#no really if someone wants to see something in the game tell me

[jaewritesfic]

Melon AU! Part 6

Part 5

While Alfred does what little he can to mend the creature's wounds, Bruce finds himself on the Batcomputer looking through their files on known species.

They've catalogued so much, both from the regular League and Justice League Dark.

Surely in all the combined experiences and knowledge of the vast network of heroes and civilizations that work together with the League there will be something on this creature and his species.

Nothing.

Bruce can't find anything like him in their files, he can't even really find anything close.

It's baffling.

“Our guest has no heartbeat, if that helps at all,” Alfred says casually, drawing up to Bruce's elbow. Bruce casts him a sharp and highly alarmed look. 

“Excuse me?”

Alfred must have just finished his work, his sleeves rolled up and arms and hands freshly scrubbed of green.

“Yes, I was rather alarmed myself when I could find no pulse. With a stethoscope you can find a humming sound in his chest, however. I can only assume that's whatever he has instead - perhaps he simply has no heart. Different organs entirely.”

Bruce sure fucking hopes so. He inputs the added criteria despite being certain he's already covered every nook and cranny of the database he can.

Nothing. Still nothing that remotely resembles the creature in their medical bed.

Movement out of the corner of Bruce's eye brings his attention to Tim, who is approaching from the labs with tablet in hand and a frown on his face. 

He'd taken a sample of the substance their guest bleeds to go analyze it while Alfred worked and Bruce searched.

“I'm going to take a wild guess and say you couldn't find anything,” Tim says. He only actually looks up from the tablet when he draws up next to Bruce, so he can't have developed that guess just from Bruce's expression. 

If that's the case… “You couldn't identify the substance?” Bruce muses, because he hopes that's the possibility out of the two available to them Tim is going to confirm.

Tim's mouth thins into a line. Bruce closes his eyes for a moment.

“It's Lazarus water, isn't it.”

“I mean,” Tim hedges. “Yeah. But like. No?”

Bruce frowns. “Explain.”

“It's definitely the same thing,” Tim says, “but in the same way that like…filtered bottled water and scummy pond water are both water. Whatever shadow noodle bleeds, it's clean. I didn't know Lazarus water was dirty, but this stuff is so different. Seriously it's like if someone broke Lazarus water down into a few key elements and all the rest was actually just pollutants or something.”

Bruce blinks, sitting back in his chair slowly.

That's…he doesn't know what that is, to be honest. It's something.

“He is a Pit Demon after all, then,” Damian says from a short distance away.

Cass lays a gentle hand on his head. “Not a demon. Don't be mean.”

Damian ducks the hand and flushes a little. “I am not being mean. We have confirmation that he bleeds some form of Lazarus water, and we have no record of his kind. It is the closest approximation we have as of yet.”

Alfred hums thoughtfully. “The boy seemed surprised by Miss Cassandra's willingness to listen and talk to him, no?”

“Very,” Bruce confirms.

Alfred nods. “Your logic is sound, Master Damian,” he concedes. “And I understand that it is in logic your choice of words are found. But the aforementioned behavior would suggest to me that our guest is quite used to similar rhetoric from mouths that do not use the term so neutrally.

“We want him to see this as a safe place when he wakes. It would be best to avoid such loaded terms as ‘demon’, I believe.”

Damian blinks, nodding slowly. “I see. Very well.”

Thank God for Alfred, Bruce thinks.

“So now it's just a waiting game, huh?” Dick asks, striding up behind Bruce's chair and frowning at the screen. “Wait for him to wake up and see what happens? What he can tell us?”

Bruce hums, recognizing the false calm in his oldest's voice.

What Dick really means is that he wants to know exactly who did this to a living creature, and where he can find them. Any other information is secondary to that anger in him right now.

Bruce sighs and stands from the computer, turning towards the still, dark figure in the displaced medical bed.

They're all trying to keep a little bit of distance and stay relatively quiet so as to let the creature rest and not spook him. There are already too many of them in the Cave as is for Bruce's liking - this is still an unknown, after all - so Bruce has messaged Jason and Duke and asked that they stay out of the Cave unless absolutely necessary for now.

Jason was not pleased considering the potential - confirmed, now - connection to the Lazarus Pits. 

That's exactly why Bruce doesn't want him here yet, though. He fears there might be some kind of reaction, and he at least wants to know more about their guest before that happens.

He at least wants their guest to fully understand they're not a threat to him first.

Bruce looks the creature over as he approaches the bed quietly. He's still incredibly still, chest motionless with the absence of breath.

Alfred has wrapped his newly stitched chest, the bandages seeming blindingly white against the impossible darkness of his skin.

It's with a heavy heart and a sick stomach that Bruce sees the hints of green staining the clean cloth in a distinctive Y.

Perhaps him not breathing is a good thing. At least a consistent rise and fall of the chest won't cause constant pain from shifting the incision.

Still, it unnerves Bruce. 

No heartbeat, either? Bruce doesn't dare lower his head to the poor creature's chest to try to listen for the humming Alfred mentioned, but he does reach down for one of those spindly wrists as if Alfred could ever be wrong about a pulse.

Bruce presses his fingers to the inside of the creature's wrist, frowning when he can't find anything.

Like this, no breathing, no heartbeat, the creature looks for all the world like he's dead.

Bruce wraps his hand around the wrist as if getting a better grip will change the result.

The creature's eyes snap open immediately, rooting him in place with a wave of that strange projected emotion Bruce had noticed on the rooftop.

Paralyzing fear.

Then he opens his mouth and nearly blows Bruce's eardrums out with an unholy, nightmarish shriek on par with Black Canary.

Masterpost

[xxiiam]

Unpunishable

Contents - dbf!joel x fem! Reader , Jackson! Joel , relationship established but no label on it , age gap but no specific ages you’re an adult but Joel still doesn’t see you as an equal , mean-ish Joel , boot riding , two pussy slaps , size kink if you squint , daddy kink, joel always too soft on you in the end, unprotected sex, creampie , fingering, joel is huge

Wk - 2.835k

Authors note - you can imagine this as game joel or hbo joel i don’t really care need both , need dbf joel need dbf joel need dbf joel. Inbox always open reblogs and comments always appreciated. Female perverts rise

The clock had hit 7:00 pm and still no sight of joel he said he’d be home at 6:30 and would make you both dinner . You just waited , reading . You got so bored you even started inspecting all of the tchotchkes and Knick knacks Joel had collected over the years. Nothing of interest to you. Then you heard the gate close so you rushed to the window opening the drapes to see joel walking up the small path to your shared home.

You turned on your heels rushing to the door sliding on the wooden panels as you bounced on the balls of your feet waiting for the door to open. Joel walked in tired eyes meeting yours , “someone’s excited to see her old man” his gruff voice spoke out as he slid his thick jacket off and hung it up on the coat hook. “I am! I’ve been waiting- you’re late daddy.. M’hungry” you said toddling towards joel and were greeted by his large rough , calloused hand on your cheek . Thumb stroking back and forth before he smoothed over your hair , “‘m sorry sweetheart , you did your hair real nice ‘nd pretty for me today” his eyes trailed down landing on the short flowy dress you had on littered with floral patterns . Joel always liked you in floral dresses, “even dressed nice for me too? What’s the catch? You wantin somethin?” He smiled as his hands travelled to your waist smoothing out the dress .

You shook your head but a grin was plastered on your lips , “no no just wanted to look pretty for you when you got home, missed you. Felt lonely , I always feel lonely when you go out on patrol I have no one to talk to nothing to do”

He sighed smile being wiped off of his face , joel hated talking about this . He just wanted to keep you safe in the house , safe from the outside although you lived in a nice community you weren’t too sure what he meant by that. But he often scolded you saying “adults know best” although you too were an adult.

“We’re not talkin about this again when you’re older you’ll realise I’m doin all this for your benefit” his voice was stern it was more him talking at you than to you. You frowned , “I am older , I’m not asking for much maybe you can talk to the lady at the bakery and ask if I can help out I just want something to do I don’t like being cooped up in here all alone.” He removed his hands from your waist and just walked past you to the kitchen to start making food. Ending the conversation. Joel hated when you walked away from him during conversation but had no problem doing it himself.

Dumbfounded you stood there for a moment , why did he always treat you like this? Leaving you in the dark about so many things you weren’t stupid you just wanted to feel like an adult. You soon followed him into the kitchen sitting down at your retrospective designated place at the table, “you always tell me it’s rude to walk away when someone is speaking to you” . His back was still turned away from you , “you want me to start treating you’re a big girl? Start actin like one instead of a spoiled brat. You don’t know how good you have it here” . You stammered for a moment but joel didn’t actually let you speak before continuing , “you forget to set the table today. You say yer bored , got nothin to do . I ask you to do simple things around the house and I don’t see you doing nothing just day dreamin all day”

Your fists balled on the table out of protest you wouldn’t actually do anything you and Joel both knew it was performative. “I jus’ forgot that’s all” . He didn’t respond he just continued cooking 30 minutes of silence is what he gave you. Until he set your plate down on the wooden table . Joel knew you hated silent treatment. You just hated not knowing what you did wrong and why he wasn’t speaking to you. You just moved the food around your plate with your fork watching him eat. “Stop playin’ with your food nd just eat it.” He ordered his mood still sour, “not hungry” , he clicked his tongue and set his fork down staring at you , anger very present in his face. You were teetering on a thin line and you knew consequences would be in due. “You told me not thirty minutes ago you were hungry said you’d been waitin all day now you’re sayin you’re not? And you say you’re grown , you’re this and that but act like this whenever things don’t go your way?”

“Why are you being mean to me today?” You pouted staring at your food , you were hungry but you just were too upset to eat it. “I’m not . I just don’t like your attitude change it or I’ll fix it for you” he said standing up and putting his finished plate in the sink. Washing and wiping his hands with a rag. He turned around again clearly making himself more and more angry thinking about how stupid this situation is , but you still spoke up . “I just missed you nd you’re being mean to me” your tone sounding more and more childish although you didn’t mean it to be. You were just upset maybe joel was right.

He walked over to your seat pulling it back , “knees” he commanded you just stared at him blankly , “I won’t ask again” he spoke his eyes were dark , in all honesty you had done your hair and dressed nicely for him hoping he would fuck you good after dinner so you could go to bed with a full stomach and stuffed with his cum.

You slowly got to your knees from the chair , you reached to start unbuckling Joel’s belt but he swatted your hand away , “no you say you missed your daddy? Prove it” he looked down to his boot , you looked down to his boot then back at him , “how do I prove it?” . He flipped up your dress using his boot before sliding his left leg forward towards your knees , “go on” . Your cheeks began to heat up , felt embarrassing being told to hump his boot like some kind of dog. But you wrapped your arms around Joel’s leg and hovered over his boot . Joel usually had patience but not today he lifted his foot so the boot met your cunt , it felt wrong . Bad . But the pressure felt so good. You began to roll your hips down onto his boot, the hard shoe adding pressure to all the right places.

You gripped his muscular leg harder as you tried to chase some sort of high , Joel usually would help you , says you don’t know what you’re doing but you trying things on your own felt good too. “Daddy.. I want more, boots not like your cock” you pouted hoping to have this one over Joel on most nights this would’ve worked but not tonight . “You’re lucky I’m even lettin you do this. I could’ve just sent you to bed, empty stomach and untouched pussy. I know you’ve been waitin all day to be touched. Achin’ for it aren’t you?” He was still angry with you but you were his baby he knew you couldn’t sleep properly without being touched .

You nodded , “need my daddy” your hips stuttered as you continued to grind down on him , pussy leaking through the cotton panties you had on soaking his shoe . Your small whimpers filling the otherwise silent room , Joel’s patience was wearing thin he palmed his hardening cock through the denim . A part of him really loved how pathetic you were at times only could get off with his help he always needed to help you. He gripped your arm with a bruising grip pulling you up leading you to the living room . “Can’t do anythin for yourself” he said sitting down on the couch his legs parting he held his hand up stopping you from sitting down , “take it all off for me honey” you just nodded as you started to undress in front of him before standing awkwardly barren and naked for his eyes to coast over you .

He patted his thighs , “come sit let daddy take care of you” . You smiled crawling onto him he turned you so your back was facing him and he slid his rough hands down your sides . Bringing one arm over you cupping your breast in one hand pulling you back into him as he slid his hand down and cupped your sex before lifting it and coming down with a swift slap which you yelped at the sting lingering as he smiled against your neck pressing a kiss down onto your shoulder , “shhh baby I know I know I’m being mean” he began circling your clit using the pads of his middle and ring fingers before trailing down your slit collecting all of your slick wetness and spreading it up your cunt , “this wet from grinding on my boot? You did miss daddy didn’t you?” . You whined and pouted , “I told you daddy but you didn listen” . He smiled once more , “sorry sweet girl ‘m listenin now” he pressed only one of his thick fingers inside you without warning and you bucked your hips into his hand mewling like a cat. “That feel good? Been waitin all day haven’t you” .

He then inserted a second finger in stretching out your sopping hole , everything about Joel as just so big compared to you it’s why you always felt so safe with him although he was tough on you , mean at times but he fucked you so good. “When do I get your cock daddy?” You said between whimpers as he pumped his fingers in and out of you curling up to press against your velvety gummy walls. Always so impatient , but who could blame you? You loved the way Joel stretched you out, it hurt so good always rewarding you with his cum, it was like a warm hug from the inside.

He clicked his tongue , “so cock hungry, let me just play with you for a minute ,why don’t you?” He would alternate from his fingers being inside you to rubbing your clit as his fingers lazily groped and played with your tits . Joel liked this a lot just playing with you , hearing your small moans the way you’d sit and squirm on him . Wasn’t this supposed to be him fixing your attitude? He was just giving into you. This old man is getting soft.

You began to squirm more , moans becoming more persistent. Your hands gripping Joel’s scarred thick forearms. Your thighs clamping shut around Joel’s hand making him slap your cunt once more , “try to close your legs again and I won’t let you have my cock tonight” you pouted and whined at the sting before spreading your legs once more , joel loved how obedient you would be . He kissed a trail down your neck to your shoulder , being tickled by his rough facial hair . His fingers still pumping inside you like a well oiled machine , your head falling back onto him as the coil inside you began to unravel more until it finally snapped. Your thighs shaking as you had full body convulsions on his lap , your cunt clamping around his fingers as he kept curling them up inside you making you ride out your orgasm. “Good girl always cum so hard f���me , you think you deserve your old man’s dick now?”

You nodded , words still on the end of your tongue but you were in such a euphoric state your body didn’t allow sentence much more than a babble escape your mouth . He lightly moved you off of his lap , sucking on his fingers before reaching for his belt buckle . You heard the metal clang tighter before he pulled the belt through the loops and took it off completely . Undoing his button and letting you hear your favorite sound of the zip being pulled down. You loved that sound it meant you were in for a treat. Your nightly sometimes morning routine.

He pulled his jeans down just enough for his thick cock and heavy balls were free , he then pulled your now pretty much limp body onto him. Thighs either side of his , “do you wanna help daddy or do you just want me to do it” he asked like he always did in this position . You shook your head and just wrapped your arms around his neck burying your face inhaling his musk, “daddy do it” you said muffled. Joel obliged taking his dick in one hand as he held you steady with the other . Although he did just stretch you out with his fingers it was no help he was just too thick. He always has been too big for you but you both loved the stretch. His throbbing head trying to push its hardest into you , you just whined in pain into Joel’s neck . He moved his free hand from your hip to your back rubbing up and down trying to soothe you , “ I know I’ll make you feel good just push through this pain for a minute for me won’t you honey?” . His hands now both shifting to your hips as he began to push you down onto his cock , his hips lifting to meet you half way . Your eyes squeezed shut from the pain and you bit down onto his traps . Joel didn’t mind you biting in fact he liked it just a little. When he had finally fit all of himself inside you he let you settle for a moment , adjusting to the size just as he always did .

When you said you had adjusted enough he lifted your hips once more leaving a small gap between the two of you before he began fucking his cock into you from under you . You loved doing this with Joel because his cock pummelled your insides hitting all the right places making you squeeze down on him , moaning his name into his ear like a mantra . How your fingers found their way in his hair and his iron clad grip on your hips , a bruising grip but he always made sure to kiss them better after. You arched your back pressing your chest into his , his lips on your neck feeling his hot breath fanning over your collarbones .

You loved how he fucked you like you was his personal sex doll , he knew how to please you. Only him. He knew it could only ever be him that would suffice your urges. “Takin it so well for me baby, fuck- don’t think I can make this a long one tonight princess. Jus’ wanna cum in this little pussy . Made for me to fill isn it?” He panted against you. You were fucked utterly pathetic at this point babbles just poured out of your mouth not being able to respond to him properly . Joel’s hips jerked and spluttered filling you with thick ropes of his warm cum . You fell limp against him as he pressed a kiss to your head , he lifted your hips once more as he put his now half hard cock back into his jeans he didn’t care that his cum was spilling out of your onto said jeans .

He lifted you with ease into his arms so you were laid bridal style over him as your thigh muscles still contracted and spasmed . He then stood up you still in his arms , his joints popping as he stood they got louder with age . He began to carry you upstairs to the bathroom to give you both a bath . Walking up the stairs he spoke up , “how about before my shift tomorrow we go to the bakery a pick up a loaf of bread and I’ll talk to Bonnie about a job. Part time. How would you feel about that baby?”

You always got your way in the end. That old man is just too soft on you really. You’re just his baby after all .

[cinamun]

I have been writing TFA on an off for a decade, which is wild to type out. I didn't start out with a whole lot of mutuals, like at all. I was completely absent during the TS3 era because life was lifing hard (college, grad school, Circumstances™). I got TS4 for my birthday which was just a few days after its release and had no idea where everyone was posting and sharing their stuffs (in the sims 2 era there were actual forums but those have since gone away). Anyway, found tumblr and stayed here.

I guess I got the followers I have now because interest in the story grew and I have hot takes that just fall off my fingers every now and then. Spicy ones at that! I'm really here to be among simmers who love and hate this game and post whatever they're doing in the game which, of course, I love to see. I'm most passionate about my story. So when parts of it are copied, baby let me tell you, it doesn't feel good. I love to be an inspiration and am humbled by that (and I know this conversation is old af so feel free to keep scrolling), but there is a difference between being inspired and using someone else's style and/or copying entire screenshots, dialogue, etc. Literally the exact post and scene in some cases! I don't like that and I'm not complaining, but offering up something for anyone feeling inspired by other simmers:

Its not always about giving credit. Try to find ways to shoot something that is entirely your own, even if you are inspired by someone else's scene, interior, build, whatever it is. Make it yours. Make it so uniquely yours that it stands out. I get inspired by others all the time! If I want to do something similar, I do, but I remix it so hard that it becomes my own (does that make sense?). Its about creativity. Its easy to take something and ctrl c + ctrl v. The challenge is putting your own twist on it.

This has been my quarterly feelings vomit. Thank you for reading.

[carlyraejepsenponderstheorb]

What I am offended at is that it’s absolutely useless for you to waggle your fingers about how a thing is bad and have no plan for *dealing* with it besides “someone in charge should do something”.

They won’t. There really aren’t mods to ao3. Its purpose is preservation, not curation of content.

Do you have a plan for dealing with something you see as a grave issue? Or do you want to say “issue is bad, you’re bad for explaining particulars of the issue to me, why doesn’t someone do something”.

If you want change you do have to present a plan for creating it. The people running the site clearly do not see the same moral imperative you do. So you’d need a plan, either that you could present to them and have them agree with, or that you push through courts as legal action.

“Problem bad” is not a plan, and people telling you that what you want will not happen because it’s antithetical to the logic of the people who run ao3, are not your enemy because they say your game plan of pointing and wagging your finger benefits no one but yourself. 🤷‍♀️

People talking about the “censorship” of Ao3 and it’s just people not wanting rape porn on the site

[sixxels]

watch me watch me party on you.

fratboy!sukuna x fem reader

wc: 14k

!!disclaimer!! situationship, smut, p in v, mdni, angst! comfort. this is messy, so so messy but what fic of mine isn’t?

the first thing you smell when you step into choso’s house is weed and watermelon vape. the second is tequila. the third is him. the one guy you didn’t really want to see right now. smokey, rich, him. sukuna. urgh.

you try to ignore it.

the lights are dim and pink and pulsing. it’s not packed yet, but it will be. choso’s parties always fill up like bathtubs. slowly, hot.

you step through the threshold and into the thrum of it all.

maki grabs your wrist the moment she spots you. “thank god,” she says, tugging you toward the living room. “i need someone sane to witness this mess.”

you barely manage a hello before she’s dragging you in, past the sliding kitchen door and down the short hall, until you see a group of all your friends sitting in a circle.

“truth or drink,” gojo booms, slamming his empty solo cup down on a wonky wooden frat table like he’s just cast a spell.

you roll your eyes. maki groans beside you.

“oh god, not again.”

“no, listen,” gojo says, serious. “this is character development. this is growth. this is—,”

“—an excuse to be nosy,” suguru cuts in.

“exactly!”

sukuna’s already here, of course he is. spread out like he owns the couch. one leg over the other, cigarette burning low between two tattooed fingers, eyes slouched half-lidded as if he’s barely awake. like he didn’t just watch you walk in.

and just like that, it begins.

choso pulls out the question cards he made last semester, a mix of drunk scribbles and genuinely soul-destroying prompts. shoko hands everyone a refill. yuki raises her eyebrows at you like, ‘buckle up, baby.’

you sit, shoulders tight, pretending not to care when the bottle lands on sukuna.

your chest pinches anyway.

“truth,” he says lazily, eyes half-lidded.

choso reads the card. “do you think you’ve ever been in love?”

the room hushes, tension vibrating like a tight string.

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. he drags from his cigarette. smoke curls out the corner of his mouth.

“no.”

a few snickers. gojo coughs dramatically, little did you know he’s the only one who sukuna tells about your little… situation, so he was as uncertain as you were. he gave you a sympathetic look from across the circle.

“no offense,” maki mutters under her breath, “but i believe it.”

your stomach sinks. you don’t know why you expected anything different. maybe you didn’t.

you just hoped.

the bottle spins again. lands on you.

your throat goes dry, and maki grabs your hand under the table.

gojo perks up like a kid in church who just got told the sermon’s about sex.

“truth,” you say.

suguru plucks a card. “do you think the person you want wants you back?”

silence again.

you look down at your cup.

you think about sukuna’s mouth. the way he kissed you that night at the party like he was afraid he’d forget how. the way he didn’t call for two days after. the way he still texts you at 2am like you’re a convenience store.

your voice is soft. “i think maybe, like halfway?”

no one says anything for a moment.

even sukuna.

especially sukuna.

then yuki murmurs, “you deserve more than half-love, baby.”

you nod, but you don’t say anything.

what would be the point?

~

as the game dissolves into teasing and too-loud laughter, gojo throws himself dramatically across suguru’s lap and starts fake-crying like a soap opera housewife. “you never loved me!” he wails, half-choking on his drink, and suguru just hums and pets his hair like a tired husband with a golden retriever.

shoko steals the card deck. maki yells something about how is he crying without tears, and choso starts explaining the thc content in his gummy stash to a girl in a crocheted top who keeps giggling like she doesn’t understand a word.

the circle splinters. the warmth disperses. the night, like a bruise, begins to spread.

you lose sight of sukuna in the crowd.

the room gets louder. people you don’t know start filtering in. loud boys in snapbacks yelling about beer pong. girls in glitter boots clacking across the hardwood like they own the place. someone walks by with a bong shaped like pikachu and a glowstick necklace that makes your eyes hurt.

it’s not that you don’t want to be here. it’s that you suddenly feel like you’re watching it all through glass. like you’re not in the room anymore. just near it.

you slip away. quietly.

~

the kitchen is cooler than the rest of the house, the hum of the fridge a steady drone underneath the bass. you lean against the counter, press your palms into the tile. you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the silence makes your ears ring.

then,

“you gonna pretend i’m not here all night?”

you freeze.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

that voice always comes just after you start to forget it. low, lazy, soft with smoke and something sharp underneath.

sukuna.

you inhale slow, steady. then turn.

he’s leaning against the counter like it’s a throne. one hand braced on it. the other running through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the night. his eyes are heavy-lidded. glossy. the slow drawl in his voice tells you what you already know.

he’s high. probably drunk. maybe both.

he’s beautiful in that unbearable way he always is, like a nightmare you mistake for a dream.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

he raises his eyebrows like that’s the joke. “didn’t even look at me,” he says, voice dipped in that honey-slick sarcasm. “kinda hurts.”

you let out a breathless laugh. cold. “didn’t know you could feel pain.”

he snorts, like he expected that. “guess you bring it out in me.”

the music from the living room pulses through the walls, muffled and rhythmic like a heartbeat you can’t trust.

you cross your arms. “you high?”

“little bit.”

you nod. “figures.”

he shrugs. “you looked good tonight.”

it’s casual. too casual. like it costs him nothing to say it. but the way his gaze flickers over you, slow, warm, like he’s memorizing you, that betrays him.

your stomach flips. you hate that it still reacts to him. that your body remembers every place he’s touched even when your brain is begging you to forget.

you steady your voice. “that why you ignored me?”

he blinks. “i didn’t ignore you.”

“you didn’t look at me,” you say, softer now. “not once.”

he tilts his head like a dog hearing a strange sound. “would that have made a difference?”

you swallow. “not to you, probably.”

and there it is, the flicker in his eyes.

brief. but real.

like he didn’t expect you to say that. like it hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

he pushes off the counter. takes a step forward. then another.

too close. always too close.

his voice drops low. “don’t do that.”

you meet his gaze. “do what?”

“don’t act like you don’t know i care.”

you laugh. it’s not kind. it sounds like heartbreak breaking in reverse. “do you?”

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

“you’re here,” you say slowly, “because you always come back when the buzz wears off. when you’re bored. when it’s dark and quiet and you remember i’m soft.”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t deny it.

you go on, voice barely above a whisper. “you only show up when you want something. and i keep letting you.”

he stares at you. there’s a crack forming in his expression, small, hairline, but there, then he says it, just one word.

“yeah.”

no apology, no excuses, no fix, just that.

and somehow that hurts worse than all the lies he could’ve told.

you drop your gaze, chest tight.

the silence between you is thick with everything you’ve never said. everything he’ll never give you.

after another awkward silence you're interrupted by a voice.

“didn’t think i’d find you in here.” you both turn, yuki is standing in the doorway, hip cocked, drink in one hand, the other braced against the frame like she’s leaning into a scene she’s already seen too many times.

her gaze flickers between you and sukuna. calm. sharp.

“you good?” she asks you directly.

you nod. automatically.

she hums. doesn’t buy it.

she steps into the kitchen, slow and easy, like a tiger circling a campfire. her eyes settle on sukuna. “didn’t peg you for the type to haunt kitchens like a ghost with unfinished business.”

sukuna scoffs. “didn’t peg you for the type to care.”

“don’t,” yuki says, voice crisp, “mistake my presence for forgiveness.”

he doesn’t reply. but he holds her gaze.

she walks past him, pours herself another drink, doesn’t bother asking. then turns back to you.

“you want me to stay?”

it’s a soft question. one you feel all the way down.

you think about saying yes. about grabbing her hand and letting her drag you back to the circle, where maki will make you laugh and choso will roll his eyes and shoko will hand you something that tastes like pain and nostalgia.

but you don’t.

you shake your head.

yuki nods. doesn’t push. “come find me if he says anything stupid.”

then she leans in, kisses your temple, warm, steady, and says, low enough that only you hear:

“you don’t owe him anything. not even your silence.”

and just like that, she’s gone, and you’re left with him again.

sukuna is quiet now. the tension that always coils around him is looser, but not gone.

he watches you.

you watch the floor.

then you speak.

“i think i wanted you to fight for me.”

he closes his eyes for a beat. then opens them. “that’s not something i’m good at.”

you nod.

“i know.”

silence, heavy and final.

you brush past him. he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t even move.

~

you leave before it gets too late. before you can talk yourself into staying. before sukuna can kiss you like a promise he’ll never keep.

choso finds you on your way out. he wraps you in a hug, tight and lingering.

“you okay?” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you lie.

he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t say so.

he just presses something into your hand. a shirt you must of left in his room, the one you left the last time sukuna ghosted you after 2am.

“text me when you’re home,” he says.

you nod.

you glance back once, just once, and see them through the window:

gojo dancing stupidly with a bottle of tequila. suguru with his phone flashlight on, filming it like it’s high art. maki yelling at shoko, who’s dumping popcorn in someone’s drink. yuki standing near the back…

~

the party ends slow. like the last drag of a cigarette, burnt out, bitter, and a little too quiet. music still thumps from inside choso’s place, muffled through the walls, but the energy has thinned out. people are either too drunk to notice or already stumbling home with the wrong shoes and the wrong names.

gojo’s the one who calls it. “yo, let’s dip,” he says, slinging an arm around sukuna’s shoulders like he always does, loose and lazy, like he owns the world and you’re lucky to be living in it. suguru’s behind them, silent and steady, hoodie pulled up and smelling like weed and sandalwood. they leave without saying goodbye to anyone. that’s kind of their thing.

outside, it’s humid. the kind of summer night that sticks to your skin and makes the air taste like sweat and smoke. sukuna’s already lighting another cigarette, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. he doesn’t offer one to gojo or suguru. he doesn’t need to. gojo’s got a vape in one pocket and a flask in the other, and suguru doesn’t need anything to look high. he just always does.

they don’t talk much on the walk back to the frat house. it’s not far. five blocks, maybe. quiet streets and broken streetlights. gojo’s whistling something off-beat. sukuna’s got his hands in his pockets. suguru hums low under his breath, something old and haunting.

when they get back, the house is dead. empty beer cans in the grass. some kid passed out on the porch. the usual. sukuna steps over him without blinking. gojo kicks the kid’s leg, laughs when he groans. suguru opens the front door and lets it creak.

they go upstairs, past the chaos of the main floor, past the girls’ hoodies still draped on the railing and the smell of stale liquor clinging to the carpet. third floor. the balcony. sukuna’s spot.

it’s dark out there. just a sliver of moonlight and the distant flicker of someone else’s backyard party. sukuna leans against the railing. suguru drops into the broken plastic lawn chair. gojo pulls out a blunt from somewhere deep in his jacket and waves it like a magic trick. “you’re welcome,” he says, sticking it between his teeth.

sukuna exhales slow. smoke curls up into the sky. “what, you want a medal?”

“nah. just a thank you and maybe a little kiss on the mouth.”

suguru snorts. sukuna rolls his eyes.

they pass the blunt in silence for a bit. the air’s thick with something that isn’t just weed. something quieter. heavier. the kind of shit that settles behind your ribs and makes everything feel too loud even when no one’s talking.

gojo breaks it first.

“so.” he’s watching the street below like he’s waiting for someone to walk by. “you gonna talk about it or do we have to play twenty questions?”

sukuna doesn’t look at him. doesn’t have to. “talk about what?”

gojo tilts his head. his hair’s a mess, sweat sticking to his forehead. he’s still got glitter on his cheek from some girl that kissed him three hours ago. “you know what.”

sukuna flicks ash off the balcony. “nah. i don’t.”

“you and her.”

the silence tightens. suguru shifts, leans back. he’s not getting in the middle of this. he knows better.

sukuna takes another drag. his lips twitch, just barely. “there is no me and her.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

“nah, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

sukuna finally looks at him. his eyes are sharp, red in the moonlight. not angry. just tired. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

“you don’t,” gojo says, shrugging. “but you owe her something.”

sukuna doesn’t say anything.

gojo doesn’t press. not yet. he just lets it hang there, like smoke between them. like a threat.

after a minute, sukuna mutters, “she knew what it was.”

“did she?”

silence again.

gojo sighs. leans his elbows on the railing. “look, i’m not trying to play therapist or whatever. that’s shoko’s job. but you gotta know she’s not like the other girls that come to our parties.”

sukuna scoffs. “i know that.”

“do you?”

he doesn’t answer.

gojo watches him. he’s serious now. which is rare. his voice drops low. not angry. not mocking. just honest. “she’s sweet, man. like… good. not in that fake ‘pick me’ way. like… genuinely good. and you’ve got her looking at you like you’re the sun or some shit.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “she doesn’t.”

“she does.”

“whatever.”

gojo’s smile fades. “you’re gonna break her.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“you’re already breaking her,” gojo says softer this time. “and i don’t think you want to. i think that’s what’s messing you up.”

for a second, sukuna looks like he might say something. like he might throw the blunt off the balcony or snap gojo’s neck or punch the railing until it splinters.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he says, “i didn’t mean to.”

gojo blinks. a little surprised. but he doesn’t let it show.

“i didn’t plan for any of this,” sukuna says, voice low, rough. “she was just… there. and then she wasn’t just there. she was everywhere. all of a sudden.”

gojo nods.

“i don’t do feelings,” sukuna mutters, like it’s a confession. “i don’t do this.”

“yeah, no shit.”

sukuna glares at him. gojo raises his hands, grinning.

“look,” gojo says. “i get it. you don’t wanna hurt her. you’re scared. whatever. but stringing her along? pretending she’s just some random girl you fuck when she’s clearly not? that’s worse.”

“i know,” sukuna snaps. then softer, almost like he hates himself for it—“i know.”

they go quiet again.

suguru lights another joint.

gojo leans his head back and stares at the stars. they’re faint out here. hidden behind pollution and bad choices.

“you like her?” he asks, sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

“…yeah.”

“how much?”

“too much.”

gojo grins. “gross.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“so what now?” gojo asks. “you gonna keep acting like a cold asshole? or maybe try something new, like honesty.”

“it’s not that easy.”

“yeah, it is. you just say what you feel. preferably with your mouth and not your dick.”

sukuna doesn’t laugh, but his lips twitch again. that almost-smile he gets when he’s trying not to admit he finds gojo funny.

gojo turns to him, cocky glint in his eye now. “look, i’m just saying, if you don’t treat her right…”

he pauses. lets it hang there.

“…i will.”

sukuna snorts. “shut the fuck up.”

“i’m serious.”

“you couldn’t handle her.”

gojo grins. “oh, i could. and you know it.”

they’re both smiling now. but underneath it, there’s something sharp. something real.

a warning.

sukuna finishes his cigarette. flicks it over the railing. watches the ember fade in the grass.

“i’m not gonna let her go,” he says finally. “but i don’t know how to keep her either.”

gojo looks at him. really looks. “figure it out. before someone else does.”

the stars above them don’t offer any answers. but maybe that’s okay.

they stay out there a little longer. talking about everything and nothing. until the night bleeds into morning and the city starts to yawn.

and somewhere, not too far away, you’re still thinking about him. still waiting.

and maybe now, maybe finally, he’s starting to realize what that means.

~

mondays economic class.

he’s sitting in the back again.

legs spread like the seat was made for him, hood up, sunglasses on even though they’re indoors and the windows are closed. he hasn’t looked at you once. not during roll call, not during the lecture, not even when the professor called on him to answer a question about marginal cost and he replied with a deadpan, “pass.”

you hate him.

you hate that you’re still thinking about him even as you type notes you’ll never read again.

you hate that you still notice the way his fingers tap against the desk like he’s impatient with the whole world. you hate that you can’t forget what those hands feel like on your hips. you hate the weight of his gaze—when it’s on you, when it’s not. it doesn’t matter. he’s in your head either way.

you scroll back in your notes, realize you’ve written the same sentence three times.

you sigh. close your laptop. rest your chin in your hand and stare at the front of the class.

you didn’t even wear anything cute today. you’re in sweats. your hair’s a mess. you didn’t think he’d be here—he barely comes to econ unless he needs to cheat off someone’s midterm. so why does it feel like your heart’s pounding just because he’s breathing the same air?

you glance back, like you can help yourself.

he’s leaned back in his chair, chewing on the end of a pen. his eyes are behind his sunglasses but you know, you know, he’s watching you too.

god.

you hate that he gets to do this to you.

he fucked you once and now he gets to haunt your life like some ghost with a nicotine addiction and a fratboy attitude. it’s been months. and somehow, you’re still here. still hoping for more. still checking your phone for messages that don’t come.

you tell yourself you’re over it. you lie, the class ends. people start packing up. zippers and shuffling and half-asleep small talk.

you gather your things slow. give yourself a moment to breathe. you don’t want to walk past him. you don’t want to look like you’re trying. you don’t want to care, but you do.

you head for the door. keep your head down.

you almost make it.

but just as you step into the hallway, a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you sideways, into a side corridor no one uses, behind a column of lockers, where the lights flicker and the air smells like dust and old paper.

you already know who it is.

“sukuna,” you breathe, not quite surprised.

he looks at you like he’s bored. like this is a chore. like he didn’t just corner you like a secret. “hey.”

you try not to let your voice shake. “what do you want?”

he shrugs. leans a shoulder against the wall. everything about him is infuriatingly casual, like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. “you wanna come over?”

you blink. “…now?”

“yeah.”

he doesn’t elaborate.

you shift your weight, heart pounding. “why?”

his jaw flexes. “you know why.”

and yeah. you do.

you look up at him. his face is unreadable. dark eyes under his hood, mouth set in a line that’s too hard to call a smile. he looks tired. he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. he looks like the last time he touched you is still on his fingertips.

you shouldn’t.

you shouldn’t.

but god, he’s looking at you like he wants you again, and it’s been so long since he’s looked at you like anything at all. and you’re weak. and stupid. and still in love with a boy who never says your name unless he’s dragging it out of you in bed.

“…okay,” you whisper.

he nods like he expected you to say yes.

~

his room’s dark. always is. it smells like weed and cologne and something distinctly him. the sheets are still messy from the last time he was here, probably with someone else.

you don’t ask.

he doesn’t offer.

he locks the door behind you, tosses his hoodie to the floor, lights a cigarette and leans against his desk like he’s thinking. like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that won’t come out.

you stand awkwardly near the bed. your fingers twitch. you almost ask him what’s wrong. you almost ask him if he’s okay. you almost ask—

“you look tired,” he says instead, like it’s the only thing he knows how to offer you. you laugh, quiet. “yeah. i am.”

he stares at you. exhales smoke through his nose. walks over, slow, until he’s standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell the nicotine and aftershave and the faint scent of whatever cheap shampoo he uses.

he reaches out. brushes your cheek with the back of his hand. something in your chest pulls tight.

“you’re still sweet,” he mutters. “even now.”

you swallow hard. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he doesn’t answer.

inside his head, he’s screaming.

'tell her you think about her all the time.

tell her you can’t stop dreaming about her mouth.

tell her it’s been eating you alive that you made her feel disposable.

tell her you miss her. tell her you’re sorry. tell her—'

“take your shirt off,” he says instead.

and you do.

of course you do.

because that’s what you do when it comes to sukuna. you say yes even when you mean no. you give him pieces of yourself like they’re nothing, just hoping one day he’ll realize how much they cost you.

he kisses you like he’s angry. hands rough. mouth hungry. he kisses you like he’s trying to say all the things he’s too much of a coward to say out loud.

you let him.

you let him use your body as a place to bury his feelings.

you let yourself pretend it means something.

he fucks you like he’s punishing himself.

like he’s trying to carve you into his skin, leave a mark deeper than anything words could say.

your back hits the mattress and he’s on you in a breath, mouth everywhere, hands urgent, grip bruising. his rings drag down your ribs, your hips, your thighs, leaving fire in their wake. his teeth scrape your collarbone. he bites your neck, your shoulder, your chest, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

you moan for him. soft. breathy. helpless.

and god, the way he reacts, like your sounds are gasoline. like they’re unraveling whatever threadbare control he’s got left.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, baby. you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you want to ask what that means.

but then he’s pushing inside you — rough, deep, unforgiving — and the question dies on your tongue.

you gasp. arch. dig your nails into his shoulders.

he groans like he’s in pain. like being inside you is the only thing that makes him feel human.

“always so tight for me,” he mutters against your mouth. “like your body fucking knows who it belongs to.”

you shouldn’t let him say things like that. not when you both know it’s not real. not when you know he’ll go cold again once the high fades.

but you nod anyway. whisper, “yes.”

because in this moment, in this darkness, you do belong to him.

he fucks you slow at first. deliberate. deep enough to make your toes curl. he presses his forehead to yours. watches your face. watches the way you fall apart just for him.

“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this.”

his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to make your breath hitch. not enough to hurt. just enough to say mine.

he kisses you again, messy, possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to crawl inside you. like he’s trying to make you forget any name that isn’t his.

and you let him, you always let him.

his pace gets rougher. harder. the headboard slams the wall and you don’t care. you’re shaking. sweating. whispering his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“sukuna—” you gasp. “i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby?” he pants, fucking you through it. “you gonna come for me? make a mess all over my cock?”

you nod. cry out. your body tenses, then shatters.

you fall apart beneath him, and when you do — when you come with your whole heart in it — something in his face breaks.

his rhythm stutters. his jaw clenches. his breath catches like he’s never seen anything more devastating than you loving him out loud without saying a word.

he finishes with a groan. deep. guttural. like it hurts him.

and maybe it does.

because when he pulls out, he doesn’t speak.

he just collapses beside you. chest heaving. jaw clenched.

and you both lie there in the dark, skin slick, hearts racing, silence choking, pretending it didn’t mean everything.

afterward, he doesn’t say much. he smokes while you lay on your side, back to him, eyes fixed on the crack in the wall.

he wants to reach out. wants to trace his fingers down your spine. wants to ask if you’re okay. wants to say i’m sorry i don’t know how to love you right.

but all he says is:

“you can sleep here if you want.”

you don’t answer.

you fall asleep anyway.

he stays awake long after you’ve started dreaming.

'fuck.'

~

the door creaks when you open it.

you wince, glancing back at sukuna’s bed. he’s asleep, sprawled on his stomach, breathing deep. the sheets are tangled around his waist. his hand is stretched toward where you were laying minutes ago.

you leave anyway.

your sweater is inside-out and you don’t bother fixing it. you don’t look in a mirror. you don’t even grab your shoes. the floorboards are cold, but you move quiet. like a secret. like a ghost.

you’ve done this before.

the house is quiet. mostly. there’s a low hum from the fridge and the drip of the bathroom sink down the hall. you turn the corner into the kitchen, eyes blurry, mind fogged, and stop short when you see… gojo?

gojo satoru. shirtless. sleep-mussed. drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.

he freezes. you freeze.

“…uh,” he says, mid-sip.

“…hi,” you whisper, not really sure why.

he lowers the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

“i wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake.”

he looks at you then. really looks, eyes narrowing.

taking in the state of you, your hoodie, half-zipped. your hair, messy. your bare feet. the too-quiet look in your eyes.

“…he do something?” he asks, voice low, unusually serious.

you blink. “no. no, i just—”

but the words don’t come. you shake your head instead. try to smile. it doesn’t stick.

gojo doesn’t push. he just sets the orange juice down and hops up on the counter, like he’s settling in for something. “you want tea? or whiskey? or, like… both?”

you laugh, soft. “just water’s fine.”

he nods. gets up. finds a glass. fills it. hands it to you without meeting your eyes.

you sip slowly. the silence stretches.

“…you’re not gonna ask?” you murmur.

“not yet,” he says, sitting back down.

“trying to be cool.”

you glance at him. “you’re not very good at that.”

he grins, a little sheepish. “yeah, i know.”

another beat. you lean against the fridge. hugging yourself. “he didn’t kick me out. i just… didn’t wanna stay.”

“because?”

you swallow.

“because it hurts.”

that gets his attention.

his smile fades. his whole posture shifts, shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands curling around the edge of the counter. he looks like he wants to say something sharp, but reins it in.

instead, he says, quiet: “he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you look at him. “what does that mean?”

gojo shrugs, but it’s a lie. “it means you’re not like the other girls. you’re not easy to forget. and sukuna…” he sighs. runs a hand through his hair. “sukuna likes things he can throw away. he doesn’t know what to do with something real.”

you stare at your water. “i don’t even think he likes me.”

“he does,” gojo says immediately. then catches himself. “i mean—he feels something. he wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t. that guy doesn’t even keep leftovers.”

you almost smile.

gojo swings his legs a little, like a kid. “look, i’m not… i’m not good at this. feelings. girl stuff. crying. whatever.” he gestures vaguely at you. “but i know you’re too good for this. you’ve got this… i don’t know. softness.”

you raise a brow. “softness?”

“yeah. like. you care about people. even when they don’t deserve it.” he scratches the back of his neck. “it’s rare. makes you a good person. but it also makes you a really easy target for people like him.”

you’re quiet.

“i’m not saying sukuna’s evil or anything,” gojo adds. “he’s just… scared.”

“of what?”

“of being known. of letting anyone close. of you seeing all the ways he’s already fucked up and leaving him for it.”

“…i wouldn’t.”

“i know that,” gojo says. “you know that. he doesn’t. he grew up thinking love was a weakness. that closeness meant pain.”

you stare at the floor.

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work,” he says gently.

and it hits you like a slap.

you sit down at the little kitchen table. press your palms into your eyes. “why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

gojo’s smile is sad. “because you’re the one who feels the most.”

silence again. this time thicker.

gojo watches you. watches the way you hunch your shoulders. the way you’re trying not to cry. the way your fingers tremble around your water glass.

inside, he’s fuming.

because he likes you. not romantically. not like that. but in the way a big brother likes his little sister’s best friend. in the way a guy who’s been in the game too long recognizes something rare and soft and good,and wants to keep it that way.

he remembers the first time he saw you. walking into their party with maki, eyes wide, sweater too big. he remembers thinking: she doesn’t belong here.

and now you’re sitting in their shitty kitchen in the dark, heart bruised, eyes tired, wearing his best friend’s hoodie and nothing else.

and he feels like he failed you.

“hey,” he says, softer now. “can i tell you something?”

you nod.

“if you ever decide you’re done… like, really done. if you ever stop waiting for him to grow up… i hope you find someone who deserves you.”

your voice is quiet. “you think he never will?”

gojo shrugs. “i think he might. i just don’t know if it’ll be soon enough.”

you bite your lip. look away.

he hesitates. then grins—teasing, but there’s something pointed underneath it.

“…and if he doesn’t figure it out?”

you glance back at him.

he winks.

“maybe i will.”

you laugh—really laugh—for the first time that night.

“shut up.”

“i’m just saying. i’m tall as fuck. hot. emotionally available.”

“you’re not emotionally available.”

“okay, but i pretend really well.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in it now.

gojo stands. ruffles your hair. “come crash in my room. i’ll take the floor. you can take the bed. no weirdness, just… company.”

you hesitate.

but you’re so tired. and gojo’s safe. and you can’t go back upstairs.

“…okay.”

“cool,” he says, and grabs his juice on the way out. “also. if you hear any weird noises in the walls? that’s just nanami. he lives in the vents.”

you blink. “what—?”

“long story,” gojo says, already walking away. “come on.”

you follow him down the hall.

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel so alone.

~

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, sukuna was closer than you’d thought.

he hears her laugh before he hears her voice.

soft. almost shy. tired in a way that isn’t about sleep.

sukuna leans against the wall at the end of the hallway, just out of sight. cigarette burning slow between his fingers. his hoodie half-zipped, throat dry.

he hadn’t meant to get up.

but he always wakes when she leaves. like his body knows. like something inside him panics when the bed goes cold.

so he got up. quiet. just to see.

and now he’s standing in the dark, eavesdropping like a fucking coward while she sits in the kitchen and talks to gojo.

he can hear her voice low and sad, cracking around the edges. can hear gojo trying to make her laugh, trying to make it okay.

he listens anyway.

even when it hurts.

“why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

“because you’re the one who feels the most.”

sukuna exhales smoke, slow. clenches his jaw.

he knows gojo’s not hitting on her. not really. he knows it’s not like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is that she’s downstairs spilling her heart out to someone else. that she didn’t wake him. that she didn’t stay.

that she left.

and that gojo was the one who made her laugh.

“he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work.”

he scoffs. quiet. bitter.

like hell gojo knows him. like hell anyone does.

they don’t know what it’s like to have something good and be too fucked-up to hold it. to want softness and flinch every time it touches you. to love someone in silence because saying it out loud would make it real.

they don’t know what it’s like to want to be better but still ruin everything you touch.

they don’t know him.

he flicks ash to the floor. keeps his back to the wall.

he should be angry. should storm in. tell gojo to back off. tell her to come back upstairs. tell her—

tell her what?

that he felt something? that he missed her the second she slipped out of bed? that he hates the way she makes him feel like there’s still a heart in his chest worth breaking?

no. instead, he presses the cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag and walks silently back upstairs. because it’s easier to leave than admit you care.

it’s easier to pretend you didn’t hear it.

it’s easier to be the villain than try to be anything else.the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

the bed is cold.

he doesn’t sleep.

~

~

“wait, wait, so you’re telling me you failed your chem midterm because you got too high and thought the beaker was flirting with you?”

choso shrugs, dragging a fry through a sad puddle of ketchup. “not flirting. just… vibing.”

you snort into your drink, shoulders shaking. “you vibed with a glass container and flunked stoichiometry?”

“the beaker started it.”

the table erupts with laughter. maki bangs her fist against the wood. “you’re such a freak.”

“hey,” choso says, mouth full, totally unbothered. “i passed the retake. c’s get degrees.”

you’re sitting at a picnic table behind the campus dining hall, where the sun cuts through gaps in the tree canopy and everyone’s pretending it’s not a monday. someone smuggled beers in gojo’s oversized backpack (probably him), and there’s music playing low from geto’s speaker, something beachy and stupid and perfect for pretending your life isn’t a mess.

it’s the full crew today. rare. loud.

gojo’s got on sunglasses even though you’re in the shade, and he keeps pulling dumb faces behind them. shoko’s halfway asleep with her feet in suguru’s lap. maki is chain-eating sweet potato fries while ruthlessly cyberbullying nanami for being too good at Wordle. yuki’s got a cherry lollipop between her teeth and is quizzing you about your classes, occasionally pausing to threaten to beat up your econ professor for “crimes against women.”

and sukuna—

sits at the far end of the mat, leaning back on his hands, shoulders tense, smoking slowly. saying nothing.

i mean, at least he came?

you haven’t spoken to him since you slipped out of his bed this morning. since you wandered barefoot into the kitchen and laughed with gojo until you felt human again.

now you’re sitting between gojo and choso, sipping lemonade like you’re not thinking about it. like you’re not wondering if he notices. if he cares. (he does. not that he’ll say it.)

“so,” gojo says, nudging your elbow. “have you seen that econ TA since the last midterm? the one with the man bun?”

you groan. “don’t remind me.” maki perks up. “what did you do?”

you bury your face in your hands. “i thought he was just some guy in the hallway and told him his fly was down.”

gojo cackles. “was it?”

“unfortunately, yes.”

yuki whistles. “bold of him to teach supply and demand with his dick out.”

“stop—”

“i won’t,” yuki says, pointing her lollipop at you like a mic. “queen behavior. you saw something, you said something. brave.”

“heroic,” maki adds.

“horny,” suguru mutters.

“you would know,” shoko mumbles, eyes still closed.

the table descends into delighted chaos again, voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright. you lean into choso’s shoulder, still grinning, cheeks warm. this — this moment — feels like breathing after being underwater. like coming up for air.

you feel normal. safe.

but you don’t miss the way sukuna’s jaw ticks as he stubs out his cigarette. or the way he keeps glancing at you from beneath his lashes, pink hair falling in his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding something in.

something that’s starting to crack.

from the corner of your eye you catch suguru leaning towards sukuna.

“you good?” he asks, looking down the mat.

sukuna doesn’t answer.

he lights another cigarette instead.

“you’ve had, like, four of those already,” shoko says, dry. “gonna give yourself cancer and a bigger attitude.”

gojo snorts. maki snickers.

sukuna exhales smoke toward the trees. “you want me to light one for you too, doc?”

shoko raises a brow. “i only diagnose, baby. not treat.”

the group titters again, but sukuna isn’t smiling. his gaze flicks across the mat — past gojo’s shit-eating grin, past maki’s teasing smirk, past you.

his voice comes out flat. “then shut the fuck up.”

the laughter stutters. dies.

you glance at him, startled.

shoko just blinks. “you always get this bitchy when your vape dies?”

“maybe he’s cranky ’cause someone didn’t say good morning,” gojo mutters, too quiet for most to hear — but sukuna hears it. you hear it.

your stomach drops.

sukuna stiffens, slow and cold. “the fuck did you just say?”

gojo shrugs, casual. “just saying. might’ve helped. sunshine and rainbows. breakfast in bed. a little serotonin.”

“don’t start.”

“not starting anything,” gojo says, smile sharp. “just making conversation.”

“then maybe shut your mouth.”

“jesus christ,” maki says under her breath. “chill.”

“no, really,” sukuna snaps, eyes narrowed. “why are you talking, satoru? you want her to climb into yourbed next time?”

the table freezes.

you flinch.

gojo’s grin falters, just a second — then returns, brittle and bright. “damn. someone’s projecting.”

“fuck off.”

“no, seriously. you get all bent out of shape the second she talks to someone else—”

“shut up.”

your voice cuts through the noise.

everyone turns to you. eyes wide.

you’re trembling.

“just—stop it,” you say, softer now. “you’re talking about me like i’m not sitting right here.”

silence.

sukuna looks at you like you’ve slapped him. maybe you have. metaphorically. emotionally. whatever. he goes still, face unreadable, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

you swallow. “if you’ve got something to say to me, say it. don’t take it out on everyone else.”

no response.

just a quiet, dangerous inhale. smoke curling from his lips.

you shake your head and scoff. the silence stretches — too long.

awkward. loaded. sharp as glass.

until choso clears his throat. “well,” he says, a little too loud, clapping his hands together like he’s brushing off the tension. “that was fun. but also maybe we all need to get blackout drunk and pretend none of this ever happened.”

maki snorts. “best idea you’ve ever had.”

“i’m serious,” choso says, pulling out his phone. “i was gonna wait, but whatever. we’re throwing a rager this weekend. big one. everyone’s invited. bring whoever, just don’t break my fucking windows this time.”

gojo perks up immediately. “you mean like… priject x kind of rager?”

“like ‘campus cops get called and ignore it because they’re scared’ kind of rager,” choso says, grinning.

“fuck yes,” yuki says, leaning back on her elbows. “i haven’t blacked out and woken up next to someone emotionally unavailable in weeks.”

“i thought you were seeing someone,” shoko says.

“i am,” yuki shrugs. “he’s just out of town.”

everyone laughs. it breaks the tension. just a little.

suguru raises a brow. “you sure your house can handle it?”

choso grins. “nope. but that’s the fun.”

“i’m in,” gojo says immediately. “i’ll bring ket, just got some for free off this blonde sorority girl i boned-.”

“gojo shut the fuck up,” maki says.

“aww,” gojo replies, smug.

you force a smile. nod. “yeah. sounds fun.”

choso glances at you, gently bumping your knee under the table.

you bump him back.

even sukuna mutters something that sounds vaguely like “whatever.” which, from him, is practically an rsvp.

everyone starts packing up. wrappers and half-empty cups, chattering and laughing as they get to their feet. the afternoon sun is mellow now, casting soft gold over everything. it should feel easy. warm.

but when you glance over at sukuna, he’s already standing. already walking away.

you step toward him, hesitant. “hey—”

he doesn’t stop.

doesn’t even look at you.

just shrugs. “don’t.”

your mouth opens. closes. something twists in your chest.

“i just… i thought maybe we could talk,” you say, softer now. quieter. just for him.

he slows. barely. the wind tugs at the hem of his hoodie. he looks over his shoulder, eyes cold and unreadable.

“what’s there to talk about?” he says.

it’s cold. effortless. the kind of line someone drops when they’re already halfway out the door.

you stand there, hands loosely curled at your sides, trying not to look as stupid as you feel. “sukuna…”

he finally looks at you.

and it’s worse than him not looking at all.

his expression is blank. not cruel, just tired. unreadable. like you’re just another thing he has to deal with. like this — whatever this is — doesn’t live under his skin the way it lives under yours.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you to say anything,” you say quietly. “i want you to be honest.”

he scoffs. looks away, runs a hand through his hair. you catch the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants a cigarette but doesn’t light one.

you step closer, not touching him. just enough so you’re in his space. maybe trying to remind him that this matters. that you matter.

“you look at me like i mean something,” you whisper. “and then you act like i don’t. like i’m a problem you never meant to have.”

his mouth twitches. but he says nothing.

“we sleep together,” you go on. voice soft, cracking at the edges. “and i know it doesn't mean nothing. not for me. not the way you look at me. not the way you touch me.”

his shoulders tense.

“you’re not like this with everyone,” you say. “you’re not cold like this unless you’re trying to hide something.”

“don’t start,” he mutters.

“start what?” you say, heart racing. “caring? because i do. and i know you do, too. even if you won’t say it. even if it scares you.”

that hits something. he flinches like the words sting.

and then — nothing. a breath. a long silence.

“you don’t know me,” he says.

it’s quiet. vicious. said without heat, but it lands like a slap.

your throat tightens. “i think i do.”

“you don’t,” he snaps, louder now. “you don’t know anything about me. you think you do because i fuck around with you every now and then — and that was a mistake.”

you flinch. physically step back.

his eyes dart away, jaw locked. you see the panic in the way he won’t meet your gaze. like he hates himself even as he says it.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say, barely above a whisper. “i just wanted you.” he says nothing. just stands there, staring at the grass, at the sky, anywhere but you.

you swallow. blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “i’ll stop. if that’s what you want. just… tell me.”

for a second, you think he might. you think he might give in. say something real, but then he looks at you, and it’s gone.

the softness. the almost, he shrugs. “do what you want." and with that, he turns and walks away.

you don’t stop him, don’t cry, you just stand there in the sunlight, hands trembling, heart cracking, watching him disappear like he always does.

~

the screen door slams behind him hard enough to shake the frame.

sukuna storms into the kitchen, kicks a chair out of his way, and yanks open the fridge with the kind of force that screams unresolved issues. there’s nothing in there but a half-empty bottle of orange gatorade and someone’s leftover pasta.

he grabs a beer instead. cracks it open without looking. downs half of it in one go.

“yo,” gojo calls from the living room. “there he is. you get lost or something?”

“yeah,” geto adds, laid out across the couch with his phone in his hand. “thought you died or ran off with some groupie.”

sukuna doesn’t answer. just slams the fridge shut and leans against the counter, eyes dark.

gojo appears in the doorway a second later. grinning, barefoot, stupidly beautiful in that careless, smug way that always makes sukuna want to punch him. “what, the picnic get a little too emotional for you?”

“fuck off.”

gojo raises a brow. “whoa. easy, killer.”

geto looks up from his phone. “damn. he’s brooding. who pissed in your cheerios?”

sukuna glares. “both of you need to shut the fuck up.”

gojo snorts. “jesus. what crawled up your ass?”

“i said shut the fuck up,” sukuna snaps, voice sharp and ugly. “don’t make me say it again.”

gojo tilts his head. his grin fades just slightly. “what’s your problem, man?”

“you’re my fucking problem,” sukuna spits.

geto whistles low under his breath. “okay.”

gojo blinks. “me?”

“yeah, you. always looking at her. always acting like you give a shit.”

“maybe i do,” gojo says, folding his arms.

sukuna shoves off the counter. closes the distance fast. “then why don’t you fuck her?”

geto sits up.

gojo’s smile drops.

sukuna’s breathing hard. eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “you want her so bad, right? always hovering. always asking about her. if you’re so worried, go fuck her.”

gojo’s mouth twitches. not a smile this time. something colder. “you think this is about fucking?”

“you want her,” sukuna growls. “don’t pretend you don’t.”

“of course i fucking want her,” gojo snaps, stepping in close. their chests almost touch. “you think i’m blind? you think anyone’s blind? she’s the best fucking thing to walk into our lives, and you treat her like trash.”

sukuna shoves him.

gojo stumbles back half a step, then laughs. “hit a nerve?”

“don’t talk like you know anything,” sukuna says, low and mean.

gojo’s face twists. “i know enough. i know she looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. and you look at her like she’s a mistake.”

“shut up.”

“you’re not scared to lose her,” gojo says. “you’re scared you already have, and you’re too much of a coward to fix it.”

sukuna grabs his shirt. fists it in both hands. “say one more word.”

“you wanna hit me?” gojo challenges. “go ahead. but it won’t make her stop crying about you. it won’t make her stop waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.”

“fuck you.”

“you already said that,” gojo says, eyes gleaming. “try something new.”

sukuna shoves him hard. gojo crashes back against the wall, laughing like he’s enjoying this. like the fight is foreplay.

geto sighs loudly from the couch. “jesus christ. this is the most homoerotic thing i’ve seen all week.”

“shut up, suguru,” both of them snap at once.

geto just sips from a water bottle and settles in like he’s watching an hbo original.

gojo wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. there’s no blood, but it feels close. he’s breathing hard now, too. “you think you’re the only one who could’ve had her?”

sukuna freezes.

gojo steps forward, lower now. his voice a little quieter, sharper. “you think i couldn’t have kissed her that night in the kitchen? when she looked at me like she wanted to fall apart? you think i haven’t had the chance to touch her? to fuck her?”

something ugly twists in sukuna’s gut. his jaw ticks. “then why didn’t you?”

gojo stares him down.

“because she’s in love with you, you fucking idiot,” he says. “and i’m not the type to take advantage of a girl crying over someone else.”

that hits like a punch.

sukuna reels back, lips parted. chest rising and falling too fast. his heart feels like it’s trying to escape.

gojo’s voice is quieter now. lower. almost sad. “she’s too wrapped up in you to see the way you treat her isn’t normal. but i see it. geto sees it. everyone sees it.”

sukuna says nothing.

gojo sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “you don’t deserve her.”

geto stands up, finally. claps a hand on sukuna’s shoulder. “you okay, man?”

sukuna jerks away.

he can’t be in this room anymore.

he storms past them both, heading upstairs without another word.

he slams the door behind him and doesn’t bother locking it.

the room’s a mess, it always is, clothes on the floor, textbooks on the desk collecting dust, ashtray full from three nights ago. he kicks a chair out of the way and collapses into the couch shoved against the wall.

his fingers are shaking when he rolls the joint. it’s not even a clean roll, he’s too pissed for precision, but he lights it anyway. inhales like it’ll kill the thoughts if he burns them fast enough.

it doesn’t.

smoke curls out of his mouth in lazy spirals, and he stares at the ceiling like it might have answers. but all it has is water stains and a crack in the corner that keeps getting bigger. he exhales. slow. watches it fade.

and thinks about you.

fuck.

he should’ve kissed you at the picnic. when you looked at him like that. like he meant something. like you were hurt, but still reaching for him. he should’ve fucking said something. instead, he walked off like a coward. let you stand there in front of everyone, soft and wide-eyed and trying, and all he did was shrug you off. like you didn’t matter.

he ashes the joint into a beer can. stares at the ember. lets his thoughts get loud. why does he do that? why does he push you away like you’re nothing, only to think about you constantly when you’re gone?

you looked so pretty today. he noticed — even though he pretended not to. he always notices. the way your voice goes quiet when you talk to choso, like he’s the only one who really sees you. the way you laugh at gojo’s stupid jokes, but your eyes flick to sukuna like you’re hoping he’ll laugh too. like you’re hoping he’ll give you something.

and he doesn’t.

because he’s fucking scared.

scared that if he lets himself want you out loud, he won’t be able to stop. scared that you’ll look at him the way his father looked at his mother — like love was a leash and a punishment all in one.

scared he’ll ruin you.

because that’s what he does, right?

he ruins things.

gets high. gets laid. ghosts the ones who stay too long. pushes until they leave so he doesn’t have to watch them choose to. you haven’t left yet. and that’s what makes it worse. you stay. even when he hurts you. even when he’s cold. even when he’s drunk at a party and pretends he doesn’t see you standing across the room in a dress that makes his chest ache.

god.

he remembers how you looked that night. the one at choso’s. on the couch, tequila on your tongue, heart in your eyes.

you touched him like you meant it. like he wasn’t just another party boy with a lighter in his back pocket and no soul in his stare, you touched him like he was yours.

he exhales. coughs a little. blinks the sting from his eyes, he can still feel your fingers in his hair, he’s never had that. not really. not the kind of want that runs deep. the kind that leaves bruises you ask for.

but you gave it to him, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.

so he threw it back at you. let it rot. let it sit between you like a loaded gun and dared you to pull the trigger, but you didn’t. you just looked at him today, so sad, like you knew he’d break your heart and you were still hoping he wouldn’t.

like you loved him.

and maybe that’s the part that scares him the most. that you do.

he tips his head back against the wall. closes his eyes, takes another hit, and thinks about what it would be like if he were someone else.

someone better, someone whole, someone who could say it back,vsomeone who could hold you in public. let you fall asleep in his bed and mean it when he said stay.

but he’s not.

he’s just him.

all rough edges and bad decisions. full of want and fear and ugly things he doesn’t know how to name, and you — you’re everything soft. everything gentle. everything he doesn’t deserve, but fuck, he wants you anyway. more than he’s ever wanted anything.

he ashes the joint again and stares at the wall. and for the first time in a long time,

he feels like crying.

~

you’re sitting cross-legged on yuki’s bedroom floor, eyeliner in one hand and heartbreak in the other.

“i just feel stupid,” you mutter, carefully lining your waterline in the mirror she propped against the bed. “like… i know he's a dick yuki but it still hurts.”

the girl in question is sprawled out on her stomach, applying highlighter with the kind of nonchalant ease that makes her look like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. “you’re not stupid,” she says, voice soft, “you’re just in love with a boy who’s emotionally fucked up and terrified of intimacy.”

you snort.

“i’m serious,” she adds, rolling onto her side to face you. “sukuna is the human version of a locked file. password protected. probably booby-trapped. and yet here you are, trying to romance him with your full heart and soft eyes.”

“it’s like i’m trying to love a brick wall.”

“a hot brick wall. with great arms.”

you laugh despite yourself. “and a great dick... wait, hey! don’t gas him up.”

yuki grins. “i’m just saying. if you’re gonna have your heartbroken by anyone, at least it’s by someone with good bone structure.”

you finish your eyeliner, lips pressed tight. “you think he feels anything for me?”

yuki pauses. looks at you. “i think he feels a lot. i think that’s the problem.”

you don’t respond. just sit in the quiet buzz of your own nerves as she helps you fix your hair.

by the time you both finally leave, it’s past eleven, and the party’s already in full swing.

or, more accurately, it’s a fucking riot.

cars lined down the block. bass shaking the pavement. the frat house looks like it’s about to combust, people hanging off the porch railing, lights flickering through the upstairs windows, the whole front yard packed with bodies and booze and cigarette smoke.

you’re barely through the door when you get bumped into, hard.

“jesus,” yuki mutters, grabbing your wrist so you don’t get pulled away. “this is worse than i thought.”

inside, it’s chaos.

liquor spilled on hardwood. sweaty bodies pressed together. someone already passed out on the stairs with sharpie all over their face. strobe lights flash in the living room, where people are dancing like they’ve never heard the word tomorrow.

it smells like weed, beer, and cologne — heavy and dizzying.

you spot gojo first, shirt half-unbuttoned, pouring tequila directly into someone’s mouth on the kitchen counter. he’s laughing so hard he nearly drops the bottle.

maki’s by the fridge with shoko, both leaning against the door like it’s the only thing keeping them upright. shoko looks bored. maki looks hammered — but still effortlessly hot in a cropped corset and leather pants.

and sukuna —

god.

he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread, head tipped back, a blunt in his fingers and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor.

he’s wearing that stupid silver chain and a black tee stretched across his chest like it’s painted on. eyes half-lidded. hair tousled. cheeks a little flushed.

he looks fucked up.

high as a kite. drunk as hell. somewhere between earth and oblivion.

and he still manages to look right at you like he owns you.

you blink. look away.

“there you are,” choso says, suddenly at your side. he pulls you into a one-armed hug, his voice low in your ear. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“sorry,” you breathe, grateful to see him. “yuki took forever curling her hair.”

“hey,” yuki says behind you, flipping him off.

he just grins and hands you a red solo cup. “you okay?” he leans in a little, lowering his voice. “looks like it’s hitting you.”

you nod, hand gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. “it’s just… packed. i forgot how insane these parties get.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing around. “they started pregaming at like eight. gojo took three shots of fireball in a row and tried to backflip off the couch. shoko had to stop him. it was a whole thing.”

you glance toward the living room where the couch looks like it’s been through a war. “jesus.”

“you wanna go to the backyard?” he offers. “it’s still loud but it’s not, like, madhouseloud.”

“maybe in a sec,” you say. “i need to… settle.”

his gaze softens. “you saw him?”

you nod, eyes flicking again to sukuna, who’s now leaning forward to light his blunt. you can see the way his jaw clenches when he exhales. how his eyes sweep the room like he’s looking for a reason to get in a fight.

“he’s already gone,” you murmur. “i don’t even know if he knows i’m here.”

choso’s quiet for a second. then, gently: “he knows.”

you look at him.

“you look like that,” he says, giving your outfit a subtle once-over. “there’s no way he hasn’t noticed.”

you smile a little. sad. “yeah, but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it.”

choso shrugs. “maybe not. but it’s still driving him crazy. you showing up like this. looking like that. it’s the closest thing to revenge you’ll get without breaking something.”

you sip your drink. “what if i don’t want revenge?”

“then that makes you a better person than most of us.”

you lean against his shoulder. “thanks for always looking out for me.”

“someone’s gotta,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “and god knows it’s not gonna be him.”

~

he sees you before you see him.

you always show up late. always soft around the edges. always looking like heartbreak dressed in something tight.

and tonight—

tonight you look unreal.

you’re holding choso’s arm like the party might swallow you whole. he’s leaning in close to talk to you. protective. always too fucking close.

sukuna takes a slow drag of his blunt and exhales through his nose.

it’s like trying to smoke the jealousy out of his chest. like maybe if he gets high enough, he’ll stop caring that your hand is still on choso’s hoodie, like it belongs there.

he doesn’t.

he watches the way your eyes sweep the room. how your mouth twitches when you spot him. that quick flicker of emotion—surprise, disappointment, something soft and sharp all at once—and then you look away.

that’s what fucking kills him.

you used to look at him like he was everything.

now you barely hold his gaze.

he wants to blame you. wants to pretend this whole ache is something external, something happening to him. but it’s not. it’s him. it’s all him. his mess. his coldness. his fucking cowardice.

his fingers twitch.

you’re laughing now. some guy just handed you a drink. not choso — someone else. taller. probably some econ prick you sit next to in lecture. he’s leaning into your space like he’s earned it, and you’re letting him.

you’re fucking letting him.

sukuna watches from the couch like a phantom. bottle of jack between his boots. blunt burning slow between his fingers. high out of his goddamn mind but still crystal fucking clear on one thing:

he’s going to kill that guy, or kiss you until you forget he exists.

maybe both.

maybe he won’t do anything. maybe he’ll just rot here, on this shitty leather couch that smells like weed and sweat and spilled seltzer, and keep watching you talk to some nobody like you didn’t fall apart in his arms three weeks ago.

he should look away, he can’t.

you smile at something the guy says. tip your head back, eyes soft, lashes fluttering. sukuna’s throat goes tight.

he remembers the sound you make when you laugh for real. how it tastes against his mouth. how you cling to him like you’re afraid he’s going to disappear.

but he already did.

he disappeared the second you looked at him like he meant something.

and now he’s just here. watching you be wanted by everyone who isn’t him. letting his own silence fuck up the only good thing that’s ever looked at him like he’s worth something.

you take a sip of your drink. the guy touches your arm.

sukuna sees red.

he sits up straighter. crushes the end of the blunt into an empty red solo cup and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the floor.

if he’s going to watch you flirt with someone else, he’s not going to do it sober.

not tonight.

not when you look this good.

not when you’re glowing in the middle of a crowd, and he’s the one who turned you into a ghost.

he downs the rest of the whiskey like it’s water. doesn’t even flinch.

liquid courage or liquid idiocy — at this point, what’s the difference?

you’re still across the room, still talking to the same guy, still pretending you don’t feel his eyes on your back like a second skin.

fine.

you wanna ignore him?

then he’ll make sure you can’t.

“yo,” he slurs, pushing off the couch. “gojo. shotgun?”

gojo, already halfway through a white claw, perks up instantly. “now we’re talking. someone get the funnel.” like the two weren't arguing a day ago, crazy what alcohol does to you.

someone cheers. music blares. lights pulse.

sukuna doesn’t look at you — not yet. but he knows you’re watching now. he can feel it, that slow drag of your attention pulling back toward him like gravity. like instinct, because he’s being loud. reckless. stupid. because this is what he does best: burn bridges and light himself on fire just to feel warm.

someone brings the beer bong over and sukuna barely waits for it to fill before dropping to one knee, taking the nozzle in his mouth with that cocky little smirk that means he’s about to do something he knows he’ll regret. gojo claps him on the back. “you’re so fucking dumb, man.”

“jealous?” sukuna sneers, head tilting, eyes flicking over to you — finally.

and yeah. you’re watching. your expression is unreadable. somewhere between worry and frustration and that familiar ache he’s seen too many times in your eyes. good.

maybe now you’ll remember.

he downs the beer like it’s nothing. wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "another,” he says.

“dude,” geto mutters, shaking his head. “chill.” but sukuna’s not listening, he’s already halfway to the kitchen, already demanding shots, already making a fucking scene, and he doesn’t stop.

not until he sees you moving toward him. slow, uncertain. choso trailing after you, clearly annoyed. clearly ready to drag sukuna outside and beat his ass if he doesn’t knock it off.

but sukuna just grins wider, sloppier. his eyes lock onto yours like you’re the only person in the world that matters.

and in his fucked-up little head, you are.

“look who finally noticed me,” he drawls, voice syrupy and bitter all at once. “what, couldn’t hear me being a complete disaster over the sound of you flirting?”

you stop a few feet away from him. choso lingers close, protective, but quiet. “what are you doing?” you ask, soft. wounded.

it hits him in the chest like a punch.

he hates that tone.

he hates that he made you use it.

“partying,” he shrugs, gesturing around. “that’s what we do, right?” you stare at him. your lip trembles.

fuck.

fuck. this isn’t working.

he wanted your attention, not your disappointment, he wanted your eyes on him — not like this. you glance at the crowd — the people watching, whispering, smirking.

"come outside,” you murmur. “please.”

and for a second, he wants to. for a second, he thinks he might follow you anywhere. but instead, he laughs. harsh. cruel. drunk.

"why? so you can lecture me? tell me to get my shit together?”

your eyes glisten like they always do when you’re trying not to cry.

"i just want to make sure you're okay..." you shyly murmur. you look so small right now. not physically, no, you’ve always filled a room just by breathing, but emotionally. fragile in that heartbreaking way he hates himself for craving. like you’re bracing yourself for him to break you again.

and that’s the moment it hits him.

his high? gone. like a match snuffed out under cold rain.

he stares at you.

'fuck.'

he doesn’t know what he expected. maybe for you to scream at him, finally give him the reaction he’s been provoking all night like a sadistic asshole. or maybe to just turn your back, disappear into the crowd with some guy who’ll actually treat you right.

but this?

you’re just… sad.

sad and soft and waiting. hoping.

it guts him.

he runs a hand down his face and mutters something under his breath, like a half-formed curse or maybe your name—he’s not even sure anymore—and then sighs. “come on,” he says, voice low. rough. “let’s get outta here.”

you blink at him, confused. “what?”

“outside. fresh air. you look like you hate it here.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer. just slips through the crowd, trusting you’ll follow. and you do.

out back, it’s quieter. still messy. kids lighting joints, someone making out against a fence, music thumping faint in the distance. but it’s better. open.

he lights a cigarette, takes one drag, then flicks it away like it’s poison. because it kind of is. his throat feels tight. tighter than it has in weeks.

you cross your arms, biting your lip. “are you gonna say anything or—?”

“i’m sorry.”

it’s like a gunshot in the silence.

you freeze. blink. “…what?” he turns to you, finally really looking at you, and god, it fucking hurts.

you’re standing there in this little dress that hugs you in all the places he’s dreamed about touching with reverence instead of recklessness. hair mussed from the heat, lips parted, looking at him like you still see something good under all this rot.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, slower. quieter. “for being a dick. for tonight. for every night.” you don’t say anything. not yet. just watch him, wide-eyed, while he runs both hands through his hair, pacing like he’s going to combust.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he mutters. “feelings. talking. whatever the fuck this is between us.”

“sukuna—”

“no, let me finish,” he snaps, then softens when he sees you flinch. “sorry. again. just… let me talk.”

you nod, and he breathes.

"you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel anything real. and that scares the shit outta me. i’m not good at this. i fuck up. i push people away because it’s easier to ruin shit than risk needing it.” he looks at you like he wants to fall apart but doesn’t know how.

“but you? you’re different. you look at me like i’m not some piece of shit frat guy with a lighter and a nicotine addiction and a god complex. and it makes me wanna be better. not just for you—fuck that, that’s too easy—but for me. because for the first time in my life, i care.”

you take a shaky breath. “then why do you keep hurting me?” his voice cracks. “because i’m a coward.” and that’s the truth of it. plain and ugly. he moves closer. slow. tentative.

“i didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “but i did. so fucking hard. and every time you smiled at me, i felt like i couldn’t breathe. and i told myself i didn’t care. i slept with other girls. i ignored your texts. i acted like you were nothing. but you weren’t. you aren’t. you’re everything.”

you look up at him, eyes shimmering. “then why—”

“because i didn’t think i deserved you.”

his hands hover near your arms, like he wants to touch you but is afraid he’ll taint you. “you’re so fucking good. you care. you love so deep it’s terrifying. and i’m… i’m not that guy. i drink too much, i sleep around, i lie to myself. but with you… i don’t wanna lie anymore.”

and then finally—finally—he touches you. hands gentle on your waist like you’re porcelain. like he’s holding something sacred.

“i love you,” he says, and it breaks something in his chest to say it out loud.

your lips part in a quiet gasp.

“i don’t know how to love right. but i know it’s you. it’s always been you.”

you stare at him, tears falling now. not sad—just overwhelmed. and when you whisper, “i love you too,” it’s like something inside him clicks into place.

he pulls you into him.

not like the rough, fast, dirty hookups from before. not like the careless nights or the sneaky touches at parties. this is different. this is soft. reverent.

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “i’m gonna fuck up,” he says. “i know it. but i’ll try. for you. i’ll try.” you nod, leaning into him.

“you don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper. “you just have to be real.” and for the first time in his life, he is.

he kisses you like you’re the last good thing in the world. slow and deep and aching. his hands trembling just a little as he holds you closer, because he knows what this means.

this isn’t just a kiss, this is a promise.

and when you finally pull back, breathless, foreheads pressed together under the stars and the hum of a party you’ve both forgotten, he exhales something that feels like peace.

~

this feels like peace, neither of you says it, but it’s obvious in the way you walk side by side through the humid night, your pinkie brushing his. in the way the music fades behind you. in the way he doesn’t light another cigarette, even though his fingers twitch for it. "you wanna crash at mine?” you ask quietly, like you’re afraid the magic might snap if you speak too loud.

sukuna shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “sure. your bed’s comfier anyway.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “you’ve never slept in it.” he smirks, boyish. “yeah, but i’ve imagined it. mostly with you naked.”

“gross,” you say, laughing despite yourself, cheeks warm. he catches that. stores it. your laugh. the tilt of your head. the way you look at him like you’re still trying to believe this version of him is real. your dorm is quiet when you slip in. your roommate’s gone for the weekend, and everything smells faintly like you, warm shampoo, vanilla lotion, the fruity candle you always forget to blow out.

he toes off his shoes, watches as you dig through your drawer for a t-shirt. you toss it at him. oversized. soft. “wear this.” “you want me in your clothes now?” he raises a brow. “kind of possessive of you.”

“shut up and change.” he obeys. mostly because you’re watching him with this amused little smile, biting your lip like you’re trying not to. he peels off his hoodie and shirt, and you don’t look away—not this time. you just stare. like you’ve got a right to, and maybe you do.

you crawl into bed first, and he follows, letting the blankets swallow you both whole. your body finds his like it always does—like instinct. his arm wraps around you, snug. grounding. for a while, you just lie there. tangled up. listening to the faint buzz of a streetlamp outside and your twin heartbeats slowing in sync. "so,” you murmur into the quiet, “you ever gonna tell me what your first impression of me was?” he exhales a half-laugh. “you mean besides thinking you were way too sweet to be within a ten-foot radius of someone like me?”

“yes.”

he stretches, arm still looped behind your back. “alright. first time i saw you, i thought, ‘she looks way too cute for a party like this.’” you blink. “that’s it?”

“that’s everything.”

you smile against his chest. “i thought you were a douchebag.”

“accurate.”

“but also hot.” he snorts. “can’t blame you.” you reach up to flick his earring. “modest, too.”

“deadly combo.”

he goes quiet then, thumb brushing the curve of your hip beneath the blankets. his body is warm. relaxed. but his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling like there’s still something heavy on his chest. “you okay?” you ask, soft.

he doesn’t answer right away. just pulls you closer, tucks your head under his chin. your breath ghosts over his collarbone. “yeah,” he says eventually. “just thinking.”

and he is.

his thoughts spiral and drift, but they always land back on you. on how you smell like sleep and sweetness. on how your leg’s thrown over his like it belongs there. on how your fingers trace lazy patterns against his side, like your body’s memorizing him in real-time. he looks down at you. your lashes are fluttering now. not quite asleep yet, but close.

you don’t even know what you do to him. how you make him want to stay in one place, when he’s always been the type to run. how you make him feel clean, even when he’s covered in smoke and guilt and sharp edges. how he’d burn down his whole world just to keep yours bright. he doesn’t know how to say it, not out loud. not yet.

but he’ll show you, in the way he lets you hold him, in the way he watches you sleep like you’re the moon and the ocean and the sky all at once, in the way he lets his walls fall, brick by brick, as he lies beside you in your too-small bed and thinks 'god, i fucking love you.'

he’s not sure when it happened. maybe it was that first party, when you looked at him like you knew better but stayed anyway. maybe it was every little moment since. the after-class coffees, the way you talk to choso, the time you kissed him in the rain and told him he was worth more than he believed.

but he knows this:

he’s yours now, in the way that matters. not in words. not in labels. not in frat boy bravado. but in the stillness. in the way his heartbeat slows when you touch him. in the way he doesn’t feel high tonight—just whole.

"you awake?” he murmurs.

you hum against him. “barely.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like a secret. and maybe you don’t hear it. maybe you’re already dreaming.

but he means it.

god, he means it.

and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to wake up alone. he wants mornings with you. bad coffee and cold feet and sleepy smiles. he wants all of it. you and your stupid candle and your oversized t-shirts and your too-big heart. so he kisses your forehead again. lets your scent bury into his skin.

and as you finally drift off in his arms, sukuna closes his eyes and lets himself want something real.

something like this.

something like love.

~

extraaa

frat rats and others ig

yuki 🪩: chat what the fuck am i looking at

yuki 🪩: [photo attached]

yuki 🪩: LMAO THEYRE NOT EVEN NAKED WTH

maki 🥋: HUHHHHH

maki 🥋: omg they are so like... calm looking.

shoko 🩹: bro no way

shoko 🩹: sukuna looking content that's some voodoo shit

choso 🍃: i literally watched him almost rock some guys shit for talking to her last night now he's sleeping with a fucking smile on his face wth bruh give me a break

geto 🍷: free y/n bro

choso🍃: su man I'm glad it finally happened lowk

gojo 🧿: alright fuckers, i’m taking full credit here

gojo 🧿: this whole meltdown-to-makeup saga? that’s me pulling strings like a puppet master

gojo 🧿: if i hadn’t pissed him off just right, this whole tender bullshit never would of happened

shoko 🩹: you mean emotionally blackmailing him until he cracked? real noble, gojo

gojo 🧿: hey, desperate times call for desperate measures

gojo 🧿: plus, someone had to wake him up :(

maki 🥋: you’re the worst kind of manipulative and it’s honestly impressive

gojo 🧿: proud of my work here, thank you very much

gojo 🧿: i deserve an award for making sukuna less of a complete dickface

yuki 🪩:you're getting your ass beat when he wakes up and sees that bro

choso 🍃: lol watching him fail to keep his shit together all this time was tragic but so funny icl

gojo 🧿: nah but let’s not act like he didn’t look a little too happy to be clinging onto her in that pic

gojo 🧿: mf was in REM sleep dreaming about her saying “i’m proud of you”

choso 🍃: he’s gonna wake up and act like he didn’t say all that emotional shit too

choso 🍃: “idk what you’re talking about” ass boy

geto 🍷: someone record his gaslight attempt when she brings it up later

geto 🍷: “that wasn’t me babe, that was the tequila talking”

shoko 🩹: tequila didn’t make you cry into her neck and whisper “don’t leave” king

maki 🥋: he’s gonna delete himself from the chat when he sees this convo

gojo 🧿: and yet i’ll still be the villain somehow

gojo 🧿: just know none of this would’ve happened without my psychological warfare

yuki 🪩: congratulations on being the most chaotic matchmaker known to man

gojo 🧿: i’ll be taking referrals now

gojo 🧿: hit me up if your situationship needs emotional waterboarding

shoko 🩹: Jesus Christ

choso 🍃: y’all think he’s gonna be normal now or…?

geto 🍷: define normal

maki 🥋: if he stops growling every time someone breathes near her, i’ll take that as a win

yuki 🪩: god imagine him showing up to econ actually smiling. i’d drop the class

shoko 🩹: if he starts doing couple shit on campus i’m gonna barf

gojo 🧿: imagine them holding hands in the dining hall. i will LOSE it

gojo 🧿: i’ll flip the table

geto 🍷: y/n has the patience of a saint and the taste of a girl who needs therapy

choso 🍃: she’s in love let her be 😭

maki 🥋: yeah well she better be charging him hourly for emotional labor

gojo 🧿: alright placing bets now

gojo 🧿: how long before he fucks it up again? i say three weeks tops

yuki 🪩: shut the fuck up gojo

ooo finally done another, not as good as my choso fic but i still fw this oneee (subtle plug go read this shit it’s fire: sex w/ a stoner)

m.list.

your guy’s comments make me the happiest girl in the world i will respond to them all you are all my biggest supporters omg kiss me lololo

[wakasaz]

ooh, i heard u wanted some waka reqs<33 mayb more benkei's sis reader x waka? i love that trope, it is so underrated..

n for prompt,,,,, maybe waka seeing reader at the club (n shes not supposed to be there,,) n well.. since shes obviously drunk, things get spicy! smut too,, thank u!<33

Sins Between Shots

The bass hit like a heartbeat, low and heavy, vibrating through the concrete floor and straight into your chest. Neon lights pulsed in time with the music—violet, electric blue, blood red—painting the crowd in a kaleidoscope of color. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and perfume, every breath tasting like heat and wild freedom.

Bodies moved in waves on the dance floor, silhouettes tangled together, grinding, swaying, losing themselves in the rhythm. The DJ stood elevated in the far back, head bobbing, hands in the air, commanding the room like a god of chaos. Behind him, LED screens flashed with strobes and visuals that made your head spin if you stared too long.

To the left, the bar was lined with glowing bottles and slick counters, bartenders moving fast—pouring, flipping, shouting over the music. Laughter and slurred pick-up lines floated through the haze, half-lost in the beat.

In the VIP section, separated by velvet ropes and guarded stares, expensive cologne mingled with cigarette smoke. Leather couches curved around glass tables littered with drinks, half-melted ice, and untouched appetizers. Conversations here were quieter, more dangerous, all power games and smirks exchanged between sips.

You weren't supposed to be here, not even old enough to get in technically. Your birthday is in a few days so it's not that big of a deal right? Benkei would kill you if he knew but he thinks you're at Yuzuha's for the night.

You're six shots in and currently grinding on some guy you just met. He's cute you think—honestly you don't really remember what his face looked like, his clothes just reminded you of someone and that's why you accepted when he asked.

You see a flash of purple move past you but you think nothing of it continuing to dance until you hear someone say your name and then the pair of hands on your hips are ripped away.

“Hey, why did you—”

You turn around and see Wakasa, your brother's best friend—and the guy you've had a crush on since you were a little girl and Benkei introduced you holding the guy you were dancing with by the collar of his shirt, wakasa fist pulled back about to throw.

“Waka!” You say speech slightly slurred And vision a little hazy

He glances at you and pulls the guy close so their nose to nose “fuck off, I see you ‘round her again, I'll kill you” he says before pushing the guy back with enough for to make him stumble.

Wakasa walks over to you and crosses his arms. “You're not supposed to be here little Arashi” little Arashi the nickname he gave you when you were ten because you followed your brother everywhere—a mini him wanting to be just like him.

You gulp, scared he's about to call Benkei but Waka smirks and shakes his head “you look good” you feel your face Heat up but when you go to say something someone bumped into you and you stumble forward slamming into Wakasas chest. He smells good like cherry lollipops he always has and whiskey.

Your hands fist his shirt—pulling him closer to you and his wrap around your waist steadying you. You look up and see something in his eyes. You're not sure what it is but you've been seeing it a lot lately but usually it disappears as fast as it comes but tonight it's not.

You're so lost in his eyes you don't realize both of you are leaning closer to each other till your noses brush together. “Tell me to stop, little Arashi” but you don't. You lean up and close the gap between you two. He tastes exactly like me smells and it makes you moan into the kiss.

His arm that is wrapped around you pulls you closed so your bodies are flush and he deepens the kiss—his tongue flicking your bottom lip asking for permission you grant him without a second thought.

You didn't even know you two were walking till your back hit the wall and you feel wakas hands slide down towards your thighs. “Jump” he says against your lips.

You do as he says and wrap your legs around him, his hands gripping your thighs. You continue to kill and start grinding on each other. Your hands in his hair as his moves to your ass.

Wakasa puts you down and you see your in a bathroom. He turns you around so your facing the mirror and counter before he pushes on your back bending you so you're lying your front on the counter. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh going under the dress you wore tonight and he groans, mumbling something about how wet you already are.

He pulls your panties down to your ankles and undoes his pants pulling his hardened length out. His other hand grabs your face and turns you so you're looking in the mirror.

“Eyes on me, princess” he says as he pushes into you both of you moaning at the feeling. He doesn't give you time to adjust thrusting in and out of you. Slow at first but then picking up his pace. The top of your dress is pulled down as he plays with your tits, groaning and telling you, you have no idea how long he has wanted you like this.

You push back meeting his thrust “fuuuuck, just like that baby. Taking my cock so good”

You moan and whine his name, one of his hands slipping under your dress again to find your clit. You continue to watch in the mirror and you swear he has never looked more beautiful. He smirks at you and tells you you're his good girl and how good you feel wrapped around him. “Never had pussy this good”

You moan his name as you feel yourself come undone, clenching around him as he tells you to make a mess all over his cock. Your eyes crossing and legs shaking, the only thing holding you up is the counter the wakas arm wrapped around you.

He finishes seconds after you with a moan of your name, his head laying on the back of your shoulder. You can feel his breath hitting your neck. You both stay there for a few seconds catching your breath before he stands—readjusting his clothes and yours.

He kisses you one last time before resting his forehead against yours—his hands on your hips again

“You're mine now, little Arashi”

[xoxolaw]

if you would be so kind…. seongje x reader but she’s insanely dense??? like very nice and kind sorta dense. “aw you were watching me? good to know u care so much” and he’s lowkey tweakin out. she just thinks they friends for all of the time he spends around her until maybe he just has to get over his avoidance issues or something. anyways feel free to twist this however you want, thank you !!!

You care so much

in which seong-je can't help but feel frustrated due to how oblivious the sweet, dense girl he's hopelessly into is.

Geum Seong-je x reader

Seong-je had a rule. Three seconds.

If someone pissed him off for more than three seconds, they got dropped.

No hesitation. No exceptions.

People learned fast. Keep your eyes down. Don’t talk to him unless spoken to. Never test his patience.

And yet, here you were. Walking, talking, smiling proof that his rule had its limits.

“Seong-je!” you called from across the hallway, waving at him like he hadn’t just finished beating some second-year half to death behind the gym.

You didn’t even flinch when you saw the blood still on his knuckles.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, pulling a napkin from your bag.

“I know I’m bleeding.” He sneered, but his voice didn’t have its usual bite. “I like it that way.”

You just tilted your head, eyes soft. “Still, you’ll get it on your uniform.”

And then you were dabbing at his hand. Touching him.

He could’ve killed you for that.

He didn’t.

---

You weren’t like the people he surrounded himself with. You weren’t strong. Not by his standards. Not violent. Not cunning. Just stupidly kind.

And dense.

God, so dense.

When he made fun of you, you laughed.

When he skipped class to sit on the rooftop, you brought him snacks.

When he stared at you too long, too hard, too obviously—you’d just smile and say, “Good to know you care so much.”

Care?

He should’ve punched a wall.

He almost did.

Instead, he smoked. He watched. He loomed.

And you kept letting him.

---

The tipping point came on a Thursday.

You were in the courtyard, sitting on the grass with your legs tucked under you, reading something stupid—he could tell it was stupid by the way your face lit up at every page.

“Why do you always look so damn happy?” he said, dropping into the grass beside you without asking.

You blinked, surprised. “Am I not allowed?”

He smirked. “Most people have the decency to be miserable around me.”

You just shrugged. “You’re not that scary, Seong-je.”

He barked out a laugh. “Says the girl who saw me break a guy’s nose last week.”

“You were grinning like a maniac,” you said. “So I figured you were having fun.”

He stared at you. “You think this is a game to me?”

You tilted your head. “No. I think you like being strong. And I think you don’t know what to do when people aren’t scared.”

He blinked. For once, words failed him.

You smiled again, so gently, and went back to your book like you hadn’t just dismantled his entire persona with a casual sentence.

Seong-je lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

Three seconds.

Three seconds.

Three fucking seconds.

---

He started seeing you everywhere.

Not on purpose. He wasn’t following you.

(He was.)

You asked him to walk you to the bus stop once.

He said no.

Then did it anyway.

You offered to share your drink.

He said it was gross.

Then drank from the same straw.

He didn’t get it. You weren’t strong. You weren’t even interesting. But you made his chest feel like it was on fire every time you called his name like it meant something.

Like he was someone good.

And that pissed him off.

---

“You have no self-preservation,” he growled one afternoon, pinning some third-year to the wall after they grabbed your arm in the hallway.

You blinked up at him. “He just wanted help finding the music room.”

“He touched you.”

“So?”

“So I broke his nose.”

You knelt beside the bleeding guy, already pulling out tissues. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Then stop letting people near you,” he snapped.

You looked up at him, confused. “But why?”

And that was it.

That was when something cracked.

He hauled you up by your wrist and dragged you into the empty stairwell. The door slammed behind you, echoing like gunfire.

“Are you stupid?” he snapped. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?” you asked, honestly bewildered.

He laughed—mean and bitter. “Acting like I’m just some school friend. Like I’m some loyal dog who follows you around because I’ve got nothing better to do.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer, voice low, dangerous. “You think I do all this—pick fights, skip class, smoke my nerves out, bleed for you—because I like being your emotional punching bag?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You’ve got three seconds,” he hissed.

“Three seconds for what?”

“To tell me you know.”

You swallowed. “Know… what?”

He stared at you like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.

“I want you,” he said, voice sharp as a blade. “And I don’t mean your sweet little friendship. I mean your time. Your body. Your attention. I want you, and I’m two seconds away from going insane if you keep pretending you don’t see it.”

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t do kindness,” he continued, almost panting now. “I don’t do softness. I break things. I like breaking things. But when you smile at me, I—”

He cut himself off.

Ran a hand through his hair. Laughed bitterly.

“And you’re still just staring.”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I really didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, backing off. “You do now.”

Silence.

Then you said, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Seong-je’s jaw clenched.

He turned away, bracing a hand against the wall like it might keep him from doing something stupid—like yelling, or kissing you, or punching through the drywall.

“Then forget it,” he said, biting the words out like glass. “Pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to pretend.”

His head snapped toward you.

You were still staring at him—eyes wide, voice soft, hands balled in the hem of your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you repeated. “But I don’t want to ignore it either.”

He stared.

Waited.

Waited for the punchline.

Waited for you to laugh it off, the way you always did, like everything he did was just another joke in your day.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stepped closer.

“Seong-je,” you said, carefully, “I’m… not good at this.”

“No shit.”

“But I don’t think you’re just some friend.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then what the hell am I?”

You hesitated, cheeks coloring, fingers twitching at your sides. “Something… important?”

“Something important?” he echoed flatly.

You nodded.

His mouth twisted. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re terrifying,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I still sit with you. Still talk to you. Still bring you snacks.”

“I thought you were just stupid,” he muttered.

“Maybe I am.” You took another step forward. “But if you want me, and you’re not just messing with me, then maybe you should do something about it.”

His breath caught.

Then he laughed. Low. Dangerous.

“You think I haven’t been doing something about it?” he said, stepping into your space. “I’ve been holding myself back. Every damn day. You think restraint comes naturally to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because suddenly his hand was on your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

And for a second—just a second—the world froze.

Then he kissed you.

Not gently.

Not sweetly.

It was rough, like a warning, like he was staking a claim. Like he’d been starving and just found his first meal.

You gasped into it, hands flying to his jacket, unsure whether to push or pull, but he was already gripping your waist, dragging you closer until there was nothing between you but heat and breath and every unspoken thing.

When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, expression wild.

You were flushed, dazed, your fingers still curled in his shirt.

He smirked.

“There,” he said, voice hoarse. “That clear enough for you?”

You nodded, speechless.

But then, like always, you tilted your head and smiled.

“I still think you’re not that scary.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Too late,” you whispered.

And he laughed—actually laughed—before kissing you again, slower this time, like maybe three seconds would never be enough.

---

Really enjoyed writing this request!!! I hope you enjoyed reading it as well!!

[qwardivior]

CHATT I never post Alien Stage on here but I find it necessary to share some analysis I did for Ivan’s new song Paratise because BOYYYYY DOES IT HAVE ME TWEAKINGGG. My friends and I analyzed the teaser for it a couple days ago and when I tell you WORD FOR WORD BAR FOR BAR WE WERE CORRECT IN ITS MEANING!! Ok anyway… (shout out to suyeonr2 in the yt comment section for the translation, we couldn’t do it without you)

Ivan combined the terms “paradise” and “Parasite” on purpose and its genius.

Ivan wished to leave an impression on Till no matter what so he wouldn’t forget him. It was a selfish act of love and he did that through his death. And by the time Till noticed his affection it was too late, it was already the end. Till would only notice his romantic feelings once he’s already dead.

So his memory, the visage of his dead body and confused feelings are stuck inside Till like a parasite. For Ivan this is perfect! Living rent free in Till’s head is his own paradise! But for Till it’s a parasitic entity, one that ended up draining his life in the end.

AND THIS IS ABSOLUTELY CRAZY BECAUSE IVAN KNOWSSS HES CRAZY IN THE SONG. We get the emotion that he knows deep down it’s wrong but he wants it anyway aaaaa hence the name “Paratise”. It’s two halves of a whole tragedy.

Like right here we see how it’s almost like a symbiotic relationship even though Till really doesn’t benefit from it in the slightest. AND THE REFERENCES TO ROUND 7?? Ivan wanted to haunt Till’s whole being down to the music coming out of his mouth and he did that. It costed Till his life in the end so I wonder if Ivan would be satisfied knowing the memory of him was so painful to Till that it killed him.

This whole thing is messed up in a way that perfectly highlights the tragedy of Alnst. Not only are they being forced into a death game, but they also don’t understand love like we do.

Looking at this from a purely objective standpoint it’s toxic in every sense of the word. Till not understanding his feelings, Ivan wanting to die so Till can look at him deeper and remember him regardless of what it took. But looking at it from the perspective of alien stage this changes. For normal humans like us it’s toxic but for them it’s sweet. They don’t have cultural norms like we do so they act like “animals” in the sense that they’re pets. It’s all they have.

Like they said in the beginning, the true meaning of “human” has been lost, and if to be “human” is to believe in “god” then that’s what they’ll do. But they don’t know what “god” is. It’s just someone they love wholeheartedly (obsessively). They revolve around them like the earth around the sun. But this is unhealthy. In healthy relationship advice you’re told to NEVER do this because humans are imperfect and when you put your trust in an imperfect being both of you crash and burn. We see this a lot in Alnst —> Mizi after sua died , till after Ivan died, and now Luka after Hyuna died.

But they don’t know that because humans need something greater than themselves to keep them going. Chat not only is Alnst tragic it’s also a commentary on the human condition when put in situations as extreme as this. They’re literally a textbook abusive/toxic relationship but it’s all they have. It’s tragic man.

Alien stage drives me crazy sometimes. I should really look into happier media

(@nurukiki I posted it come cry with me)

[yandere-daze]

Here is just something silly I thought of, I hope you enjoy! ^^

gn reader

1.2k words

tw yandere, mention of murder

Yandere! Light gets shot by a love arrow and instead falls in love with Cupid! Reader

I actually just picked up Cupid Parasite again ( I had for some inexplicable reason dropped the game after finishing my fourth route even though I had been enjoying the game?), and it made me think about someone having that type of matchmaking power again.

Only this time, instead of Cupid being a yandere that falls for the reader, I thought about the reader being Cupid and shooting their arrow at a yandere only to find out, oops! The yandere fell for Cupid instead of another human!

And honestly, one of the funniest possibilities I could think of ( and also because I'm still in my Death Note phase) was Light getting hit by a love arrow like this. Both because we never see him really show love to anyone in the series, and because it would really, really annoy Light to suddenly fall in love with someone.

I think he sums up his thoughts about it pretty well in the manga:

"Only fools fall in love."

He can't afford to fall in love with anyone and lose focus of his main mission, and he's adamant about this. Love is only useful to him when he can exploit it to get other people to do what he wants. Otherwise, it is a complete nuisance to him.

So imagine his annoyance when suddenly, for no apparent reason at all, he starts to have this warm, fuzzy feeling inside his chest. And though he tries to deny it for as long as possible, Light is not an idiot and he knows what this means. And he internally curses himself because how could this happen? And now of all times? He really can't afford to develop feelings for anyone, it would be an exploitable weakness.

But after the first annoyance has passed and he has worked through some of his frustrations, Light realizes something quite crucial that he hadn't thought about in his earlier rage. Just where were these sudden feelings coming from? No, really.

Who was Light even in love with? What person made his heart beat so distractingly fast whenever he zoned out for a moment? He hadn't met any people recently that had caught his eye, and these "symptoms" seemed to manifest whenever they pleased.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't find a pattern to this madness, no particular person that evoked them in him. They were just generally ever-present.

And isn't that just a different kind of torture? After all these years, Light had caught feelings for someone, and he couldn't even tell who they were for. All he knew was that his heart was yearning, screaming for someone that seemed to always be outside his reach, someone he could never see or touch. Light didn't believe in cliche things like soulmates but he muses that this must be what they felt when they hadn't found their other half yet, the one that would complete them.

Because Light was truly empty, a shell of a man that has never felt full of love before. And suddenly he feels these intense emotions he doesn't know what to do with. Because truly, what is he supposed to do?

Light has confidence in his appearance and his ability to charm people effortlessly but what use is that when he doesn't even know who he should try to woo? It's absolutely maddening to him.

And of course, ironically enough, you had no idea what kind of torture you had inflicted upon the young man. Most of the time, you would simply shoot your golden arrow of love at someone and they would feel drawn to the person that fate had chosen for them.

Only, he doesn't seem to be pursuing anyone as far as you can tell. You're honestly starting to doubt the power of your love arrows at this point. This had never happened before. Was Light just that incapable of loving that fate had had decided he should be alone for all times?

But the longer you watch him (because of this huge anomaly and the desire to understand it), the more you come to the conclusion that no, the arrow must have worked. Light showed clear signs of someone in love: The distant looks, the dreamy sighs, lying awake at night deep in thoughts. You had even caught him trying to hug a large pillow at night, only for him to quickly push it away again, as if he had been mocked for doing something so desperate.

So clearly, he was in love with someone, just as he was supposed to be. But with whom? That was the one question you just couldn't answer for yourself.

To finally put your mind to rest, you decide to do something that you haven't done in a long time: You decide to descend to Earth in human form and get to know the man in question a little more closely in hopes of learning more up close.

The meeting doesn't go as expected. The moment Light hears your words, the instant he lays his eyes on you, his heart starts beating rapidly and he knows. He knows like he has never known anything else before.

You were the one. You were the person he had been waiting for all this time, the one he was meant to be with. And you were so sweet to him too, a truly kind and honest person that deserved to be part of the new world order he was going to create with his own hands.

In this moment, Light knows deep in his very soul that he would do anything to have you. Now that he has you within reach after yearning for you for seemingly an eternity, he almost feels himself go crazy. It's getting even more difficult for him to keep a calm mind and still execute his plans as Kira while you're so close to him and yet not fully his.

He needs you, he knows he does. But you seem so clueless about his feelings for you. You might be Cupid, but never have you experienced a mortal falling for you. It was so unprecedented that you never even considered the possibility. Instead, you focused all of your attention on finding out who Light was in love with. You couldn't return home until you finally figured this out.

Of course, Light sees your questions about his type and asking about his relationship as signs that you're interested in him. He feels very smug about it and he's certain that you'll be his completely.

In the meantime, he will simply write down anyone else that shows an interest in you. As a literal god, your appearance draws a lot of attention and suitors and even though he is confident, he can't take any risks.

You need to be his, and there's no way around that. You made him feel all these annoying and distracting emotions, so now you will have to take responsibility for that and become his forever <3

(No one tell Light that fate had chosen a literal God as his soulmate. His ego will get even bigger than it already is)

Please let me know if you enjoyed! ☺️

[all444glo]

[1:11]

You turned on the camera, watching the green light blink on as you adjusted the angle. You fidgeted for a second, wiped your palms on your jeans, then sighed and gave a nervous smile to the lens.

“Okay... here goes nothing,” you mumbled. Then, louder: “Y’all remember a couple weeks ago when I mentioned I had a girlfriend?”

You glanced to your left, where your girlfriend was sitting on the edge of the bed, chill as ever, scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t about to be introduced to over 70,000 subscribers. She looked up at you, a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I said when we hit 70k, I’d do a reveal. Didn’t think y’all would move that fast, but here we are,” you said, laughing softly. “Y’all really nosy.”

Aziaha leaned into frame, sitting beside you like she’d done it a hundred times. She wasn’t flashy—dark hoodie, neat locs, minimal makeup—but the confidence was loud in the quietest way.

She kissed your cheek gently, then gave a small wave. “What’s up.”

You smirked at her casual energy and pulled out your phone. “Alright, so to celebrate 70k and Zaza being willing to hop on camera with me, we’re gonna answer some questions y’all dropped on IG.”

You scrolled through a few before settling on one. “Okay, first one says: ‘How did y’all meet?’”

You looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow like, you tell it.

“So... we met at this pickup game back in Charlotte last summer,” you started. “My homegirl dragged me, and Zaza was already on the court, literally killing grown ass men. I didn’t even know who she was at first—I just knew she dropped 30 in a hoodie and some slides and didn’t talk shit once.”

“She was starin’,” Aziaha cut in, finally cracking a real smile.

You gave her a look. “I was not.”

“You was. I hit that stepback and you damn near dropped your phone.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Anyway. After the run, we ended up talking. Nothin’ too crazy. Just some chill back-and-forth. But she followed me on IG later that night, and that’s when I knew something was up.”

Aziaha nodded. “I had to see what you were about.”

“Six months later, here we are,” you said, looking over at her.

She met your eyes and smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. Here we are.”

You scrolled to the next question. “Alright, someone asked: ‘How many kids y’all want?’”

Without skipping a beat, Aziaha said, “Three.”

You blinked. “Where did that number come from?”

“It’s a solid lineup. Two guards and a forward.”

You stared at her. “Girl.”

She shrugged, smirking. “What? It’s strategy!!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Next question.”

After filming for over an hour, you finally shut the camera off. You stretched and tossed your phone to the side, letting out a long exhale. Aziaha slid behind you on the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist like it was instinct.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“So nap,” she said, resting her chin on your shoulder.

You leaned into her, letting the silence settle for a moment before the anxiety started creeping back in.

“I’m nervous,” you said quietly.

She didn’t move, just rubbed her thumb over your side. “About what?”

“Posting the video. Coming out was already a lot, and now putting our relationship out there too... What if people start being weird? What if your fans hate me? Or mine hate you?”

Aziaha was quiet for a second. Not avoiding—just thinking. Then she kissed the side of your neck and said, “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with us.”

You turned to face her.

“I mean it,” she said. “People gon’ talk regardless. But we good, right? You and me?”

You nodded slowly.

“Then that’s it. That’s the only part that matters.”

She kissed your forehead, and you could feel some of the pressure in your chest let go.

“I love you,” you murmured.

She gave you a look—soft, solid. “I love you too. Now come take this nap with me before I start acting needy.”

You laughed and let her pull you under the covers.

[spacetrashpile]

for further context. i’m playing my latest run of inquisition right now, but i actually started it about a month ago when i was home for easter weekend. this run is my, among other things, 100% run where i try to get literally everything so i never have to do it again. this means a lot of my time in this run is spent doing a ton of running around and picking up fetch quests.

when i had last left off on this file, i had just recently arrived at skyhold and recruited all my companions, and i’d also just kickstarted my romance with blackwall. i decided that before i moved on to the main quest lines, i wanted to get some work done in the exalted plains and emprise du lion and pick up a few personal quests. so i did just that! i collected a ton of stuff in both places and did things that i knew would up my approval with people, such as my judgements and their personal fetch quests. except i was encountering a problem.

after about two days of gameplay adding up to about 10-15 hours of running around and collecting stuff, i had picked up and done basically every personal quest i could (since i still had quite a few that were locked behind the main quests). except for dorian’s. i was very confused by this, because his personal quest is usually very easy to get, especially if you side with the mages (which i did). i had done everything i could think of to up my approval with him at this point (including one less venatori) but nothing was happening, and i couldn’t actually sus out what my approval with him WAS because he’s the only companion who’s greetings don’t reflect that.

so, i decided to look it up and see if i was missing anything to trigger it. and i was! apparently, in order to trigger last resort of good men, you have to trigger the conversation about felix’s death for some reason. however, in order to do that, all you need is 35+ approval. which i definitely had. i actually did MATH based on all the approval that i knew i’d gotten with him and i was at like 80 approval. what the fuck was happening.

so i looked at the bugs section for the quest on the wiki, and saw that there used to be a bug wherein if you raised dorian’s approval too high too quickly, the cutscene would never trigger and you’d be locked out. uh oh! but keyword there is used to, this was patched out and i have the goty edition so i definitely have that patch. so what the hell is the problem.

this is the point where my friend starts looking things up for me, and eventually they find someone with the same problem as me, and find a person who helped them answer the question.

apparently. for some fucking reason. if you judge alexius before talking to dorian about felix, he will never talk to you about felix. which means you can never trigger his personal quest. ever.

i did the math on this, if i wanted to go back to before i had judged alexius (one of the first things i’d done upon booting up this file) i’d need to undo about 10-15 hours of work where i had near 100%-ed the exalted plains and completely 100%-ed a number of other areas. i would be losing so much progress. so i weighed my options, and i decided fuck it, i’m not doing that.

however, i’m really mad about this. for obvious reasons. i have no idea how this is gonna effect my file, since i can’t figure out on the wiki what of his stuff is dependent on completing the quest, outside of his dialogue in trespasser. currently i’ve been desperately running around w/ him and bull in my party at all times to see if i can trigger that romance anyways but i’ve had no luck, however i can’t tell if this is because i didn’t do dorian’s personal quest or if it’s locked behind me progressing further in the game or if i’ve just gotten supremely unlucky or what. i’m hoping that i just need to finish act 2 or something. i’m praying. but yeah that’s how my new file has been going.

hey does anyone wanna hear about the new and innovative way (re: so bad that my friends were in shock about how i fumbled the bag so hard) that i figured out how to play dragon age: origins in the year of our lord 2025, over 15 years after its release?

[zkiner]

I just remembered that though i posted a wip of a game im working on, i never really talked about the idea of it.

Basically last year i came across this post

and havent stop thinking about it since. And since im a huge enjoyer of Zimvoid i took it upon myself to create something like that (with 0 knowlege of making games but that dont matter).

So yeah, this is a zadr dating simulator.

[milasreyes]

Camila’s smile softened as she settled closer against Benny’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin. The warmth of him beneath her was grounding, but the vulnerability in his voice made her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t expected. “You really do talk a big game for someone who just gave me a post-sex pep talk,” she teased softly, voice low and intimate. Her eyes locked on his, searching, wanting him to know she saw the real him behind all the bravado. “It’s okay, you know. That you care. That you’re soft sometimes. I won’t tell anyone—promise.” She shifted, reaching down to grab her jeans from where they lay crumpled on the floor beside the bar. As she slid them up over her legs, she kept her gaze on Benny, letting the moment stretch out between them. “You keep acting like I’m some breakable little thing, Benny,” she murmured while buttoning her jeans, “but I’m not. I’ve been through some shit too. Maybe that’s why this… whatever this is—feels different.” Camila pulled her shirt over her head next, the cool air of the bar brushing her skin as she settled the fabric back in place. “You don’t scare me. Not when you're like this. You could show me the sharpest parts of you, and I’d still want to be here.” Her fingers brushed against his jaw as she leaned in to press a soft kiss just beneath it. “Though if you’re gonna start making threats, you should probably know—I’m not that easy to intimidate.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and something deeper, more honest. “So, what happens now? Do we pretend this didn’t happen? Or do I get to look forward to seeing that ‘dangerous’ side of you again sometime soon?”

Knowing Mila had enjoyed it only made Benny's ego slightly more inflated—though it was hard at this point to imagine just how much more it could even grow. "Good," he replied with a content nod, shifting his gaze up and away from Mila's face. After all, how was he supposed to admit he was worried that she wouldn't enjoy having sex with him now? That wouldn't be a good look at all, so Benny swallowed it back down inside him to bury later in the depths of his own mind. His fingers lifted slightly, trailing along the skin on the back of Mila's arm as he considered her words. The gentle kiss on his shoulder brought him back into the moment, knowing he had to say something. "I mean them all the time," he said, fingertips brushing back and forth over her shoulder and her back. "I mean it in more ways than just this, too. You're softer than most people, and there's a shit ton of assholes out there who will see that and try to break you down. Don't let them win." He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, eyes scanning the ceiling of the bar above them. "Don't go tellin' anyone I can be all soft, or I'll show you just how dangerous I really am." He fought the urge to smile, hoping she could at least hear the playfulness of the threat in his voice.

[mackthecheesy]

rip to the person in my dream last night who i was in a time loop trying to save </3 woke up before i ever could

[bidokja]

genius archer's streaming is actually a much more fun read than i was expecting and handles the disability aspect better than i thought it would

[pikachu-deluxe]

got like 1200 ish lines of code for a thing in like 2 hours yippeee

it's a thing to make it easier to modify stuff for mario kart 64 it'll make my life 1000x easier i just have to enter a few numbers in and out comes a file i can apply to the game with some other program instead of having to copy and paste stuff for like half an hour to an hour every time i want to make changes

a game changer you could say *gets dragged away by the neck like a cat*