. Once. Twice. The music in the background dropped and the beat switched again. Someone screamed “this is my song!” when it absolutely wasn’t. You were high, annoyed, and mildly impressed. 

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, passing the blunt back. He grinned. “But I'm hot.”

…Unfortunately, he was. Even more unfortunate — he knew it. And worst of all? You were definitely getting high off his stash again.

What happened over the next few months could only be described as a slow descent into the most bizarre relationship dynamic you’ve ever had with a dealer. And not relationship like that — God no. Naoya Zenin was still the same infuriating, misogyny-scented man you had ever met. He still made comments like “Women shouldn’t be smoking blunts this fat” and “You’ll ruin your lungs, babe, you should stick to edibles like the other girls.” But you? You were different. Or at least that’s what he decided in whatever part of his ego that functioned as a moral compass.

You were his little test subject. His “control group.” 

“I just need someone dumb enough to be honest,” he’d say, handing you a fresh joint before anyone else got their hands on the batch. 

And somehow, that translated to: you always got the first roll. You always got the stronger shit. You always got the nice papers, the flavored ones, the ones with little sparkles or kittens on them.

Hello Kitty rolling papers. You held up the pack once, squinting at it. “You bought this ironically?” He didn’t even look at you, just shrugged from his desk, hoodie pulled over his hair like he wasn’t in his own damn dorm room. “Females like you go feral over that stuff,” he muttered. Then, quieter: 

“I saw it in your story once. The pink ones. Said they were cute.”

You blinked. “You saw my story?”

“No.”

You nodded, lips twitching. “Right.” 

He kept pretending to scroll on his phone, even though you saw the screen was just his locked home page. Meanwhile, you were curled up in the middle of his very expensive mattress — firm, clean, annoyingly good quality — exhaling smoke toward the ceiling while some painfully curated “chill” playlist stumbled through a loop of Kendrick, Yeat, and occasional anime lofi covers that you knew weren’t there when you first met him. “Did you just shuffle a Youtube lo-fi mix into this?” you asked once, high and curious.

“No. It's just…Japanese trap.”

“It's literally the Yarichin Bitch Club—”

“Shut up.”

He never sat on the bed. Always lurked in the corner, leaned on his stupid ergonomic chair like he didn’t wanna be caught enjoying your company. And every time you asked him why he was standing like an NPC, he grumbled some shit about “Not getting comfortable around girls.” But you never caught the subtext.

Naoya Zenin, feminist icon? Absolutely not. Naoya Zenin, a man whose internalized sexism was now actively fighting his deeply repressed crush on you? Every single day.

“I'm not doing this because I like you,” he reminded you once, voice clipped, as he passed you a custom pre-roll sealed in a Hello Kitty ziplock. 

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Who said you did?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. 

"You females are so confusing,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Good thing I’m just your lab rat then.”

His jaw clicked. You didn’t notice — because, as always, you had no idea. But Naoya? Naoya was drowning in the best strain of delusion you’d ever smoked.

☆ GETO SUGURU

The first thing you noticed when you met Geto was his hair.

Thick, dark, and pulled into a glossy, mid-back bun that would put half your Pinterest saves to shame. It shimmered under the light, almost too good to be real — like someone had digitally rendered it for an ad campaign about hair-care. 

You’d walked into his place half-prepared to meet a woman. 

Blame the name. Suguru sounded soft to your tired brain, and when your friend said “bro’s got that gas, you’ll know by the hair,” you assumed a goddess of a plug — tall, mysterious, beautiful — would be waiting to bless you with carefully grown hydro and no small amount of mommy energy.

So when you entered, saw the figure from behind — tall, yes. Beautiful, obviously. Long hair, swinging as he reached for something on the table — you went, “Oh my god, your hair is gorgeous, girl.”

And then he turned around.

Oh.

Purple eyes. A sharp jawline that made your heart do unspeakable things. Black tunnel plugs in his ears — big ones, glossy, catching the light just right. He blinked, paused, and then smiled slowly. Warmly. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and silken and not at all belonging to the she/her you’d crafted in your head. “But I'm not a girl.”

You wanted to die, like right there. Crawl under the nearest coffee table and remain a fossil. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your ears. “I didn’t — I mean — your hair — I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just thought —” He laughed, full and rich, head tipping back as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Nah, you’re good,” he said. “That's a new one, though.”

You were not good. You were actively malfunctioning, trying to recalibrate from cool girl buying weed to accidental misgenderer who couldn’t shut up.

“I mean, like, plugs — you’ve got plugs and you’re the plug? Kinda poetic,” you tried, grasping for levity, for a joke, anything to move past your humiliation. 

That got another laugh. You could’ve sworn the floor dipped under you. 

“Yeah?” he mused. “Maybe I'm just really committed to the brand.” You nodded too fast, clearing your throat as you pulled out your phone like it would protect you. 

He handed you the bag — neatly sealed, vacuum-tight, labeled with a tiny sticker that said “pink runtz” in his neat handwriting. Everything about it was extremely polite. Even the way he held it out to you, like you were at a boutique counter and he was passing over perfume samples. “Here you go,” he said. “Enjoy.” 

You took it with both hands. (Why both hands? What were you, receiving a family heirloom??) “Thank you,” you mumbled. “And again, uh… sorry for the whole…” you gestured vaguely to his entire existence.

“No problem,” he said easily. “See you later, girl.”

You blinked. Did a little double-take.

…Girl? 

Wait. Was he gay?

He had to be, right? The energy was just too smooth, too non-threatening, too effortless. Plus, the hair, the plugs, the smile, the way he said girl — it all fit. Yeah. Definitely gay. Sweet, gorgeous, gay plug.

…Right?

Meanwhile, Geto watched you leave, eyes still soft at the corners, thumb brushing idly across his palm where your fingers had almost grazed his. “Cute,” he murmured to himself. Then added, under his breath, “Wish she’d called me babe instead.”

But there’s always next time.

But the next time you dropped by Geto’s, you didn’t come alone. You brought Uraume.

They were tall, pale in that “Victorian ghost but hot” way, and wore a structured, monochrome fit that made you feel underdressed even though you were just here for a refill. Uraume moved like they were born inside an art gallery — all grace and precision and a deep-rooted meh to the chaos of the world. You’d known them since undergrad and always thought they and Geto would hit it off. Same aura, same cool, collected, possibly-haunt-their-own-loft-in-Berlin energy. 

“You’ll love him,” you said on the walk over. “Gorgeous, chill, and he called me girl unironically.” 

Uraume gave you a side-eye that could shear bone. “You’re trying to set me up with your plug?”

“Not set up — just, like, meet. He's gay. I think. You’ll see.”

Uraume didn’t respond, but their silence was pointed.

Geto was expecting you. Well — you and “someone else,” though the someone was vague enough that he’d let himself entertain the delusion that it might be a cousin. a roommate. A dog. 

But then the door opened, and there you were. Smiling wide, eyes bright, excitement making your voice bubble up like soda. “Hey!” you chirped. “Brought a friend!” Behind you, Uraume stepped in, immediately scanning the apartment with an expression that could only be described as polite suspicion. 

Geto stood, blinking once. He recognized beauty when he saw it — Uraume was undeniably attractive, angular in a sharp, clean way that made his chest instinctively straighten. But that was about it. No spark, no interest, no gravity. His attention flicked back to you, as it always did. You were laughing at something stupid. You always laughed at something stupid. God, it was going to kill him. 

Small talk ensued. You made introductions, Uraume kept their hands folded like they were here for a health inspection. Finally, they turned to you with a very pointed question.

“…Where’s the gay?”

Geto froze mid-baggie. You looked confused.

“What?”

“The plug,” Uraume clarified, gesturing vaguely to Geto. “You said he was gay.”

You blinked. Turned to Geto. He blinked. Then said, very calmly, very apologetically:

“I'm not.”

Silence. 

Like full, sitcom-record-scratch silence. 

Uraume’s brow twitched. Geto cleared his throat. 

You… looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under your brain.

“But — the ‘see you later, girl’ — the hair — the —”

Geto held up a hand, trying not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I say that to people. Second of all…”

He paused, looking at you. And for one millisecond, the air changed.

“…I don’t really talk like that to anyone else.”

You stared. Uraume stared. Geto stared right at you.

Oh.

You wanted to rewind the whole interaction. Crawl backward out the door. Instead, you made a high-pitched noise that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. Uraume, bless their elegant heart, sighed deeply. “So you weren’t trying to set me up?”

“I mean… i was,” you said weakly. “But—”

“With a man who’s been undressing you with his eyes since we walked in.”

You almost choked. Geto made a sound that could’ve been a cough, a laugh, or help.

“I — I haven’t —”

“You have,” Uraume replied, adjusting their collar with zero chill. “It's fine. I get it. I'm attractive, but unfortunately I have no tits. Tragic, really.” Geto finally let out a small, helpless laugh. “You’re very attractive,” he said. “Just not really my type.”

“Yeah,” Uraume said, smirking a little now. “Your type’s clearly flustered and wearing mismatched socks.” 

You looked down. Kill me. 

Uraume turned toward the door. “I'll wait outside before I see something traumatic. Thanks for the entertainment.” And just like that, they ghosted out, as elegantly as they’d entered. Leaving you and Geto alone. You opened your mouth to apologize. Or clarify. Or die. But Geto just smiled. Soft. A little amused, a little not.

“…For the record,” he said, walking over to hand you the refill — perfectly packed, like always — “I liked the idea of a refill. Not the setup.” 

Your fingers brushed. 

“But,” he added, leaning just a little closer, “If you ever wanna set yourself up instead…”

You blinked. He winked. You may never recover.

☆ NANAMI KENTO

You’d been waiting under the ugly stone archway behind the Humanities building for nearly twenty minutes, pacing and checking your phone like a teenager abandoned after a school dance. Your guy — well, your friend’s guy who swore the plug was “chill, reliable, and hot if you’re into geeks” — was supposed to meet you here. Codeword: blue eyes hypnotize.

Very subtle. Very anonymous. Very fucking annoying.

So when a man in a tailored suit walked up the steps with a suitcase, you automatically moved out of his way. He didn’t look like someone who was here to facilitate illicit extracurriculars. He looked like a tax auditor. A hitman. The guy who gently but firmly fires you with a severance packet. “Excuse me,” he said, voice precise and polite. “Are you here for the… meetup?” 

You blinked. “The what?” 

He glanced at your shoes, then at your phone, then back at you like he was mentally cross-referencing a checklist. 

“…Blue eyes hypnotize?” he said, like it physically pained him. 

“Oh my god.” you took an instinctive step back. “You’re the plug?”

He sighed, like he’d been asked to commit a crime against his will. “No. I’m not the —” he paused, clearly wrestling with something deep and moral. “I'm… covering for someone.” You stared. He didn’t elaborate. He was wearing an ID card around his neck that read Nanami Kento, Head Delegate – UN Model Council. 

So he’d just come back from MUN. You felt like you’d stumbled into a BBC drama where the intern accidentally does espionage. 

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” you asked. “Because I was told blue eyes —”

“Couldn’t make it today,” Nanami cut in. “He said — and allow me to quote — ‘Lol can u pass it to the hot girl, she’ll know, just say the code thing xoxo.’”

You winced. “That tracks.” 

He nodded, grim. “I debated ignoring both of you.”

Then, without further preamble, he knelt down, set his suitcase on the grimy pavement, popped it open like he was about to give a TED talk — and began removing documents. Notebooks. Binders. Printed policy drafts. A laminated flowchart titled Conflict Resolution and Drug Decriminalization in East Asia. You stared in silence as he pulled out a sealed envelope marked “last will & testament” and tucked it under his arm like it was a receipt.

Finally, from somewhere beneath the bureaucratic detritus, he extracted a moderately crumpled ziplock bag. It looked wildly out of place in the otherwise pristine, corporate-ass briefcase. He carefully dusted it off with a cloth (a cloth) before handing it to you like he was passing off a court summons. A homemade QR code was slapped on the back, printed on sticker paper. “You can scan here,” he said. “Please include the transaction ID in the note.” 

You took it slowly. Reverently. 

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me,” he said flatly. “I had a debate round scheduled for now. Instead I'm standing here, holding someone else’s will, handing you illicit substances in front of a garbage bin.”

“You… seem very responsible for someone who knows a guy like blue eyes.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn't say I know him. We’re roommates, unfortunately. He once tried to convince our landlord that the leak in our ceiling was a portal to the astral plane. She gave us a three-day notice.”

“And you’re covering for him?”

He looked like he wanted to die. 

“He told me you looked ‘docile and non-threatening.’ I assumed that meant you wouldn’t stab me.”

“Docile?” you echoed. “What, did he send a photo?” 

He didn’t answer, which was, in itself, an answer. 

A long pause. Both of you just kind of standing there. Neither one of you exactly thrilled about the situation. Finally, you shifted. 

“Well. I guess this is… it.”

“Mm.”

“You gonna do this again?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded. Respectable. As you turned to leave, Nanami called out:

“He'll be back next time. I sincerely hope.” 

You raised a hand. “Thanks again… delegate Nanami.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt to hear that out loud. Behind you, his voice trailed faintly into the air:

“…I really need new roommates.”

—

But really, you weren’t expecting him again. Not the man in the wrinkled button-down and loosened tie, sleeves shoved up like he’d been mid-negotiation or a breakdown — same difference — and somehow still smelling like freshly baked cookies and weed. It took you a second to register. The flour-dusted briefcase. The weary expression. The gold name badge peeking out of his chest pocket like it had been forgotten there weeks ago. “Delegate Nanami?” you said, bewildered.

He flinched like you’d thrown a dart into his spine. “Not… officially,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes scanning the small courtyard like he was checking for witnesses. “This is strictly a freelance appearance.”

You blinked, then looked down. In his hands: a small, clear plastic box tied with a ridiculous pink ribbon. Inside it, two types of cookies — one set perfectly shaped and golden, the other darker, denser, with a suspiciously herbal aroma even through the box. Your brows lifted. “You baked these?”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “A last-minute request.”

You took them gently, inspecting the sticker on the side — a wonky heart with love n’ nip, xoxo scrawled in a handwriting you’d never seen before. You turned the box over and saw the same homemade QR sticker from last time, this one stuck crookedly, like it had been applied mid-crisis. 

“These from… ‘blue eyes hypnotize’?” you asked, voice skeptical. 

Nanami closed his eyes like you’d recited a slur. “Yes. He thought it would be a good ‘seasonal campaign.’ He said it was ‘low effort, high whimsy.’ Then he went to get his hair frosted and asked me to ‘deliver the goods with love and mystery.’” 

You blinked again. “I thought you were just filling in last time?” 

Nanami opened his eyes. They were bloodshot in the way that suggested not smoking but being around too much smoke.

“…I got roped into baking. He said people were more likely to buy it if it was homemade and ethically sourced.”

You stifled a laugh, then paused. Then looked at the box again. “…Wait, these are two different batches?” He tensed. Subtly, barely perceptible. But you caught it. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “One is… catnip. The other’s regular.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“In case…” he cleared his throat. “You didn’t want the first kind. Or wanted both. Variety is important.” 

You stared. “Did you bake two types for everyone?”

He didn’t answer, which was an answer. 

Your lips parted just slightly, breath caught between amusement and something warmer. You noticed the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes, how he kept smoothing his hand over the lid of the briefcase, the tension in his shoulders rigid like he was balancing a full tray on his back. He hadn’t shaved. There was flour in his hair, and one of his shirt buttons was mismatched. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you said softly. He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I've had worse Thursdays.”

You held the box up between you. “These are really cute. And they smell amazing.” 

Nanami looked like he was torn between relief and abject embarrassment. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “It was mostly Gojo’s idea.”

“Who?”

He blinked. “Blue eyes.”

Oh. You stared a second longer. 

“So… he has a name?”

Nanami didn’t even flinch this time. “Unfortunately.”

You smiled, crooked and fond. “Well,” you said, “You’re a much better cupid.”

He looked at you like you’d cursed him. Then immediately broke eye contact to pretend to re-check the payment QR code, even though nothing had changed. You watched the way his fingers fiddled with the sticker again, then stopped, pressing the corner down like it mattered. “…If you ever want non-catnip cookies,” he said, carefully, like testing the edge of a knife, “I have a standing recipe. No obligation. No… ribbons.” 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was that an invitation? Or a bakery recommendation? But he wouldn’t look up. Instead, he gave you a brisk nod, already turning away like he hadn’t just panic-confessed a crush via cookie code. You stood there, cookies in hand, heart full of sugar and smoke, watching him retreat like a man fleeing the scene of a very gentle crime.

It took you a full minute before you laughed to yourself. 

Then you texted your friend.

you [2:39pm]: blue eyes is not the hot one. it’s his roommate. holy shit.

☆ CHOSO KAMO

You were all for supporting local businesses — especially if they bloomed out of someone’s dorm bathroom and gave you a ten-minute high from a single puff.

You’d heard of him before. The plant guy. New transfer. Lowkey, didn’t talk much, wore hoodies with the sleeves chewed through, never made eye contact during attendance. Kamo, someone said. Or maybe that was just the name listed on the label of the ziplock bags he apparently sold. A friend of a friend vouched for him — said he grew it himself, only used filtered water, and played classical music near the pots “because it helps the terpenes flourish.” You didn’t know what that meant, you just knew that when this mutual passed you a single gram with the warning “this shit might make you see your own birth,” you paid attention.

So when the same friend texted you a barely readable address, you expected to meet some scrawny countryside kid with glasses and dirt under his nails. You even rehearsed your polite city-slicker voice. “Thank you, this is so fresh,” and all that. What you didn’t expect was for the door to swing open and reveal a man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of some indie underground zine titled ‘men who could ruin your life and forget your name.’

Tall, built like he’d been carved by someone clinically horny, shirt hanging off one shoulder like it had given up, collarbone pierced — pierced, — with a silver barbell that glinted when he moved. He had a black tattoo running sideways down his nose, and those lips. Full, slightly chapped, plush enough to be distracting. Soft brown eyes that barely blinked, droopy and disinterested under a smudge of lavender eyeshadow, like he’d done his makeup in the dark and didn’t care to fix it. He blinked once. 

“Hey.” His voice was low, like a gravel path after rain. 

You opened your mouth and forgot the words. 

He stepped aside to let you in, and you caught a whiff of something — clean laundry, basil, and just the faintest trace of lemon body wash. No way, you thought. No fucking way this is Kamo. 

“You want water or somethin’?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, head tilting a little. “I made banana bread this morning. There’s still a slice left, I think.”  You stared. Banana bread? He blinked again, slightly slower this time. “You okay?”

You walked in like you were sleepwalking.

His dorm was not what you imagined a weed grower’s to be, not even close. No Bob Marley posters, no messy ashtrays, no vape clouds. Instead, the place was warm, cozy, with sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains that made everything look soft. His desk was cluttered with seed packets, plant cuttings in glasses of water, a very worn-out book called “Cannabis for dummies” and another called “The botany of desire.” And from the bathroom, you could faintly see green. Actual green, like a jungle was growing in his bathtub. 

“The temp in there’s perfect,” he said casually, catching your line of sight. “Humidity’s the trickiest part. But once I got the cycle right, everything started thriving.” 

And then — as if he hadn’t just committed several crimes with that body and this voice — he leaned over the mini fridge and pulled out a ziplock, weighed it with one hand, and passed it to you. 

“This one’s blueberry kush, real sweet. Might make your ears ring a little.” 

You didn’t know whether to thank him or to cry. He looked at you again, head slightly cocked. “You good?”

You nodded slowly. Because here he was — this beautiful, pierced, sleepy-eyed plant nerd who baked banana bread, listened to ABBA (You swear ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ was playing faintly from his bluetooth speaker), and handed you weed like it was homemade granola. None of the rumors did him justice.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t brag, didn’t even seem to know what he looked like. And that made it all ten times worse. Because what were you supposed to do with a plug who looked like temptation and acted like a librarian? You clutched the baggie like it was fragile glass and said the only thing your brain could conjure.

“…This smells amazing.”

He smiled — smiled, like the sun peeking through a lazy sky. “Thanks. I can text you when I got more.” You nodded, then tripped over the doorway on your way out. ABBA played on —

And Choso squeaked.

An actual, involuntary, horrifically real squeak the second you closed his door and your footsteps padded down the hall, fading like the last four minutes of an ABBA song that’d just ruined his life. And he stood there, in his socks — the ones with holes in them — baggie still dangling from one hand, half-eaten banana bread slice in the other, mind replaying everything he’d just said like it was being beamed through his skull with a megaphone labeled you fucking blew it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to just freeze and panic and act like the most boring man to ever walk the earth. He was supposed to be cool. Show you his homemade record shelf and his boots — his boots, god, the fifteen different pairs of heavy, clunky, beautiful black boots all the way from his hometown. He even dusted them this morning. He wanted to explain how each one had its own story: market day boots, rainy day boots, festival boots. One pair still had a faint smudge of dried mud from a music fair he went to at fifteen. He wanted to offer you tea, tell you about the dried hibiscus he had steeping in a jar in the corner, and how his mum used to say it’d make your cheeks glow. But what had he said instead?

“Do you want banana bread?”

Fucking banana bread, like the most basic thing in the world. In his hometown, every lad could make banana bread blindfolded and drunk. It was the first thing boys learned to make when they had their first real crush. 

And now you probably thought he was just like every other wide-eyed, weed-growing loser in the city, trying to butter up his buyers with carbs and eye contact. 

Choso sank onto his bed, face in his hands. His sheets still smelled like lemongrass detergent, and the faintest whiff of you clung to the air — perfume, shampoo, city.

Because you. You, with your soft voice and effortless smile. You who had saved him from a capitalism-induced crisis four months ago when he was standing in a café, overwhelmed by a chalkboard menu that listed a drink called "dirty chai" that cost more than his weekly groceries. Back home, tea was just tea. Simple, warm, honest. But he had been cold. He had been lost. 

And then — then you’d appeared behind him like some ethereal campus fairy, leaned in and said, “If you like green tea, maybe try the matcha? It’s less confusing than it sounds.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t even stay to see how red he turned, or how he repeated that order in a near-whisper and clutched the paper cup like a relic. He'd gone home and told his brother that someone helped him, a girl, a kind one. He never caught your name, but your smile — your voice — that stuck. 

Matcha. That was what you gave him. That was what he ordered every time he came to that café, even though he could steep better tea with his eyes closed at home. Just in case he ran into you again. But you never showed up.

Until today.

You — you, the girl who made him believe the city might have good people after all — had walked into his room asking for zaza. His zaza. And you smiled at him like you remembered none of that and everything all at once. So casually. Like you hadn’t tilted his entire axis four months ago and then reappeared, smelling like laundry and looking like a dream. And now you were gone again, and he didn’t even tell you about the purple rice he was growing in his windowsill or the wild strawberries in a shoebox under the sink. 

He flopped backwards on the bed, groaning into the sheets.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

Well. Maybe next time, he’d get it right. He’d make you real tea, show you the boots, maybe play you something on his clunky little record player. He didn’t know much about city girls. But he knew he liked this one. And he’d do better. Just wait.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

You were sent as bait.

Not in so many words, but you knew. You knew from the way they all nudged each other and giggled like hyenas when you agreed to “do the pickup this time.” You knew from the way someone said, “Toji only deals with girls, haha,” and you really knew when another added, “Just act pretty and you’ll be fine.”

Gross, objectively. And also a very bold assumption about your gender identity, frankly, but you were too bored and too curious to turn it down. 

Which is why you were now sitting on a faded public park bench with peeling red paint and disturbing Mickey Mouse graffiti — eyes darting toward every approaching silhouette like prey — waiting for what your friend described as “the guy who looks like he could eat a helicopter.” You later realize that he does not look like he could eat a helicopter. He looks like he already did, and is now looking for dessert.

Toji Fushiguro approaches like a goddamn myth in motion. Tall, built like someone who’s been bench pressing prison inmates, dressed in head-to-toe black like he’d gotten lost on the way to a mob funeral, with scars you didn’t want to imagine the origin of. He had the sort of face that could terrify a priest and seduce a nun. And you? You just sat there, fully convinced you were about to die. But then—

“Are those… purple?” he asked, pointing at your nails. 

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not gravelly, not sultry — awkward. Almost bashful. 

You blinked. He blinked back. He sat down, and the bench groaned like it was filing a complaint with god. You watched him fumble with something in his massive hands, and you noticed the way he didn’t look at you — not really. More like next to you. His eyes darted everywhere else. The grass, the paint peeling on the bench, the weird drawing of Mickey Mouse’s warped little face near your thigh. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh, suits you,” he said, nodding vaguely in your direction. “The purple. It's nice.”

Okay. What.

This was the guy who was supposedly a womanizer? This was the plug people were too scared to deal with unless they were certified bombshells? This man who looked like a live-action anime villain and moved like he could break your ribs with a hug was out here complimenting your nails like he was mustering every ounce of courage he had not to combust? He finally handed you the goods — in iridescent, pearlescent, holographic wrapping. Something that looked like it was bought from a dollar store for birthday party favors. 

You blinked again. 

“Uh, sorry about the, uh—” he gestured at the bag vaguely. “Didn’t have tape. So I just, you know. Wrapped it.” 

You held it like it was a gift, because it was. Because Toji had just handed you a space cake wrapped like a birthday present and was now standing up, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants like he’d just had a tea party and wasn’t quite sure what came next. 

“Okay, uh. Thanks for coming. Sorry if that was — um. I mean, enjoy,” he stammered, and then—

He bowed. 

Full, chest-folded, bowed. And then walked away like he’d just embarrassed himself in front of royalty. 

You just sat there, high on confusion. Maybe he really had never seen a woman before. Or maybe — more likely — the stares and the glares and the resting murder face was just a cover. Because the truth was… Toji couldn’t smile without looking like he was trying to stop one from happening. And if he did, it’d probably scare someone anyway. So he’d rather not. But he tried. He tried. He asked about your nails, and you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you’d volunteer to do the pickups more often. You had a nail appointment next week, after all.

But before all of this, Toji was in a jungle gym. Let’s just get that part out of the way.

He was crouched awkwardly between two plastic slides, head ducked under a bar that was clearly not meant for full-grown adult men, let alone him, all six-foot-something of pure ex-hitman-turned-therapy-fundraiser bulk. His knees were digging into damp, sand-caked rubber flooring, and he was trying — trying — not to hyperventilate while giving himself a pep talk. 

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just… be normal. Be casual. Ask how she is. Don’t stare. Don’t say anything about her eyes. Or her hands. Or her voice. Or anything.

Toji squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. it was happening again. His mind flung itself back into the past — high school, senior year, school corridors lit with the aggressive hum of fluorescent lighting and the nervous tap-tap-tap of his big-ass converse against linoleum floors. He'd had a plan, dammit. A plan. Talk to girls, practice conversations, get better at the social thing, and finally approach Sydney, the sunny blonde in his homeroom with that annoying little sparkle in her eyes that made him feel like a dumbass every time she said hi.

Except.

Except, hormones are a bitch.

What started as “just practice” spiraled very quickly into a bizarre PR nightmare where Toji found himself talking to literally every girl but Sydney. Out of anxiety. Out of panic. Out of a weird, rabid need to rehearse and re-rehearse and never get to the main act.

By graduation, Sydney was dating someone named Nate, and Toji was The Guy Who Hits On Everyone But Doesn’t Know How To Finish A Sentence. 

A womanizer, a creep, someone no guy would leave their sister alone with — not because he did anything wrong, but because he was too awkward to do anything right. 

The social anxiety diagnosis came a year later and the therapy bills came after. Then came the dealing, and then came the reputation. The funny thing? 

He never liked dealing. 

He hated being seen, hated having to look people in the eye, hated the goddamn small talk. He tried to automate it, for god’s sake — had a spreadsheet, QR codes, fucking inventory notes on his phone — anything to avoid actual human connection. And now here he was, hiding in a goddamn jungle gym because you’re too fucking pretty. His pulse thudded in his ears. He was clutching the baggie like it was a ring box, knees shaking. 

You hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t flirted, hadn’t asked, hadn’t even looked at him too long. Just sat on that bench like you were built from sun and honey and a little bit of whatever God put into women he wanted men to lose their entire minds over.

He tried to regulate his breathing.

Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for eight. Do not throw up. Do not ask her about her zodiac sign. Do not speak unless spoken to.

Toji crouch-shuffled out of the jungle gym like a grown man doing the walk of shame, palms sweaty, jaw clenched. You were still there, reading something on your phone, bag slung lazily over your shoulder, legs crossed just enough to be intimidating without meaning to. Your nails were painted. Purple.

He short-circuited a little. 

“Uh, nice nails,” he blurted, voice gravelled and quiet and too fast. You looked up, startled. He froze. 

Smooth.

His fingers twitched. Maybe he should just hand you the ziploc and run like usual. Say nothing, keep it clean, keep it simple. That's what everyone else got. The runners. The girlfriends. The random brave strangers who’d come up all smiles and try to flirt — not because they liked him, but because they thought it’d get them an extra gram. But you�� you asked him how he was. Just once. 

How are you, Toji? 

Like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He cleared his throat and sat beside you like the world might split open and swallow him whole. The bench creaked like it was offended by his weight. 

He hated this. Hated being in his own skin, hated how his resting face looked like he was glaring, when really, he was just trying to think of something polite to say that didn’t involve complimenting your entire genetic lineage.

“Uh, I wrapped it,” he muttered, handing you the baggie with the iridescent paper. “Didn’t have… tape. So. Yeah.” 

You took it like it was a birthday present. Smiled at him. And for a second, the social noise inside his head dimmed.

Toji stood up. His palms were sweaty again.

He bowed. Bowed, like you were royalty. Like that was the only socially acceptable thing he could think of to do. And when he turned and walked away — stiffly, hurriedly, like he was being chased by a ghost — he swore he’d never let anyone send someone else in his place again.

Not when you were the one showing up.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

The sun was a bitch today. You knew that because your thighs were sticking to the plastic bus stop bench, your pits were questioning their loyalty to your deodorant, and your brother had sent you to do his dirty work like this was the goddamn hunger games. 

“Just go, it’s been paid for. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t say thank you.”

Oh sure. Easy. Send your sister out into the world of mysterious substance exchange like you’re not the one who watched her cry over the scrapped ending of Legally Blonde less than two hours ago. 

So here you were. Sweaty, confused, a little delirious from secondhand heatstroke. And then you saw him. Which is to say, him.

Tattoos snaking up both arms and his face — his fucking face — like he had crawled out of a graphic novel and got bored halfway through. Piercings glinting in the sunlight, bleached hair pulled back in a way that was supposed to look effortless but very much screamed intentional. Shirt unbuttoned halfway like it was doing him a favor. That’s not a dealer, you thought. That's a Greek god in cargo pants. But no, that’s exactly who he was. “Yo,” he said, already digging into the backpack slung across one shoulder. 

“Your brother told me indica, but like — he said nighttime indica, not couchlock, which’s basically the same thing, but it depends if he meant something like the pink runtz or more like a platinum OG — wait, do you know if he likes purple terps? ‘Cause I have this one that tastes like fucking grape medicine but in a good way. Or, like, there’s one that hits you with dry mouth fast but it’s good for sleep—”

He kept going. And going, listing things like you were supposed to understand the periodic table of weed strains. You nodded, lips parted slightly in what you thought was a neutral expression but was probably closer to early-onset panic. You could feel your heart pulsing in your neck. Your mouth was dry. Or wet? Both? You couldn’t tell. Everything was damp and hot and stressful. Finally, after what felt like three hours but was probably three minutes, you swallowed and said—

“I don't know.” 

Barely a whisper. Shaky, a little croaky, possibly traumatized. “I don't… I don't know what kind. I wasn't told.”

Sukuna — you didn’t know that was his name yet, but it was giving Sukuna — stopped. His eyes twitched. As a matter of fact, his whole body twitched. He stared at you like he’d just been hit by a midsummer tax audit. 

And then he let out the loudest, most visceral groan of human exhaustion ever recorded. Head tilted back, hands shoved through his hair, a full-body sigh that made birds scatter and God turn the sun up just to be petty.

“Bro, what the fuck.” he muttered, pacing. “I’ve got six more stops, two of them in the fucking dorms — do you know how long it takes to get past security there? Do you even know what a hybrid is? Do you know why we don’t say thank you?”

You blinked. Sukuna blinked. 

Silence.

And Sukuna knew today was going to be bullshit the second he saw your face instead of your brother’s. Your brother, who was usually all business. No stalling, no “wait I forgot the cash” antics. Just a head nod and a quick exit. Dependable, dry, vaguely annoying. 

You, however, were neither dry nor dependable. 

You were currently hyperventilating under a Jacaranda tree and babbling something about Harvard law school. He watched you for a moment, expression somewhere between a squint and a grimace, hands on his hips like he was preparing to build a shed or bury a body.

“…Are you quoting Legally Blonde right now?”

You paused mid-rant, sniffling. “I was watching it, like, two hours ago, and now I'm here. And I don’t even smoke, my brother just said go get the thing, and then you started talking about…couch-something? And I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this—”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, not because he didn’t care, but because that was his only way to delay a full-blown fuck me moment. He had heard of you before — vague mentions during other deals. Always framed around inconvenience:

“Can’t leave her alone too long,”

“Nah, she’s at home today, can’t risk the smell,”

“My sister's around, so not now.”

He expected a brat. A teen. Someone with a 100k Snapscore, a rhinestone phone case and a visible need for supervision. He did not expect someone basically his age, sitting in a puddle of heat and anxiety, with the kind of eyes that made you look twice and a mouth that couldn’t stop moving even if it wanted to. 

And for reasons he did not care to investigate, Sukuna found himself…listening. Not fake listening, actually listening.

Like when you started monologuing about how Elle Woods was judged just for wearing pink, and how your brother was now pulling the same kind of injustice by sending you into the unknown like a sacrifice to the zaza gods. “He said don’t say thank you, like that’s normal,” you sniffed, pacing now. “Am I supposed to just grab the bag and go? What if it’s the wrong one? Is this a test?”

“It's not a test,” Sukuna muttered, arms crossed, watching you with a half-lidded stare.

“I can't fail.”

“I'm not grading you.”

“But you could.”

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, eyes twitching when you hiccuped in the middle of your next word. This was a nightmare. He checked his phone. Four missed deliveries. Fuck. “Call him again,” he barked, jutting his chin toward your phone.

“He’s not picking uppp,” you wailed, already dialing anyway. “And when he does, I'm gonna commit fratricide. That’s legal, right?” 

Then — like divine intervention — your brother answered. And immediately, your hand flew to your chest, your lip trembled, and your voice cracked like a war orphan on the verge of a ballad. “I don't know what to ask for, I didn't ask to be born into this family—!”

Sukuna winced as your voice pitched three octaves higher.

The call was short. Some loud cursing, some laughter, a few insults, and a loud “Stop fucking crying, Jesus, just get the platinum—” and that was that. You hung up and slumped like your skeleton gave out. “Here.” Sukuna shoved the baggie toward you. “Platinum OG. Sleep strain, nice body high. Pairs well with girl tears and whatever the hell you got going on in there.”

You didn’t even look up, just took it. And used the corner of his shirt — his shirt — to dab your damp lashes. He stared at you, down at your hand, then back at you.

“…Are you crying into my clothes right now?”

You nodded. “They’re cotton.” 

His jaw clicked. He wanted to groan. He wanted to throw his phone in a lake. Instead, he let out a long, nasal exhale. You looked up at him finally, cheeks flushed, eyelashes stuck together, still holding the damn bag in one hand like it might bite you. “Thank you,” you whispered, despite your brother’s explicit instructions. 

“You’re not supposed to say that,” he grunted. You smiled, faint and ruined and puffy. “I'll say sorry, too, if you stick around.”

And something in him — something warped and inconvenient — twitched. Because he could see it now. That part of him that usually wanted to sprint the fuck out of social interactions? Quiet. His eyes lingered on your face, your lashes, the smudge of stress-sweat and heat that made you glow. 

He sighed again. He could speedrun those other deliveries. Maybe swing by later. 

For fraternal check-ins, obviously. Not for you. Not because he liked you or anything.

☆ GOJO SATORU

You didn’t know what was more devastating — the fact that you spent nearly two hundred grand clawing away at an arcade machine for a limited edition Albedo figurine, or that the guy who actually wanted her didn’t even leave his house. No, he just bribed you into doing it for him. “Blue eyes hypnotise,” he called himself. Like a joke. Like a threat. Like a man who didn’t have any shame.

You only got his real name — Gojo Satoru — when he turned around and you caught a flash of his university ID tag, half-tucked behind a plushie keychain shaped like a pudding. He was apparently from the Engineering department, which was either a lie or an actual war crime, because nothing about the way he looked or acted said science. But there he was, in a dorm room that smelled like strawberry soda and fabric softener, crouched on the floor like a grown man summoning a demon from a display box. 

“Look at her,” he cooed, setting the Albedo figurine gently — tenderly — into her glass shrine. “She’s so misunderstood. Nobody gets her like I do.” You blinked at him from the edge of his futon, arms still sore from wrangling that claw machine like it owed you rent. 

“So…can I get the stuff now?”

He barely looked up, just pointed vaguely at the corner of his room — where Hatsune Miku was standing on a glass shelf in all her twin-tailed glory. But instead of a mic, she held a tiny bag of very clearly illegal herb in one plastic hand. You stared back at him, then back at Miku.

“Is this — is this some kind of themed display?” you asked. Gojo just beamed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah! I’ve got Rin holding a grinder, Nezuko’s the designated lighter girl, and Saber — oh wait, lemme show you—”

He moved across the room, the wooden floors creaking under the weight of his sins and merch, to open another glass cabinet filled with boxed Nendoroids, switch cartridges, and an entire row of perfume bottles that you knew were only bought because they were collaboration exclusives. And the worst part? He was hot.

Glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, oversized shirt that said “science is sexy” in pixel font, hair pulled back in a loose bun with a Hello Kitty clip. And those stupid, stupid blue eyes twinkling at you like a paywall.

“So. Ya like claw machines?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I like weed.”

He laughed — giggled, actually — like that was the most charming thing he’d heard all week. 

“We should hang out more,” he said, reaching for a heart-shaped tin box that he cracked open to reveal little wrapped edibles shaped like stars. “I trade limiteds for labor. Win me figures, get high for free. It’s a perfect ecosystem.”

You took the bag from Miku, still watching him with a healthy mix of horror and fascination. His room looked less like a place someone lived in and more like a walking otaku’s dreamscape. Frames on the wall — real glass, not Ikea — with signed prints. A projector setup. A heated kotatsu. Not even a fake one, actual imported goods. You spotted a collectors-only Hatsune Miku ita-bag on his chair and realized with chilling clarity—

This man was loaded. And somehow, dealing was just a hobby. “So you're rich,” you muttered, half to yourself. 

“No, I'm emotionally compensating,” he chirped, handing you a cola-flavored edible. “And high-key, Miku funds half my lifestyle. God bless licensing.” 

You didn’t even know what to say anymore. The za was yours, technically. but your soul? Your soul had been mortgaged. As you left, he waved from the door with his fingers wiggling, still barefoot, still smiling. 

“Bring me that Rem-Ram plush next time and I'll give you a freebie!”

You didn’t answer, just turned away clutching the Miku za, feeling thoroughly hypnotized.

Fucking nerd.

And as you left, Gojo Satoru is starting to spiral. 

Not in the tragic, tortured anime boy way (although he could do that too, he has the bone structure for it), but in the what if I am God’s strongest soldier but also emotionally constipated kind of way. Which, to be fair, is on brand. He's from the Engineering department, not Psychology — he doesn’t need therapy, he needs more shelf space for his waifus. Except now he’s wondering if he should detour to the Psych wing after all, because he’s not normal about you. Like, at all.

You showed up at his dorm with the Albedo figurine — the grail, the myth, the she who watches over the za with her plastic rack — and Gojo knew. He knew this was destiny. He didn’t talk to you directly, oh no, that would be too sane. 

He talked to Albedo instead. 

“Thank you for returning to me, my queen,” he whispered to her lovingly while unboxing, carefully peeling the protective plastic like he was unwrapping life itself. You were just… sitting on his futon, watching this happen. Watching this man ignore you in favor of a busty demon lady. And the worst part? You looked annoyed, which meant he was winning. 

“She's perfect,” he sighed dramatically, lifting the figure to the light like she was about to be baptized in his otaku holiness. “Better than any real girl.” 

You scoffed, and he heard it. Oh, he heard it all right. Success, he thought, the cogs in his brain wheezing like a dial-up modem. She's jealous. She’s spiraling. She wants to be my real girl now.

He had charisma. Not rizz — that word made his gums itch — but presence. Aura. The kind of deeply concerning magnetism that made people lose brain cells around him. He had a theme. Nezuko with the lighter, Rin with the grinder… even his plushies had roles. He wasn't like other dealers — he was aesthetic. 

You didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe you were his Zero Two. No, wait. Too pink. His Hori? No, that pairing was mid. Maybe you were his Faye Valentine, all mystery and menace and weird snack orders. Or maybe — maybe MAPPA would make an anime about the two of you. A rom-com, but the kind where the guy’s so stupid it becomes a tragedy. 

He could see the promo now: “The strongest dealer meets the one girl who got him to shut up.”  Bonus points if they animated his sparkly glasses glint just right. 

Maybe he could pull a few strings, call in a favor. Not that he was from an anime or anything, haha. Definitely not from that one. No, no. He's real. He's totally real.

You asked him if he had more edibles and he accidentally said, “Only if you say you love me,” before immediately covering it with a fake cough that sounded like a dying sim.  

“What?” you frowned. 

“Nothing,” he said, nearly choking. “I said… they’re gummy. Fruity. Ha-ha.”

Smooth. Like butter.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t leave. You stayed, kicked your shoes off, asked if he had wi-fi. And Gojo, who had a literal shrine of waifus across from his bed, thought to himself: Damn. Maybe I need to start making room on that shelf for a new figure called: the girl who brought me Albedo and accidentally stole my heart. Definitely not for dramatic reasons. Definitely not because he was projecting. 

Definitely not because, if he was from an anime, he’d want you in every single ending theme.

a/n sukuna's part is based off of a true story except my experience did not end in romance. i hope you enjoyed reading tho :P if you have any silly weed experiences please drop a confession in da ask-box 🫣 and yes, blue eyes hypnotize is a yo yo honey singh reference...

[flvvffy]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐔𝐏, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘...❞

wc: 628. not proofread. anon.

you were not much of a talker. and you boyfriend suguru knew that. he understood that. and because of that, he learned that small actions were signals that you wanted something.

you would stare at something for way too long at the store and he knew you liked it. you wouldn't take your eyes off of it until he grabbed your attention. "you like it, baby", he would ask, his height towering over you and playing with your hair.

"yeah..."

"do you want it?", you only stare at him, not really wanting to say anything. you didn't want to be ungrateful. "it's okay I'll buy it for you", he flashed you a smile and gave you a small peck on the cheek before taking it off the shelf and paying for it.

when you want to cuddle, you would walk up to hin and grab his hand then lead him onto the bed or the couch. he would lay with you, your head resting on his chest listening to his heartbeat as he's caressing your thigh and kissing the top of your heard occasionally whispering sweet nothings.

sometimes you just sit on his lap when you want attention while he's either working or playing video games. he smiles and presses a soft kiss on your lips as you make yourself comfy. "you're gonna have all my attention when i'm done, cutie"

suguru almost always catches you staring at his food whenever you're out to eat. your boyfriend's food just looks so much more scrumptious. you try to make it subtle but he sees it. he picks some up with his fork/spoon/chopsticks and places it near your mouth. "say ahhhh....", he says and you open your mouth taking a bite of his food. it really was delicious.

"it's really good", you say and he smiles.

"mhmmm... if you want we can eat together", he pushes his plate between the both of you. you just can't help but think how sweet he is.

you always help suguru relax after he comes back from work. completely exhausted and all suguru can think of is enjoying a nice dinner and bath then cuddling with you on your shared bed.

although he understands that you're too shy to express yourself to him at times, that doesn't mean he's not gonna tease you.

you walk up to suguru and tug on his sleeve. he knows that means that you want a kiss, but he's gonna act clueless, just because he can. "what's the matter sweatheart?", he asks a stupid smirk on his face.

"uhh...", you're trying to come up with words but nothing. so you just stare at him and tug at his sleeve again, hoping he got the message this time.

"sweetie, i'm not just gonna understand you if you don't talk", he plays with the ends of your hair and you feel lile combusting. why was he doing this to you?

you sat in silence again but nothing. realizing that he really wasn't gonna do anything, you breathe out and gather your words. "i-i....want a...kiss", you say quietly.

"what's that? i didn't hear you. speak up pretty...", your heart is beating more rapidly now and your cheeks are getting warmer. but he's not showing signs of mercy.

frustrated you let it all out. "i want a kiss, suguru", he chuckles.

"you could've just said so", he pulls you by your waist, placing one hand behind your neck and placing a soft but passionate kiss on your awaiting lips. he pulls you impossibly closer to you, deepening the kiss only letting go to take in a breathe before tasting your addictive lips again.

suguru pulls away, the both of you breatheless, his forehead on yours. "that wasn't so hard now was it?..."

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Secret No More

Summary: The rest of the Thunderbolts* find out that you and Bucky are married.

"So…are they?"

"It definitely seems that way."

"But they could just be really good friends."

"They're far too close to be just really good friends."

You quietly laugh to yourself from the corner where you're hiding, slipping into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. All your morning blues have been lifted by the conversation you've accidentally stumbled on, and you couldn't be more grateful to the duo for it.

"They're definitely together. There's no way they aren't." A new voice sounds from the dining room where the conversation is happening. "Have you seen the way Bucky looks at them?"

"I'm sorry I don't stare at the Winter Soldier all day 24/7." You're pretty sure Ava rolled her eyes after that because John lets out a snort of annoyance.

"Careful." A low voice murmurs softly next to you, followed by the warmth of a familiar hand. "Wouldn't want them to find out you're eavesdropping just because you spilled hot coffee all over yourself, would we?"

"Hey Buck." You lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek after checking that the coast is clear. "Want some?"

"Can't say no to good coffee this early in the morning." He takes a carton of milk from the fridge, pouring in just the right amount in your cup. You pour some coffee in his cup, pushing the packet containing today's beans at him so that he can read what flavours are in the dark liquid before adding sugar to his cup. Two teaspoons, like always. It used to be more but you've been trying to curb his sweet tooth so he's been sulking lately. You would pity the villains he's been fighting but he has been far more effective in bringing them down ever since you cut down his sugar intake so you're not complaining. However, because of that, Bucky has been more picky about what flavour of coffee he drinks, which has made your coffee bean shopping harder.

His arm gently brushes against yours as he takes his cup from you, giving you a soft smile before heading to the dining room , presumably to scare the living daylights out of the group gathered there. You decide to hang around the kitchen first and take stock of what supplies need to be bought, a good move judging from the commotion that's happening in the dining room right now.

"I wasn't informed about any team meeting today." You detect a hint of amusement in Bucky's voice.

"Bucky?!" John exclaims followed by incoherent shouts from the others. "We were uh —"

"Are you and Y/N together?" Bob casually asks, eliciting more exclamations from everyone else. You're pretty sure Yelena just covered Bob's mouth in an attempt to stop him from asking any more questions since his voice becomes muffled but Alexei just continues asking on his behalf, clearly curious.

"Comrade, it is a beautiful relationship, you and Y/N. Why so shy? They are strong, kind, and very hard to replace."

"Alexei! You can't just say someone is hard to replace!"

"But they are! There is no one like comrade Y/N, even if you go to the ends of the world!"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, then he calls for you. "Babe, do we tell them?"

"I don't know, do we?" You step out of the kitchen, trying not to laugh as everyone dissolves into more hysterical screaming. "They don't seem ready for it."

"How long has it been?" Yelena asks. John groans in the background, muttering something about how he should have noticed it earlier with how defensive you were over Bucky back when you first met.

"I think it's been a good few months since we got married?" You frown, pretending to be deep in thought. Bucky bursts out laughing as the rest of the team erupts into even more chaos somehow, with Ava screeching at the top of her lungs, Bob exclaiming about rings, Alexei shouting about how marriage is a beautiful thing, and John face plants the nearest wall. Yelena looks stoned for a while, and then gives up.

"Wait, then why have we never seen your wedding rings?" Bob asks, gesturing wildly at the both of you.

"I can turn things invisible, remember?" You touch Bucky's neck and a gold chain shimmers into view. Bucky lifts the hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before untucking the chain from underneath his shirt, revealing the ring that hangs from it.

"That is such a boring ring," Yelena deadpans. "Couldn't get anything fancier with your Avengers paycheck? How much does Tony Stark pay the Avengers anyways?"

"We decided to keep things simple, or it might get in the way during a fight." You take yours out, letting out a yelp as Bucky yanks you down onto his lap.

"We're going to be here for a long time, might as well get comfortable," he sighs, nuzzling into your hair. You lean against his chest and feel his arms automatically wrap around your waist, securing you to your new spot. "I hope you have more of those coffee beans because I'm going to need more coffee after this interrogation session."

"You don't want to try the other beans?"

"I like the lavender taste," he hums, the sound vibrating in his chest.

"They're so cute together, how did we not notice?" Ava hisses. Yelena shrugs in response. Alexei forces John into a chair and Bob happily takes a seat, clearly excited about the gossip that's to come and your interrogation begins.

"So, when did the two of you first meet?" Bob asks the first question.

"It was when Steve brought me to the safe house you were hiding in during the UN bombing, right?" You turn to face your husband.

"Mmhm." He fiddles with your ring, clearly not paying attention to the interrogation going on.

"Hey, you're not allowed to leave me alone to face all their questions!" You give his cheek a poke and he gives a dramatic groan.

"I signed up for this when I married you, didn't I?" He sighs.

"Yes you did." Your cheeky grin causes the corners of his lips to curve upwards and he pokes you back.

"I suppose there's no escaping this."

The team eagerly lean closer as you detail your first encounter with Bucky, followed by your first date with him and the wedding itself. It was tiring, answering every single question, but fortunately Bucky stepped in every now and then, helping to answer some of them. His ice blue eyes would crinkle in amusement whenever he recounted a funny incident, followed by a teasing poke to your ribs which would cause you to squirm but you can tell he's enjoying himself, remembering all the little moments of light in his life.

You would give anything to make him smile like this more often.

Once the interrogation is over, the team split up, mulling over the new cascade of information they've just received. You, meanwhile, remain in your spot on Bucky's lap, feeling his hand run through your hair.

"I can't believe we managed to hide our marriage from a Widow, a Walmart Captain America, the Russian Captain America and a spy who can phase through walls." You laugh, snuggling against his chest. His steady heartbeat reassures you, reminding you that he's right here, by your side.

"I can. After all, we're the world's greatest assassin and a spy who can turn anything they touch invisible." He smiles softly, turning you around to face him. His hands cup your cheeks, cradling your face and he leans in to kiss you on the lips. "I can finally do this without having to worry about anyone catching us."

"I like that." You pull him into another kiss, savouring the taste of his lips. "Makes mornings less stressful."

"It also means I can constantly hold your hand now." He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "And tell you how insanely perfect you are."

"Does this mean I can tell you how extremely handsome you are?" You whisper teasingly, unable to contain the smile on your face.

"Always, love. I'll never grow tired of hearing that."

"Get a room!" Bob yells from his hiding spot around the corner. Ava anxiously shushes him but it's too late. You and Bucky turn to see three heads disappear behind the wall, and you scramble to smack said heads but Bucky tugs you back down onto his lap.

"We're claiming the dining room!" He hollers, then gives you a peck on the cheek. "Go find another room!"

"Buck!"

Your husband only laughs in response, hugging you close. "I'm not letting this opportunity go. I already have you here, I'm not moving anywhere."

"Just admit you're too lazy to move back to one of our rooms."

"And risk spilling coffee on the sheets? Never!"

"Oh, but it's fine to spill coffee on your metal arm?"

"That only happened once! And there's always the dishwasher —"

"No! If I ever see your arm in the dishwasher again, I will personally slap you with it!"

"Fineeeeeee." Bucky sighs. "No more metal arm in the dishwasher."

You let yourself flop back onto his chest, basking in his secure embrace as he finishes his cup of coffee and picks up his book to continue reading.

"I like this coffee." He presses his cheek against yours, purposely rubbing the stubble on your skin because he knows he can irritate you like that and get away with it.

"More than me?" You're not sure why you're feeling so playful today, maybe it's because of the weight that has been lifted after telling the rest of the team about your marriage to Bucky.

"Nothing will ever come close to stealing your spot as my number one favourite." He boops you on the nose, dodging your return attempt with his super soldier reflexes and a wide grin. "Try harder, love."

"You're asking for it, James Buchanan Barnes! Now take it like a man!"

[uwila-the-harpy]

ID: A Reddit post on r/AITAH (Am I the Asshole?), posted by u/Quirky-Wait-7729, 7 hours ago. AITAH for buying my boyfriend flowers after he mentioned most men only get them when they die? Throwaway for a reason. Okay, so my boyfriend (22M) and I (21F) have been together for about 5 months and it has been good so far, but about a week ago when I was at his apartment he told me that most men only recieve flowers when they're dead, and he then went on a bit of a rant about women not caring as much as men when it comes to their partners and then men want shows of affections to. I honestly took this all as a hint that he wanted flowers, so yesterday I went to Whole Foods and picked out all the flowers I thought he would like and put together a big bouquet for him. I also got him a coffee, some chocolates, and a few other things I thought he would like. I've done things like this before but minus the flowers. I usually put a game pass gift card or a lego set. I feel like this is important because I don't want anyone to think I don't show him affection or get him gifts I definitely do!! So I show up to his apartment with literally the biggest smile. I was so excited for his reaction, but when I gave him the flowers he got a super uncomfortable look on his face and wouldn't touch or kiss me at all. I asked him what was wrong and if he liked the flowers and the just kind of blew up at me saying that the flowers are only for apologizing and that if I cheated on him I needed to tell him right now. I was shocked and started crying because I have never and would never cheat on anyone. He took the flowers to the kitchen and threw them in the trash which honestly felt like a huge punch to the gut. He told me to get out of his apartment and that he didn't have time for cheating bitches (his words) everytime I tried to explain he said he didn't want my excuses and when I'm ready to tell him who the man is then I can talk to him then. But there is not man, I didn't cheat on him, I just thought he wanted flowers. I've never thought of flowers just as an apology. He's never gotten them for me but I just thought he didnt like showing love that way, so I buy them for myself every week. I'm just so confused and hurt by his reaction and I don't know what to do to fix the situation. So am I the asshole for buying him flowers? Do women really only buy flowers as an apology?? I'm so confused.

the way men resent women for having the “”privilege”” of getting shit they don’t even want is so fascinating to me I want to study them in a lab

[eraserbread]

what about make up sex with toji after a nasty argument….. kinda need

wife guy, this. ex husband, that. what about toji fushiguro's mistress - the other woman? ✧

→ adultery, toxic relationship dynamics, skin marking, sexually explicit content

it's just the way things are. toji makes it known that you aren't his priority. he has a beautiful wife, a promising son, and an idea of life you can't quite grasp.

but, it surely doesn't have you in mind because he's always shrugging you off. it'll be stupid, like saying he'd call you back and just never will. it's always your fault, because he had to pick his kid up, and you should've known he would be busy all day.

silly you for thinking your boyfriend would act like one.

silly you for thinking he would keep his date night promise. now, you're stuck on a busy sidewalk in tokyo, cars whizzing past and mixed voices making it feel like you're standing alone in a wind tunnel.

it wasn't anything fancy, just stupid tourist ramen downtown. the shop was dark, so nobody could see his face if they recognized it. secrecy is everything.

but he doesn't even show up, and all of your calls and texts go dead.

so, when you see him kicked up in the middle of your apartment, beer hanging from his thick fingers, you're fuming.

"hey, pretty." he drones low, like he knows you love him. after all, you are all dressed up for him—short skirt, makeup, and jewels. it's what he needs from you, something his wife doesn't give much anymore.

but toji has one glaring flaw, he doesn't understand you. you could say he doesn't understand women at all. it's why he's reaching outside of his sexless marriage for help. it's why you're standing in your doorway choking back tears as he drinks his beer down.

"so you just ignored all my calls and texts on purpose?"

"hm... i don't have my phone." he's only halfway looking at you, watching a pretty actress on the tv prance around for his attention. It's so dark, you reach to flip the lights on.

and when you can see him better, that familiar stare is bleak and loveless—taking you in like a predator would prey. yet, he's still so gentle and gruff when he says, "no use fighting when you look like that."

"it would just kill you to pretend, wouldn't it?" you're cursing yourself, not knowing why you're so backed up with unsaid words when you know this is how he acts. toji never, ever changed. "if all I am is a fuck to you, that's fine, but just say it!"

"there's nothing to say—you know what you are to me." he's sitting up quickly, swinging his legs from the table to plant his bare feet on the ground. "so, stop it with the insecure shit. matter of fact, shut up, and come here." dingy beer can crushing on the table, heels digging into the floor, toji wants to leave—but he wants to stay. he wants you to do your job and stop it already.

if he wanted the fights and tension, he would've snuck into his wife's bed tonight. instead, he's crawling to your doorstep. can't you see how special you are to his body him?

but, you're just as stubborn as he is, so you dig your heels right back, fists balled at your sides. "why won't you even apologize? or, say anything... nice to me... ever?!"

toji watches you for a second, his soft, scarred lip dipping into the ghost of a frown. you're a pitiful scene right now, face buried in your hands as you cry—bare knees cold and shaking, makeup smudged, and so overcome. it'd be endearing for him if you weren't so hunched in on yourself; it hides your body.

then, he lets out a throaty groan, pressing his hands to his knees as he stands up. it's buried behind your soft sniffles, but the sound of footsteps is unmistakable, just like the feeling of a firm hand across the side of your neck.

"stop crying, i'm sorry." you're turning your face away when he grabs it, hiding your ruined face with dirty palms. "hey, come on, I mean it."

and, you already forgive him. because, why wouldn't you? now, you're more embarrassed than anything. you want him. he wants you. the sensation—it's in the air, clogging your pores and blocking your airways.

and he tugs your wrists from your face and kisses you like he loves you.

and then, he fucks you like that—finally. raw, pushed face first into your tear-soaked mattress.

toji wouldn't have you any other way. he never really fucks you any other way, except buried to the hilt pressed in doggy. the way your cunt expands around him... god, it just makes him crazy. the bruises that bloom on your ass when he's got two fistfuls, the stretch of skin as he pulls you apart... yeah, he's cooked. he loves this so much. not you. never you.

toji loves his wife to the ends of the earth, but the way you're arching your back and mewl little, embarrassed sounds into your arms is damning. skin-to-skin with your softness is akin to bathing in a bucket of clouds, naked to the core. he opens his eyes to see what he's feeling again, then silently wishes he could see your face.

after all, he made you cry. now, he has to make it all better.

and you two start to feel a bit more even when toji pulls the heaviness of his cock out of you, sharp teeth bared as he goes face-first into your sobbing, stretched hole. biting down on your sheet silences the cry you give him, but toji wants to hear you.

so, he reaches his big arm over your bowed body, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your face from the mattress. he knows you're cumming before you do, and he wants to hear it.

needs to taste it. yearns to be as close as possible to you.

[nephynes]

jungwon being such a sucker for tatas 🛐

in my head jungwon is a tits guy soooo

MDNI

══════════════════════════

There isn't a single position in the world that your boyfriend can't somehow turn into an excuse to grope you.

Sitting on the couch with his head in your lap, arms wrapped around your waist, and hands up your shirt, cupping your tits like they're just... there for him. Like he owns them. Like they're not part of your body, but some security blanket he needs to function. He doesn't even look at you half the time. He just scrolls on his phone, scrolling through apps with his thumb while his fingers absentmindedly tweak your nipples under the cotton of your sleep shirt.

He does it with the same casualness as cracking his knuckles. Gentle, patient rolls between his fingers, tugging slightly every few minutes just to keep you on edge. He's not even hard—it's not about getting off. It's just his comfort, his rhythm, his thing.

"Jungwon," you say, soft but exasperated. He looks up, blinking slowly like he's just now realized what he's doing. But his hands don't move.

"Hm?"

"You don't have to touch me every second of the day, you know."

He just pouts a little. "Yes I do."

You give him a look, but he ducks his head and latches onto your chest like you're the one being ridiculous.

"M'sorry, princess" he mumbles against your skin, kissing the swell of your breast lazily. "They just... help me think."

"You're not even thinking."

He shrugs and slides his other hand under your shirt. "Still helps."

When you're in bed, it's worse.

He physically can't fall asleep unless he's got your tits in his hands—pressed together in his grip like a makeshift pillow, or your back to his chest with one hand shoved under your shirt and the other curled around your waist. You've woken up more times than you can count to him sucking your tits in his sleep, lips latched around your nipple like it's instinctual.

Sometimes, you pretend to be asleep and just watch him. His eyebrows furrow in his sleep like he's focused, like this means something to him, maybe he's dreaming about it.

And it would almost be cute, almost, if he didn't turn feral every time he had a bad day. Because when that happens, he's not subtle about it.

He comes in grumbling under his breath, eyes half-lidded, tossing his keys down like the world has upset him. You open your mouth to ask him how his day was, but he's already on you—arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you down onto the couch and burying his face in your chest before you can even sit properly.

You giggle a little, stroking his hair. “Bad day?”

"Mhm," he hums, already hiking your shirt up. "Don't wanna talk. Just wanna stay here."

"Let me guess—here," you gesture to your chest, "means my boobs?" He groans like he's in pain. "Stop teasing me. You know I can't relax until I've got them in my mouth."

You roll your eyes, but you lift your shirt anyway. "You're so dramatic."

He doesn't respond. Just presses hot, open-mouthed kisses across your chest like he's kissing away the stress of the day. Then his mouth wraps around your nipple and he sucks. Long, slow pulls—like he's feeding, like he's addicted, and the whimper that escapes his throat makes your breath catch in yours.

His eyes flutter shut. His fingers even sink into your waist.

And he just stays like that. Breathing you in. Tongue lapping lazily over your sensitive skin while you cradle his head like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're like a baby," you murmur.

"No I'm not," he slurs, already half-asleep, lips still moving. "My dick is so hard right now, baby."

You blink and feel it pressed against your thigh, already knowing what's coming next. No matter what position he takes you in, spooning, missionary, bent over the counter, his hands will never leave your chest. Even when he's fucking into you like he can't get enough, he's still suckling like it keeps him grounded, like it keeps him alive.

"Jungwon," you sigh, breathless already.

He kisses your sternum, then looks up at you with the softest eyes you've ever seen.

"I love you," he whispers, "but I might love them more."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nuzzles in deeper. "Don't make me choose."

You're half-asleep when the weight of him settles on top of you. You can still feel how raw your nipples are now.

At first, you think it's just one of his usual nighttime cuddles, warm chest pressed to yours, face buried somewhere between your neck and collarbone. But then his hands push under your shirt, his palms are hot, possessive and there's a low, almost breathless murmur against your skin.

"Lift it," Jungwon says, voice rough with sleep but steady with intention. "Wanna see."

You blink through the haze. "What time is it?"

He doesn't answer. Just sits back on your hips, straddling your stomach, completely naked, cock hard and already leaking against the soft dip between your breasts.

He watches you with dark eyes, expectant.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Be good for me. Let me fuck them."

You shiver.

There's no whine in his voice this time. Just calm, quiet need. And you obey, half because you want to, half because it's always like this with him, he wants it, so you give.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. He watches the way your tits bounce free with something like reverence. One hand wraps around the base of his cock while the other glides up your thigh, over your stomach, and down between your legs, slipping effortlessly into your panties.

His fingers are already inside you before you can react—slow, deep pumps, curling just right.

"Good girl," he praises softly, using his other hand to line himself up between your breasts. "Keep holding them like that."

You do. You always do.

He thrusts forward, letting the head of his cock glide slick between the softness of your tits. Your body trembles as he fingers you deeper, his wrist moving with an ease that makes you clench around him.

"Can feel how wet you are," he moans, watching your face like he's memorizing every twitch. "You like letting me do this, huh? Like being used like this."

You nod, eyes fluttering, breath hitching as his fingers find that perfect spot inside you.

"Use your hands," he instructs gently, hips picking up a rhythm between your breasts. "Press them together for me—just like that."

His cock slides through the warm valley you've made, slick and swollen, dragging along your skin while his fingers fuck into you in slow, purposeful motions. He doesn't rush. Doesn't even moan. Just breathes heavier, leans forward slightly, lets his thumb circle your clit like he knows exactly what you need.

"You're perfect," he says, not even breathless. Just focused. Worshipful. "Always give me what I want."

You let out a soft whimper as your thighs tense, your fingers struggling to keep your tits squeezed together while pleasure curls low in your stomach. His cock is glistening now, smeared with precum and your own slick from where his fingers have been wrecking you.

He shifts slightly—grinding harder between your tits, his hand between your legs fucking you faster now, like he's trying to get you off at the same time.

"Let go for me," he says, more command than request. "Come on. Show me how much you like this."

You do—fall apart around his fingers with a sharp cry, thighs trembling beneath him. “Jun—Oh my God!” He watches you ride it out, still stroking himself between your tits, eyes fixed on your flushed, dazed face.

And when he finally cums—spilling across your chest in thick, hot ropes—it's with a low, guttural groan and his hand gripping your hip like he's anchoring himself.

“Ah! Shit shit shit! Oh fuck!” “I feel like I’m going insane.” He says continuing to rut up, overstimulating himself before finally calming down.

He doesn't move for a long minute. Just breathes, inhales and exhales where he’s situated on top of you.

Then leans forward, dragging his fingers slowly out of you and slipping them into his mouth, licking them clean without breaking eye contact.

"Didn't even need to fuck you," he mutters, kissing the space between your tits. "Just this. Just you."

You're still trying to catch your breath when he lays back down on top of you, smearing his release between your bodies like he couldn't care less. And then, just like always, his face buries into your chest again.

Safe.

══════════════════════════

• a/n: these reqs are getting fun 🤤

[adrianastrix]

I would like to add that you can know an artist by their work, but not surface-level things like "is attracted to x" or "likes y" or "thinks acting like it is fine" just because one or two characters happen to share those traits. Things that come from the author usually become patterns throughout their whole fiction, and the pattern might seem "likes x, dislikes y", but if you read an author's biography, it might immediately become "oh, it's the author's abusive parent here" or "oh, it's the author's pleasant memories about their childhood or college", or "hey author's spiritual beliefs/existential conflicts, haven't seen you in a whole 20 seconds, would you believe it!".

I can say with confidence that any character I spend long enough developing end up with traits from me (and not just traits I like in me), but it's not a conscious, planned process, so it's hard to gauge the "me/not me" ratio in any of them without a lot of introspection. Even for me, the one who created them and supposedly know myself better than anyone.

In Ryoko's case (though it might be a hell of a projection), I felt a kindred soul in the "scientific fascination" club. Science and scientific interest is always regarded as something cold and calculated, that disregards basic empathy and decency, but it's the same as saying that love is cold and calculating because you only see TV psychopaths exhibiting it. The main difference between scientific interest and love is that, when you love something, you are attracted to it and want it closer to you. With scientific interest, you don't need to love the thing. You might even start by hating it. But you need to understand it, and, if you are honest in your scientific ethics, you will want to present your object of study was accurately as possible and will force yourself to not disregard its virtues because of your bias. Because bias weaken arguments and open yourself to attack by rival scientists.

And that, I think, is one of the reasons Delicious in Dungeon can be so appealing to people even if Ryoko herself don't care much for most foods or by certain body types. She was presenting her world as a scientist sees nature: fascinating by what it is, by it's variety and mystery. It's not disgusting or scary because you don't like or understand it, that's exactly what intrigues you.

I'm pretty sure that, despite her neighbour being off-putting to her with his habit of taking out the trash semi-naked, in the face of something she doesn't like or understand, the scientist in her didn't went "ew, he must be dangerous or disgusting", but "why would someone (that I have other evidence towards being 'normal') act in that way I don't like or understand?". And that's why Senshi isn't a walking gag screaming "BEING SEMI-NAKED IS FUNNY BECAUSE IT'S DISGUSTING AND NO ONE NORMAL WOULD DO THAT", but a person that might be a bit eccentric, but is otherwise normal and functional. Like her neighbour. And, like her neighbour, some people also find him funny and a bit off-putting and some people are thirsty for him.

Saw this on Twitter and I obligatory need to share it

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 kiss me beneath the milky twilight ! | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; your first kiss with amphoreus men :)

love mail — short ? ish ? i'm rly like 5050 on it idk whats short anymkre ( ﾟ□ﾟ) hiiii guys ! :D im rly curious which hsr character reminds u of me (totally stolen from airi) LOL this was kind of fun i love intimacy its cute (；^ω^)

anaxa is a bit of a romantic at heart, even if the cold glares and scary aura act as if otherwise. he doesn't know why people want to explain it, he loves you. why would he be cruel if his heart only beats for you? common sense, he thinks.

and you can feel just how fast his heart is beating as you lay on top of him, under the stars and anaxa's back on the grass, stargazing in the silence of the night. words aren't exchanged because you two have come to realize that not every silence needs to be filled, just appreciated. it isn't every day that the world is quiet enough to hear anaxa's soft breaths, some sort of proof he's real. that he's still alive to enjoy this moment. and he can't be more thankful to the gods he doesn't believe in for the kindness he's always cursed them for never having.

"dove?" he calls to you, bringing his hand to your cheek and bringing you up closer to his face. "yes, anaxagoras?" cursed heart, fluttering at the little giggle that comes with you saying his name. you say it so.. fondly, no one could ever compare.

the night has been perfect, your existence has consumed his every thought, and it's made him think about only one thing; "i need to kiss them."

enough time has passed, right? it's been a couple of months, he feels confident, but also hoping that the ground under him would swallow him whole.

all he needs is an indication you also want this, that you've been yearning for his lips the way he's dreamed about yours every night. (pleasedon'tthinkhe'sweird)

while stuck in his train of thought, he's realizing now that he's just been staring at you. smiling all sweetly— which makes this worst—cause you look so pure while his thoughts are far from innocent.

"would.. it be too crude to.. tell you that i want you? that.." you need to stop looking at him like that, with those eyes that capture his attention every time. "that i want you.. to kiss me. kiss me till i grow sick from the taste of you."

and you do, pressing your lips against his as he can only smirk. his request was a trick hypothetical, he'll never want to stop. he's obsessed, you have to deal with him now.

mydei was celebrating your fourth month together, yes he's the type of guy to celebrate monthly anniversaries... sue him for being in love... but yes. four months isn't a lot of time but phainon's been asking about first kisses, which has YET to happen but there's really no rush. he doesn't wanna force anything you're not yet ready for, putting into consideration it's something so big. the first kiss has to be special, which is why he's in the process of making you an entire full course meal of your favorite dishes. all while you sit and look gorgeous by the counter, watching him like he's doing the most attractive thing a man can do. all while in a soft pink apron and his hair tied up since he thinks it gets into the food sometimes which is his worst fear.

what was he thinking again? right... right! not burning his hand. completely lost his train of thought after you complimented how nice he looked at this very moment. he could swear you had a certain look in your eyes, hungry for something entirely unrelated to food. may the aeon's forsake his heart for having it stutter like this. but also don't make it stop, he loves it, a bit too much.

when dinner is served, mydei is sure to tend to your every need. want more salt? he's up to get the shaker. water? refilled the pitcher to the very top as well as your glass. "mydei, i'll just get some tissue from the kitche—" he's already up, and you wanna beat him to it, but he's already stopping your path with the biggest smile. "sweetheart, why are you standing?" he chuckles, and you fake a little pout. "i wanna get it on my own. don't wanna have you do everything."

"if i'm not doing everything for you, i'm not doing things right." he counters while his hands travel to your waist, humming a little murmur of your name. "so perfect. just sit, i'll get them for you."

matching his advances, your arms quietly move to his shoulders, leaning into him as you usually do. "come on, let me do at least one thing for you."

this is starting to sound like it's not just about tissues. "please, just.. one thing."

are you supposed to be leaning into each others lips when you're asking for tissues? probably not. but mydei doesn't want to let this moment slip, he sees your slight hesitation, which if it was up to him he would've totally just kissed that doubt out of you. but he needs to hear the verbal confirmation. a reassurance that he's doing this right. "there are possibilities wherein this moment passes me without ever knowing what your lips feel against mine. please, please indulge in me for just a moment."

it lasted far longer than a moment. <3

phainon is a bit too much for a flirt to not get to the closest thing to a first kiss. cheek kisses is his favorite form of affection at the moment.. gets him all weak in the knees. he loves seeing you lean in for one and he just asks for another one till he's satisfied. greedy, yes. does he care? not really.

in a flowerfield of just the two of you and the prettiest floral scenery, it's a shot straight out of a movie. you're sat next to phainon, putting little flowers in his hair as he gets to admire you, a perfectly fair trade. you get to love the flowers, he gets to love you. all he ever needs to be honest.

"how did i ever get so lucky?" he sighs dramatically, pulling you closer by the waist as you snicker at his theatrics. "your soul is as beautiful as this field. i'm telling you, angel. if you stay any longer then the aeon's might try to take you away from me." his words have never failed to make you feel valued, and it's but a fraction of how he truly feels about you. he knows he will never be able to put everything into mere words, you deserve so much more than just that.

"phai, please. any sweeter and bees will start to use you for honey." and there it is, one of the many things phainon adores about you. just.. effortlessly matching him. his humor, aesthetics, lifestyle, passion.. all those things, you've perfectly matched his own. "i can take a few stings."

because it felt right, he kisses your cheek a couple of times, making you giggle and jokingly try to push him away, even if your strength is basically at zero and almost pulling him closer.

when he's finished, the blue haired hero points at his lips and smirks. "wanna return the favor, baby? right here is perfect."

it isn't the first time he's made this joke, and it probably won't be the last, but for once you feel.. ready. like it's right.

so when you close the gap between your lips and his, phainon absolutely malfunctions for a second. before locking in and kissing you with gentle fervor, one hand barely on your cheek because he wants to reassure you that you're free to pull away.

and when you don't, he's on cloud 9 the whole time. takes you into his arms and you both fall into the flowers, not breaking the kiss for a moment as laughter and lips crashing against one another fill the air.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[nakidoriii]

Smutty Drabble/Head Cannons

Prompt: how they initiate sex with you for the first time.

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Shidou Ryusei, Oliver Aiku, Bachira Meguru, and Kunigami Rensuke

Warnings: MDNI!!! breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, and casual sex

All characters have been aged up! 21+

🅸🆂🅰🅶🅸 🆈🅾🅸🅲🅷🅸

You and Isagi have been dating for a month.

Has contemplated bringing it up to you for 24 business days.

Thinks about you when you aren’t with him.

Definitely has masterbated to the thought you. Especially when you wear his jersey. He LOVES when you wear his jersey.

Decides to take you out on a date somewhere nice before your first time with him.

But once you get home….. his demeanor is completely different.

Kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you.

He’s a munch!!!! Be so forreal..

He wants you to sit on his face and he’s so happy to be in between those thighs.

“You taste so fucking good. I can’t get enough of you.”

Praises you as you ride his dick.

“You’ve been waiting for that dick huh?”

After care king!!

🆂🅷🅸🅳🅾🆄 🆁🆈🆄🆂🅴🅸

You and Shidou have been texting for 2 weeks and he’s finally in your city.

Brutally honest about his intentions so of course..Y’all fuck on sight.

“The only dinner I want is in between your legs and I’m fucking starving.”

He will rip your clothes off of you if you aren’t fast enough.

Eats you out from the back because he’s an ass man (let’s be real.)

Loves when you deep throat him.

“You’re such a slut for me. Taking my dick allll the way down your throat. What a good girl.”

Fucks you in a head lock. (i'm not elaborating)

“You want my load, pretty girl. Don't worry, I’ll fill you up to the fucking brim.”

Lasts for a lonnnggg asss timmmeee.

Groans in your ear when he’s drilling into you.

“Fuuccckk, I love this shit. Let me fuck you all the time, kay?”

Makes you squirt.

He does exactly as he says and fills you to the brim with his cum.

Does after care but he has a breeding kink so he’s very slow to clean up his mess.

“Wanna go again, pretty girl?”

🅾🅻🅸🆅🅴🆁 🅰🅸🅺🆄

“What’s a pretty girl like you sitting here by yourself? I’d be happy to give you some company.”

Such a sweet talker.

He can’t help but to stare at your breasts halfway into the conversation. You don’t give a fuck because you know he’s not shit. You’re not looking for a boyfriend, just a good fuck.

“You wanna get out of here? I can show you a better time in my hotel room.”

Next thing you know, your panties are pushed to the side as he devours you.

HE'S A REAL EATER…( I stand by this)

Makes you squirt on his face and then kisses you after.

Suggest you ride him because he’s got a waist fetish and wants to see those gorgeous tits bounce.

“What a good lil cowgirl you are.”

After a while, he puts you in doggy style to get a another angle of your waist as he fucks you into the mattress.

Cums all over your ass.

Will clean up his mess and thanks you for the great pussy.

Leaves the minute you fall asleep.

🅱🅰🅲🅷🅸🆁🅰 🅼🅴🅶🆄🆁🆄

You and Bachira have been mutuals on social media for a few months. He comments on your stories, answers every poll you post in close friends and often flirts with you.

𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚊_𝟾: 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺

𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚊_𝟾: 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗… 𝚒’𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚊_𝟾: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕!!! 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢!!

His next game was in your city and he was so quick to invite you. You agreed of course.

After the game, texts you to come down to the tunnel so he could see you.

“You’re telling me I can’t take you back to Japan with me? Guess you’ll have to come over tonight so we can have a proper goodbye.”

It was a proper goodbye alright….

He greeted you at the door with a passionate kiss. It wasn’t long until his tongue was on your other set of lips.

He loves eating pussy too!! (Who would have thought :0

He teases you in many different ways but his favorite way is edging. (Standing ten toes down on this)

“I know you wanna cum but I love seeing you when you're all worked up like this.”

Fucks you on your side so he can get a good look at your face and ass.

Showers you in compliments and super vocal!

“Yea baby, just like that. You look so pretty when you take my cock.”

After care LEGEND. Cuddles with you after taking care of you. Rubs your back while talking about god knows what.

🅺🆄🅽🅸🅶🅰🅼🅸 🆁🅴🆂🆄🅺🅴

Kunigami sees you at the gym quite a bit. So often that you two started working out with each other.

“I’m trying to get like you. Your core strength is unmatched.”

Compliments after compliments! He’s a simp for you really.

He constantly spots you during every workout, touching you respectfully whenever he can.

Watching you work out is so difficult for him because all he can think about is how badly he wants to fuck you. He’s a gentleman so he controls himself but it’s getting harder.

“Do you want to go back to my place for dinner? As a thank you for all the core training.”

You both know what you’re coming over for and it’s not fucking dinner….

Once you get to his place, you complain about your back hurting.

He offers to massage it out for you (he thinks he’s slick….)

You pull your hair up, revealing the nape of your neck (His favorite spot) before he starts the massage.

Before you know it, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter getting your pussy ate.

He’s gentle when he eats pussy, savoring every moment of it.

Holds your legs open as you cum so he can continue as you orgasm.

Fucks you while holding you just because he can.

Isn’t very vocal but I have a feeling he grunts and WHIMPERS (Kunigami, the man you are)

Puts you in a mating press.

“Uhh, fuck. You’re gonna make me cum, pretty girl.”

Lowkey a gooner… he definitely makes the hottest faces during sex and when he’s cumming.

After care is his middle name!! Continues giving you the massage after he helps you shower. Goes into great detail about how long he’s wanted to do this as you fall asleep on him.

Wakes you up with head and cooks you breakfast. (I’m trying to be normal about him…)

These head cannons are a mix of true head cannons and my opinion!

Hiii Bluelock babes✨ I’m new to writing for this fandom so I thought I post some Drabble/personal head cannons! You can definitely tell who my favorites are Oop! Lol!

If you like the Bachira and Oliver head cannons you should read my mini series “Let the Games Begin".

Requests are open :)

Masterlist

Please do not alter or steal my writing ©️

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Cupid's Arrow

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: You and Joaquin don't get along. He doesn't take things seriously and he think you don't loosen up. Well now you two are paired up on a mission and, well, it doesn't go well.

prompt #1457

“Have your eyes always looked like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the purple color… and like the pretty specks? I’ve never seen someone with eyes like you.”

“You think they’re pretty?” from @writers-are-writers

Warning: mentions of experimentation on a minor

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Like many enhanced individuals, your backstory isn't sunshine and rainbows. You were a teenager when you got sick and you dad was desperate. After losing your mom, he couldn't bare to lose you. So when someone at the hospital said they could help you for free, your father immediately jumped at the chance.

Turns out, they were rogue doctors messing with otherworldly substances, trying to create the ultimate cure. They injected you with the "cure" and, while it did take away your sickness, it gave you purple eyes and dangerous powers.

The doctors convinced your dad to let them keep you, under the guise of making sure your sickness doesn't come back. In reality, they started to train you. They poked and prodded and pushed you to your limits until you couldn't take it anymore.

When you finally escaped, you tried to look for your father. Turns out, he was killed because he saw and knew too much.

"He was collateral damage," one doctor rasped out before you snapped his neck with your mind.

Now you're an adult. You've done some pretty shitty things in order to live, but now you're making up for it. Hence why you're now working with Captain America and his sidekick, The Falcon.

"Amethyst, you and Joaquin take the lower levels. I'll take the upper levels."

"Copy that," you grumble through your comms and follow Joaquin up various flights of stairs, checking each floor for any hostages or hostiles.

"I think I know why they call you Amethyst."

"Oh really?" you ask in a deadpan tone.

"It's 'cause of your eyes, right?" you don't answer him, instead keeping your dagger filled hands up in defense, "That's totally it right? I mean, it's kinda obvious now that I think about it. Originally I thought it meant you would should like crystals out of your hands or something. But then I read your file-"

You snap your head towards him, your purple eyes practically glowing in the dim light, "You read my file?"

He shrugs, "Background checks," he says nonchalantly as he inspects every room on the left.

You continue to search the rooms on the right, "So you saw the notes about how I was experimented on as a kid and trained to use my powers for evil?"

"I-Yeah."

"And did you see what the project was called in regards to me?"

"...Was it Amethyst?"

You pause and look and look at him, "It was. Because of the amethyst colored liquid they pumped me with that gave me my powers and changed the color of my eyes. If you're going to read up on me, at least read everything. I'd rather have that than you come up with shitty theories." You continue to search, eventually reaching the end of the hall.

"I was just trying to make conversation."

"It's not the time for that, Torres. Read the fucking room. We're trying to save lives and you wanna do ice breakers?"

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood!"

You scoff, "That's the problem with you! You never take things seriously! You always make light of a situation!"

"Maybe because you're so fucking serious that it dampens everyone's mood!"

"Well sorry for being so serious when it comes to people's lives! At least one of us cares about them!"

"And there you go, twisting my words to make me sound like a dick!"

"Because you are one! And you-"

Something whizzes past your ear and lands in Joaquin's chest.

"Shit!" you cry out and immediately turn. Your eyes glow a bright purple as you lift the assailant with your mind and throw them up to the ceiling and let them fall.

They groan and you lift them to the ceiling, letting them fall again. This time no sound comes from them and they remain still.

You turn back to Joaquin and assess him. A pink and red arrow is sticking out from his chest, "What the fuck?" you murmur to yourself.

A sheen of sweat is forming over Joaquin's face, "What's your verdict?"

You immediately call Sam on comms, "Sam? Sam! Joaquin's hit. A hostile got the jump on us."

"Shit, is he okay?"

"He got shot in the chest with...a pink and red arrow."

"What? You know what doesn't matter. I'm on my way. Hang tight."

"We're on level three."

"Copy that. See you in a bit and keep Joaquin awake."

"Got it," you clear the comms and put your attention back on Joaquin, "How're you feeling?"

He gives a lazy grin, "You called me Joaquin."

"That's your name."

"Yeah, but you always call me Torres. My name sounds good coming from your lips."

You cock a brow at him, "Uuuhh okay?"

“Have your eyes always looked like that?” he asks, slowly pointing to them.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the purple color… and like the pretty specks? I’ve never seen someone with eyes like you.”

“You think they’re pretty?”

"Yeah. Like you. You're...so pretty."

You immediately call Sam back on comms, "Where the fuck are you? Torres is getting delirious!"

"Incoming!" Sam yells as he flies through a window. You shield yourself and Joaquin from any glass.

Sam retracts his wings and rushes to Joaquin, "Oh shit. How are you feeling, kid?"

Joaquin looks up at him with a sort of hazy look in his eyes, "Isn't Amethyst pretty? Her eyes. Her smile."

"See what I mean?" you gesture to the fallen Falcon.

"Alright, c'mon, kid. Let's get you looked at," you help Sam bring Joaquin into his arms.

"Don't touch the arrow. It was probably laced with some sort of drug."

"Right. Got it. Let's go. Redwing cleared the other levels. We're good. The others will take care of the rest."

You follow him out of the building and the waiting med truck that take him and rush him to the nearest hospital.

___________________________

Even though you and Joaquin don't get along, you still worry for him. You hoped the arrow didn't hit anything vital, you hoped whatever drug that was in his system didn't kill him. You hoped he'd get out alive because, sure, he was annoying and happy all the time, but it was a little refreshing. Refreshing to see someone not drowning darkness and despair like you are.

You're in the waiting room with Sam sitting in silence. Your leg is bouncing and your mind is all over the place. When you start to spiral, things in the room start floating and Sam has to nudge you to bring you back.

"Sorry."

"It's okay...honestly, it's good to see you worry about him. Thought you hated him," Sam says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, "I don't hate him. I just...find him annoying sometimes...and too cheery, and so unserious. Honestly-"

Sam holds a hand up, "I get it. He can be a lot sometimes, but give him a break. He's young."

"So am I."

"True, but not all of us are hardened by our hardships."

You snort, "Not yet. You're getting there, though," you playfully nudge his knee with yours.

"Captain?" a doctor calls for Sam and you and he stand.

"How is he?"

"He'll recover, from the wound at least. It didn't penetrate deep or hit any vital organs or arteries. But whatever that arrow was laced with, it's something we don't have in our database."

"Did you save the arrow?"

"Yes," the doctor hands Sam the bagged arrow.

"Thank you. Are we free to see him?"

"Yes, but we'll keep him here for a seventy-two hour hold just to make sure whatever he was laced with doesn't give him lasting affects." The doctor then looks at you, "I'm assuming you're Amethyst?"

You look at her suspiciously, "Yes, why?"

She chuckles, "He's been asking for you. I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you."

"Oh, uh, thanks," you give her a polite smile and follow Sam down the hall to Joaquin's room.

Sam enters first and you stay by the door, "You get knocked down and you get back up again. Maybe we should change your name to Phoenix instead of Falcon. Always rising from the ashes."

Joaquin chuckles, "Nah. I'll stick with Falcon." He turns his head towards you and his smile grows, "Hey gorgeous. What're you doing all the way over there?"

You let out a tired sigh, "And the drugs haven't worn off yet."

"What drugs?"

"The drugs that are making you talk nonsense."

Joaquin frowns, "I'm not talking nonsense. You are gorgeous. You're also smart and witty and-"

You interrupt him, "Joaquin, we don't get along. We can barely stand being around each other for a minute without arguing."

He shrugs, "All couples argue."

You laugh in disbelief, "We aren't a couple."

"Oh...wanna be?" he gives you a smirk and a cocked brow.

Sam holds in a laugh, "Alright, Romeo, why don't you rest up and heal first before you go all Mr. Romantic?"

Joaquin looks at you with hopeful eyes, "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

You really want to say 'no'. You're tired and sweaty and don't think you can stand hearing Joaquin flirt with you more. It's so...unlike him. But then Sam gives you a look that basically says, 'You better say 'yes' or else', and it makes you grit your teeth.

"Fine," you murmur and Joaquin settles further into the bed, "Awesome."

It takes two hours for Joaquin to fall asleep. Despite you wanting to leave earlier, you feel bad for doing now. So you decide to stay back and keep him company throughout the night.

______________________

When you wake, you see Sam standing over you with arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

You groan as you sit up, stretching your arms and legs, "Don't. I just felt bad leaving him."

"Whatever you say," he responds with a chuckle.

Joaquin eventually stirs awake, "Hey."

You stand up and get some distance to stretch out your body. Sam takes up your spot, "How're you feeling, Casanova?"

Joaquin looks at his mentor confused, "Casanova?"

Sam chuckles, "Yeah. You were hit with Cupid's Bow and was trying to wine and dine, Miss Dark Cloud over here all night."

You roll your eyes, "Leave him alone, Sam. He was drugged. He didn't mean anything by it."

Joaquin sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "What'd I say?"

"You were calling her pretty, asking her out. Really laying on the charm."

"Oh...sorry," he says, shyly looking at you.

You shrug, "I know you didn't mean it."

"I...But I do think you're pretty," he looks at you, no hint of sarcasm or joking behind them.

You suddenly feel very warm, "Oh, uh, thanks. I-I guess." You look away, "I'm going to get the doctor so they can check up on you," you hastily exit the room, trying to calm your racing heart. Just yesterday, you would've scoffed and told Joaquin to fuck off. But...But now why are you suddenly okay with him thinking you're pretty? Maybe you got some of the drug in your system through second-hand or something....

Joaquin slumps in his bed, scolding himself for making you uncomfortable, last night and now. He sighs and looks at Sam, "So...cupid's arrow? That's what you're calling it?"

"I mean it was pink and red and it made you all lovey dovey. Tell me, what else would you call that?!"

[ouchmaster6000]

Maybe I'm just not watching the right isekai, but I can't remember a single one where someone just replaces someone in the middle of their life, it's literally always they are reincarnated as a baby, with the implication that their was never another person for them to replace in the first place. (Or in the case of Mushoku Tensei, I think in the light novels Rudeus finds out Paul and Zeniths baby would have been stillborn had Rudeus not been reincarnated, something he is relieved to find out cause he was legit worried he might have unintentionally destroyed the original soul by reincarnating in his body.)

Even My Next Life as a Villainess, where she replaces a canon character in a game, frames it as her hitting her head causes her to suddenly remember the past life she had all along. (Though I only saw the first couple episodes of that one.)

Also, in regards to OP finding the idea of a person having no friends or family in their old life as "profoundly sad", I don't personally see it that way?

Because that's all in the past and the premise is the person being reborn into (or transported to) a happier life.

A profoundly sad story would be one that has a tragic ending, not a tragic beginning. A lot of happy, hopeful stories have the characters start in a really bad place, and I don't see how this is any different.

I can also say that while I do have friends and family I would miss if I was isekaied, I can also say if the new life I got was significantly better with little downside, I would ultimately be happy I got isekaied.

So in more blatant wish fulfillment scenarios were a main character instantly gets a harem and super powers and their are no major threats that can cause serious damage to him, though it's a bit weird if from a character writing perspective when their past life NEVER comes up in dialogue or internal thoughts, I don't think it's all that surprising that a person in that scenario would still be ultimately happy about their situation and in no hurry to get back.

I feel like the only exception would be if the person had an actual wife and kids, but thats clearly not the target audience for these kinds of stories, so that's also not something the protagonists of these stories have. At most they will have parents, siblings and platonic friends.

And like it or not, the desire for a romantic partner is something that ultimately tends to triumph the desire for platonic friendships for most people who aren't aroace, and most people past a certain age are at least subconsciously aware their parents and older relatives won't be around forever and at least SOMEWHAT prepared for that inevitably.

Isekai just seems like a profoundly sad genre of fantasy by design. Yes you have rad JRPG powers now and you get to hang out with big tiddy elves who love you but do you not have like. Friends that you mourn. Family that you miss. Habits that you can’t practice now without tripping. Familiar sounds and smells you’ll never know again

Either you did and you don’t care in the face of JRPG powers and elf tiddies, or you didn’t, and both options are profoundly sad in their own ways

[ooffmlsorry]

Please Stay

Law x f!reader// hurt?/comfort

Summary: If Law doesn't tell you how he feels, he'll lose you forever...

A/N: this has been plaguing me for days. I wrote half of this in a trance at work for christ's sake! This might have a part two. Takes place at the end of Wano even if I haven't gotten there yet, I'm kind of extrapolating. Reader has a DF kind of like Mantis from Guardians of the Galaxy

"You're not a Heart Pirate!?"

You blink once. Twice. "Uhh...no. I'm just kind of here actually...." You pick at your skin a little to avoid Nami and Robin's shocked gaze. "I met Law on Punk Hazard same as you guys."

"I'm going to miss you soooo much!!" Ikakku draped herself over you dramatically. "I want another girl on the crew!" She whined. "It's miserable with just guys!"

"I thought you guys had a thing going on?" Nami asked.

Hiyori nodded. "I mistakenly thought your closeness to him was romantic in nature as well."

Law was outside listening. He only stopped because he heard his name...coming from your mouth, specifically. He wasn't even going to try to fool himself into believing it was because you were obviously talking about him to the Straw Hats. This wasn't a strategic trade of information--not really. This was "girl talk," and like a pathetic teenage boy skulking around outside the girl's locker room, he wanted to know what you were going to say.

You laughed loudly. Shocked. "Oh god, no!" Whatever is there (soon to be was there) didn't have a name, and you weren't going to be the one to give it one. When you make a wish you tell no one.

Outside Law's hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white between the ink. Oh god, no!? Why the hell not!? He should've left then, but he couldn't make himself leave. How much more time would have to hear your voice? Even if what you said hurt. Maybe it would make it easier to leave you.

Ikkaku shook her head and grinned. "Exactly! My captain's not like that, although..." She paused to think. "He does touch you a lot--"

"Every time you two have had to run somewhere, he grabs your hand!" Nami interjected. "At first I thought you were like Zoro and got lost easily but you're fine! He's just always on you!"

Law hated that Nami was right and that it was so obvious even a Straw Hat (albeit a smarter one) had noticed. When did he allow this? Had the two of you always been this way? He could trace your touch all the back to the day he met you on Punk Hazard. Small contacts of skin as he nursed you back to health. That felt like a lifetime ago.

"Not to mention, you work quite well together. You were able to work with us on his behalf while he went to save his crew members in Rasetsu," Robin said. "That's why we're confused."

"Wow! I didn't know that!" Ikkaku said.

They all were silent, staring at each other.

"So there's truly nothing going on between you and Law?" Hiyori asked.

"Absolutely not!" You said definitively. "Law and I are just...existing in the same space and time....together."

Robin chuckled. "How poetic."

Nami snorted. "So if Law kissed a woman in front of you right now, you wouldn't be jealous?"

"I don't see him doing that," you said in a neutral tone.

"Because you'd be blind with rage?" Ikkaku giggled.

Law frowned so deeply it hurt his face because he knew if someone asked the same question of you, he would be livid. Was he really like a territorial dog over a bone...a "bone" that wasn't even his.

"Because he wouldn't do that." Honestly, you had thought of it before, there were definitely women in Wano that had made eyes at him and..."That would be his right," you said contemplatively.

"I can't make him do anything." You hate how suddenly sad you sound. "I can't make him ask me to join the crew. I can't make him take my advice or listen to me. He does what he wants. What does he need me for?"

"Then you won't be going with him either," Robin said in that thoughtful way you've known her to speak sometimes. Not quite a question, but still a statement--ipso facto.

Your chest tightens. The food you just gorged yourself on sits unpleasantly in your stomach. "No," you said quietly.

Way to bring the fucking mood down, Y/N.

Law's chest ached sharply, an incision pain. That's what it felt like. You weren't going with him. It was as sure as history set into the stone of a poneglyph. Your paths diverged here.

"Did you ask him?"

Your mouth tasted sour and your words came out bitterly. "I'm not doing that." You tried to lighten the mood. You sighed deeply and stretched. "Some things end before they start or they just end, you know? But I've had a lot of fun!"

The truth of the matter was you didn't know if whatever you and Law had going on was strong enough to make out to sea. He found you on the brink of death on Punk Hazard thanks to Cesear's gas. Sitting by a fire in Wano, his hands where they shouldn't have been, your heart fluttering against his ear, he told you saving your life was supposed to be his last good deed.

At the time his confession buoyed you, he was supposed to leave you on Punk Hazard, but then there were the Straw Hats, and Cesear's experiments, and Dressrosa, and Corazon, and Zuo, and Wano, and against all odds, you were still with him. But maybe, he was just telling you you weren't supposed to make it this far in the first place. Your train has arrived at a station, it's time to get off.

The somber mood held on regardless, maybe because Robin wouldn't let it go. It's not like she's some kind of hopeless romantic. Did she want you to cry in front of everyone? Why was the woman you idolized so much still talking? "You have feelings for him," she said. This was decidedly not a question.

If someone had asked ten minutes early, there would have been squeals and pokes and giggles. You would've flushed, your stomach filled with butterflies. Acknowledging your feelings for Law now just felt cruel.

Law kept listening. His ears strained like his life depended on hearing what you said. It shouldn't matter what you say.

"I could fill an ocean with all the things I feel for him, that doesn't mean anything. He's his own person too," you said. Your voice was getting swallowed up by a lump.

It didn't mean he wanted you too. It didn't mean you were sure this would work and he was too. It didn't mean he wouldn't start to control you, that you wouldn't start to resent him. All it meant was that right now, you're staring down the barrel of leaving him and you didn't want to. All it meant was sometimes it felt like your heart beat solely for him.

Law listened to you speak with such sadness, like you were talking at someone's funeral. Eulogizing. Why weren't your feelings enough to propel you to talk to him? Because he's his own person? When has that ever mattered to anyone? Corazon forced him to live. Why couldn't you force him to love you?

He let out a tight shuddering breath. He already knew the answer: because that's not who you are. You try not to treat him like precious glass. He's told you not to, and you try, but it never lasts long. If he had met you at any other time he would've hated the way you are with him, so gentle and easily fooled by his walls and masks. But after Dressrosa...he needed you. When he pushed you away, you left without an argument, quieted yourself around him until he was ready. And when you did come, you came with things he needed and didn't ask anything else of him.

Whether by Haki or your Devil Fruit, you could feel Law's presence now. He was right outside the door listening. You could feel him yearning, it wrapped around you like a thick sent, lassoing you like prey.

You stood suddenly. "I need air," you said. "And when I come back we're talking about something else. Anything else! Please! I hate sappy goodbyes."

Law couldn't help scoffing. It was only a matter of time before you noticed him. Maybe you had the whole time and spoke because you knew he was listening.

You closed the door behind you to find Law standing there like you knew he would be. Being face-to-face with him was...hard. For having won against Kaido and Big Mom he looked so sad...which was your fault.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop if you don't want your feelings hurt," you said. Why even try to be mean with him, you know you can't.

Law just looks at you in the way he knows you hate. He knows without your Observation Haki or your Devil Fruit you'd be lost to reading him.

Sadness is clear. Longing. Anxiety. Desperation. Admiration.

"You're reading me," Law said finally. "Stop it."

"If you don't talk you know I won't understand," you said. "It's all best guesses and instincts anyway, especially without touching you."

Law wasn't listening anymore, he was looking at the door behind you. Where the other ladies were definitely listening. Even Robin probably was, even if she smiled and claimed innocence later. "I'm not talking here," Law said.

You couldn't help smiling to yourself, private as always. It was awkward to step into Law's arms again, he didn't wrap his arm around anyone else he Shambles away with. Only you. And you were both painfully aware of the press of each other's bodies no matter how loosely Law tried to hold you.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, leaving the ball in his court. So that was it, then? He either flayed himself to the bone or he would never see you again. But no worries, don't rush. He scoffed and looked away from you.

You were spirited away somewhere private, the lights of town at a bit of a distance. Bugs hummed loudly out here.

You don't need your Devil Fruit to feel how charged the air is with Law's emotions. Desperation and anguish were so loud it screamed. Law's eyes bore into your back.

You felt nauseous, both from teleporting and the conversation you were about to have. "You heard my side," your mouth is so dry your lips click as you speak. "Your turn. I won't rush you, though."

His heart pounded.

Just say something!

"You want me to do more than tell you to stay," Law said. His voice shook, it was degrading and embarrassing. "I can't do that...I can't promise anything."

You sighed. The lump in your throat grew larger, "I know. That's why I won't ask."

Damn you, Law wanted to say. He wanted you to be selfish enough to want him but never selfish enough to leave him. He was pathetic.

"Stay...stay anyway, Y/N," Law said. "Come with me."

You've woven yourself into his new existence beyond his past. You've become a part of his life. It feels like his DNA has changed and you're a part of it now. And he's too much of a coward to learn how to fill it with something else.

He took a deep breath and tried to force out the words you needed to hear. The words he wanted to give you. "Please come with me. I don't want..." I don't want to lose you. "I don't..." I don't want to leave without you. The words kept getting stuck. "Don't..." Don't go. Law clenched his fist and growled in frustration.

You stopped Law's struggling, pulled him into your arms. "That's close enough. Thank you," you said quietly, gently. You ease your arms over the tense muscles under his skin. He was cool to the touch from the sweat clinging to him.

The relief settling over his body bleeds into yours and you feel everything Law's keeping inside of him. You felt something new swirling in there with everything else since the last time you touched his skin. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, so you weren't either, but he was afraid it was beginning to be love. You can feel it through the contact of his skin. Something like love.

"Come with me, Y/N," Law said quietly into the top of your head.

You pulled back to look at him. "You want me to join your crew?"

"I...I want you to come with me," Law's cheeks flushed heavily and his eyes moved away from yours. Joining his crew and coming with him were two different things to Law, a delineation he was making right now.

"Oh... you mean as something you can't leave behind," you said. Your face felt warm. You could practically hear Penguin and Shachi in your head: "We don't care if the Captain brings his girl on board!" "Anything to keep him in a good mood and off our asses!"

"Yes..." Law spoke tentatively. "As something I can't leave behind."

You exhale deeply and swallow, you're careful not to push your anxiety into Law. He was battling his own already. "So we're seeing where this goes....Okay."

I think it'll kill me if I don't, Law thought.

You looked into Law's eyes. The mask was cracked, you could see the fear in his eyes and feel it too. But he was trying to look resolute for whatever reason (bless his heart!). His jaw was clenched, eyes almost defiant in an attempt to hide how absolutely terrified he was.

You could feel him gearing up for something but you had no idea what. Like he was bracing himself. You stare up into his handsome face, a hand cups the side of his face and you smile. "What's going on in there?" You spoke like you were talking to a spooked animal.

Law deflated slightly with an exhale, expression grim. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Nothing. I'm happy you said you would come with me," he said.

"I'm happy too, Law" you whispered back.

You were going with him. He could work up the nerve to kiss you later...even if it took another five months.

[russellbee]

MEETCUTESNYC LESTAPPEN VER. (MV1, CL16)

charles leclerc x driver!childhood friend!reader x max verstappen (no team or gender specified) summary. you, max, and charles are approached by the meetcutesnyc instagram account, and this is how it goes. (1k) warnings. should be none!! andi's note!! obviously this is not the oscar fic i was working on but i keep seeing these reels on ig and i got inspired :) — if you don't know what i'm talking about the account is meetcutesnyc & they go up to couples and ask them how they met, etc.

nav+masterlist

meetcutesnyc Sports Rivals

["Excuse me." You, Max, and Charles all look up at the sound of his voice. Max has a blank look on his face, expecting a fan interaction, while you and Charles both look a little spooked. "Are you two a couple?" The person behind the camera gestures to you and Charles.

Max snorts, "All three of us, actually." You roll your eyes as Charles nods. "That's awesome. Would you guys mind telling me the story of how you all met?" Charles visibly lightens up, and he nods eagerly.

"I will tell the story."

The camera cuts, and now you're all standing along the edge of the sidewalk with Charles in the middle. "I met them both in karting when I was seven, but they met when they were younger. They hated each other, and at first, I played the mediator, for a while, actually. But then, Max really started to get on my nerves." Charles laughs a bit, his cheeks turning rosy. "So we," He gestures to you and him, "Became his number one hate group. He was our enemy." Max rolls his eyes at 'enemy' before interjecting.

"I was their enemy because I was better, of course." You and Charles both begin speaking over each other, arguing about your skills. Max just laughs as you both go on. Eventually, Charles calms down enough to continue. "Then, it was 20, uh, 2015. They come up to me and say that they went out on a date with Max-- him of all people! I was outraged. First, he got an F1 seat, then he got my crush, too? Oh, it was horrible. It destroyed me."

You shake your head, an amused smile on your face, "He's being dramatic, he literally asked me out the next day." Charles gasps. "I am telling the story, let me continue."

"So, I learn of this and then I go to Max and tell him about my feelings for them. Then Max just goes 'oh I like you too if you're cool with that'. I was shocked! Who wouldn't be? So, the next day I go up to them and I ask them if they want to go out on a date with me and Max. Obviously, they said yes. And now we are here, many years later."

"What's the secret to ten years together?" Max's face scrunches up in response and he turns toward the two of you. "Has it really been ten years?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Before they can start bickering, you answer the the original question. "We work together so it's really easy to see each other, but when we don't that's a little hard, obviously. But, I think our rivalry keeps things going, even during the off-season, we're arguing or joking about something that happened 13 years ago."

"Racing against each other definitely makes it very interesting. Adds some fun to everything, I think." Max teases, his eyebrows raised. "It's also just nice in the summer; we go on vacation and don't do anything. We just enjoy our time together," Charles adds.

"And what are your names?"

"Charles." "Max." "Y/n."

"Thank you." You wave toward the camera, and the video ends.]

view comments

user charles and y/n being the original max haters...yeah i could've guessed that lol

user the funniest part is they're like his biggest defenders now 😭😭 user the verstappen hater to max defender pipeline is in fact very real, no one can resist his charm ↳ user loser cat dad charm ↳ user user duh ofc user gax rivalry at the end of 2024...where he mentioned how y/n and charles would do anything to defend max...uh huh, yeah cool

user charles being so excited to tell their story 😖 he just knows everyone will eat it up

user and i did. i've watched this video 30 times now and it just keeps getting cuter

user "adds some fun to everything" oh yeah i'm sure it does max 😼

user never forget las vegas 2023...i have those pictures saved to a special pinterest board that i look at every day ↳ user and las vegas 2024...i can't wait for november, las vegas has become their number one race for being insanely hot in public user max always needs to add an innuendo if he's in an interview with either of them 💀

user i was today years old when i learned they've been dating for ten years...i thought this was a recent thing

user you and max apparently 😭 user it's been recent publically, but everyone kinda assumed they've been dating for a while just bc of the way they act

user playing the y/n champagne pour edit on my tv while i watch lestappen interviews on my phone

user #1 y/n edit, good choice user every time i see anything related to any of them, i'm opening my camera roll to watch the edits i've saved

user max looked so offended when the guy didn't realize all three of them were dating 💀 how obvious does he think their relationship is

user literally everyone knew before they announced it lmao ↳ user how do you think they look to an outsider tho? not everyone's an f1 fan ↳ user never forget ted kravitz interviewing y/n pre-silverstone 2022 where they jokingly said they were gonna crash into charles for 'leaking their relationship' and then having to do damage control later when they actually (accidentally) crashed ↳ user user watching those interviews seasons later actually had me crying 😭 literally no one would believe them

user watching this makes me wonder how the grid deals with third-wheeling them all the time, it must get tiring at a certain point

user they seem so fun to be around tho, they're always bickering 🥲 user please tell me you've seen those compilations on yt of clips of the grid being annoyed/rolling their eyes at them whenever they're around 🙏🙏 ↳ user OMG??? i'm about to run to youtube i need to see this

[xvii85ko-skz]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐂 𖦹

—𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬★𖦹

ok so it's no secret that sylus is 100000% a lover boy, so he would definitely be into goodbye kisses and "i love you's".

either if you are talking on the phone or leaving his house or he's leaving yours, he'll hit you with a cute little "i love you. mwah."

of course you're confused the first time he says it, but after a while it becomes a custom between you two.

the little air kisses you will blow to each other from across the room if you were on a mission and happened to see him there (like in valleydream bloom).

or even if he's in a hurry. he'll kiss your cheek and say "i love you" while leaving.

GAHHHAJADAJFKUHAIDHJN. i love him so much😭

—𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞★𖦹

zayne, my sugar king

he totally slips a candy in your pockets whenever you visit him at the hospital.

you thought it was a one-time thing till' he asked if you have been eating the candies he had given you.

you pulled one out of your pocket and waved it around, "i don't know for some reason, sweet treats don't taste as good when i'm eating them by myself..."

to which you both came to a ultimatum of enjoying little candies together.

now, you keep all the candies in a little jar in your house labelled "zaynie-treaties" for the both of you to enjoy whenever he comes over.

—𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛★𖦹

i feel like caleb is the type of guy to send you "good morning" and "good night" texts or just constantly messages you just because.

if he's worried about you? just came back from a dangerous mission with the fleet? sees your watch indicating that your stressed? just made food and thought about you? bored?

he'll text, trust me.

you respond back almost immediately every time as well. you two just can't get enough of each other lol.

these text messages go on for like hours on end, basically to the point that one of you just calls the other because the conversation was just that good lmao.

—𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥★𖦹

i saw this raph headcannon on tiktok that said raphael would somehow always have seashells (or other things like that) from the beach in his pockets, without knowing when or where he picked it up from and i agree!!

but he would always pick his favorite out of the bunch when he comes home and gives it to you whenever he sees you again.

one time he gave you a heart shaped one and said, "from my heart to your pockets" while hitting this goofy pose, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead, outreaching his hand to you.

let's just say that the two of you end up in a fit of giggles afterwards.

—𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫★𖦹

the first time he does it you think he's just being cute but then everytime you see each other xavier boops your nose.

he's a little cutie patootie so he definitely does the little "boop" sound effect while doing it.

now you have to get him back, so you and him start the "booping wars"

whoever gets the first boop on the nose is the loser and has to do whatever the winner says for 10 minutes.

this is too cute, bye 😭