#o8 fanfic

[blackacre13]

(Please excuse the random pm before, my brain apparently wasn't functioning.) Hello! I hope you are doing okay! I'm a bit desperate but I seem to remember a fic where Loubbie kidnap a child for a job in an estate that belonged to a relative of Debbie's. Debbie thought she was not good with kids but apparently she was. It was a bit angsty but also so soft. I think the fic has three parts? And I can't find it anywhere, but figure that you might hace written it or have some clue. Thank you and I love your works so much!!!!

This isn’t my prompt and it’s not ringing a bell. Can any of you detectives help?👀

[blackacre13]

😘

[sakuraryomen01]

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Fem! Reader/ .11 [Slight Nsfw]

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, ec project with Nickolas the transfer student, drunk sukuna shows up at the dorm(!?), a small makeout session, some sexual touching and mentions of grinding/humping at readers thighs, caring for this stressed out man-slut, ooc sukuna.

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 5.036k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n: hey guys! sorry for the delay ^^ i've been wanting to get some chapters drafted before posting them! ty sm for the patience i hope u enjoy and r ready for the upcoming drama between sukuna and y/n!

a/n 2: so so sooooo sorry for being three days later after saying i'd be posting right away!!>< I was with family and the wifi was being iffy the last few days. I couldn't access many of my socials and much less work on the final draft of the chapter!! i powered thro until i was satified and it's finally here! i hope you enjoy!!

chapter/idea cred to: @misslauravillanueva i needed to give credit for the help! i was struggling on what to do!><

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

“Achoo!”

“Ah, are you alright?” Geto’s cool tone echoed from the kitchen, his brow raised with a curious expression written on his face. “Coming down with something? I told you to relax from studying for a while–”

“It’s not that!” You huff, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ��I just sneezed. I don’t know why though..”

“Okay, relax. I’m not gonna get upset.”

With a pout, you leaned against the armrest of the couch. Bowl of mac and cheese with little hot dogs in hand and a Coke on the coffee table. Eyes returning back to the TV screen and watching the current crime show playing, listening to the crimes that the murderer committed as he was handed a death sentence. 

Sometimes, when I let my mind wander to Sukuna.. It feels like that.

The idea that he’s now stuck on your mind despite all the anger he had towards you. The almost strange obsession and addiction to the idea of him. While you’ve been repetitively trying to control these new emotions and thoughts, you couldn’t help it. Seeing Sukuna that day in Ec class all those days ago. Having to tutor him. Even dealing with his weird smirks and teasing.

..That kiss too..

“Your face is doing that thing again, Y/n,” Geto’s voice chirped out of nowhere, causing you to jolt in your spot. “So jumpy over a guy? You know therapy exists, right?”

Returning a rather poorly chosen burn, Geto stood from his spot on the couch and waved a hand at you. Grabbing his things and his shoes from the carpet near the door, he sent you another telling look.

“If you're this upset, just ask what's up. Seriously, seeing you get stressed over this is kinda.. sad.”

There was a stabbing pain in your chest. You knew.

“Good night to you too, Suguru,” You hum, leaning on your fist as the door closed with a click. Leaving you alone in the dormitory for a few moments.

Your thoughts clouding your headspace until you decided to go to bed. Unable to understand this dreadful lil thing people called love, unable to understand why Sukuna Ryomen had crawled his way into your heart just by being an ass.

Tomorrow is another day.. Right?

. . .

“Today we'll be picking partners for class projects!”

Eh?? Ehhhhh????

You blinked a few times at the announcement, looking down towards Toji as students began to groan and complain a little. Quickly these were silenced as Toji lifted a stack of papers and chuckled deeply in his husky voice.

“It's not my problem, just get them done. You have two weeks to do it, so get your partners. The class is uneven so be ready for one of y'all's groups to have an extra person. It's a self-pick topic type of thing so start discussing today or tomorrow your topic and go with it!”

Toji tapped the papers on his desk and sat, letting his tie loose as he started relaxing for the rest of the period.

“If you need suggestions for your topic, there's a list in here along with your presentation requirements. I expect all names and correct citations with these as well.”

You let out a small groan and rub your temple. Not only were you stressed, now you had to deal with this? Extra shifts at work couldn't save you from this type of annoyance. It's not that you hated group projects, it's just a small tick when half of them throw the work onto you.

Pros and cons. Pros– none. Cons– work was usually tossed onto you.

You stood from your desk and began making your way down the steps to grab a paper. A strange chill ran up your spine as you passed Sukuna’s. Sparing a glance over, your cheeks warmed almost immediately.

Some bits of hair were pinned back and a pen rested on an ear. His shirt had a few buttons undone with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Black pants tight enough to have made a bakery spawn on the seat he sat upon. He looked really handsome, daring to battle even Toji’s good looks, and it was getting to you. 

What hit the nail in the coffin is when he just so happened to catch you ogling with your tongue practically hanging out of your mouth. His eyes sharpened at your expression as a smirk curled at the corners of his lips.

An almost playful yet teasing smile you weren't used to seeing on his face caught you off guard. It made your face hot, and your shame grow a few beats in that moment.

“Stop creeping” was basically what his face was saying.

Letting out a strained cough, you covered your face and made your way back up to your desk. Positive that his eyes had followed you all the way up the stairs before you sat in your spot. Hiding behind the paper and some random book you grabbed from your bag.

You couldn't be more obvious, could you?

While fellow students started to shift in their seats and partner up with friends and just random buddies from in the room, Sukuna was swarmed with a small audience of girls as he stood from his seat to also fetch a paper. The guys that sat around him gave him annoyed side-eyes and snorts as he absorbed the attention from all the women in the room. 

“Sukuna, do you wanna partner with me?” One asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and letting the blush on her cheeks show.

“Me too, we could all do it together!” Another spoke up, poking her button nose into their conversation. Her bright green eyes staring up at Sukuna with a needy gleam.

It makes you confused to an extent, making you press your brows together as you look to the side. Sukuna probably thought that's what you looked like every time you saw him. It makes your heart ache and head throb, another grand headache to your already upsetting day.

Just let your mind be normal for once in your life.

You begin to gather your things and part from the room, the hustle and bustle of the classroom quietly fading into the background. Letting out a relaxed sigh as the sight of your bed creeped into the corners of your mind– oh, how you wished to be relaxing in bed with your favorite stuffy.

“Hello, miss? Would you like to be my partner for the project?” A voice suddenly called from behind you, somewhat echoing throughout the quiet hallways. It startled you since you didn’t expect anyone to follow you out of the classroom asking such a thing, it piqued your interest.

Lifting your head, you come face to face with someone you didn’t know.

His dark hair was up in a bun with his undercut showing behind his pierced ears, a kind smile flashing behind yet another piercing on his lip. Tanned skin that seemed to glow like it was pampered with the best beauty products around, not a scar or pimple in sight. Cute dimples at the corners of his lips adding to his boyish charm while his honey eyes gleamed at you. It reminded you of Yuji in a sense, but this was not Yuji.

You’ve never seen this guy before– a really cute one at that.

“Hello,” you say, momentarily stunned at the stranger, letting your hand weakly wave. “Uhm, partner?”

There was an adorable chuckle that furthered your stunned silence before you heard a response. “Yes, I saw you walk out here alone and thought you might need one.”

You take in a deep breath, regaining your composure quickly and patting yourself down. “Ah, right. I actually don’t like having a partner, my past experiences have led me to conclude that they’re not the best option for a project. Besides, I’m a big girl, I can handle one on my own.”

“I can see why,” He starts, looking back at the classroom with the still clamoring students before returning his attention to you. “That horde in there was after one guy, they don’t care about this project. I was actually about to do the same as you when I saw my choices were so low.”

Rubbing a big calloused hand over his nape, the strangers’ almond eyes looked from the empty halls and to you, his smile sheepish. “Please? Don’t make me beg now.”

There was a small silence between you and the stranger as you considered walking off and letting him go with his original plan before the Economics class erupted with whines as Sukuna and a girl walked from inside. The color left your cheeks, seeing the girl’s arm wrapped tightly around Sukuna’s. Looking as if he was protecting her from the growing crowd of the class, engaging in an active conversation as they walked on by.

Your heart sank sharply, seeing Sukuna letting someone else into his circle. He used to be so cold, so annoyed with people when he was younger. Only letting you really hold him that close, giving you nuzzles of appreciation since he didn’t like to say it aloud.

Now, he gives you the cold shoulder and holds others that aren’t you close.

Without letting your head finish its last thought and your eyes still trained on the back of Sukuna’s head, you gave a nod and looked back at the stranger. “Sure. I’m Y/n L/n, by the way.”

“Really? That’s great!” He smiled, the warmth of his company lightening your mood sufficiently more than it was a few moments ago. “My name’s Nickolas Alveres, it’s nice to meet you, L/n.”

The both of you share a smile for a second before Nickolas nods down the hall, motioning for the both of you to head to your next classes. He doesn’t wait for you to join him, but you do anyway. Trying to make small talk with him as you try to get to know your partner, letting the smile on your lips stick.

While you wore a smile, someone else had a frown. A deep scowl, if you will. You didn’t feel it, but Sukuna’s partner saw it.

She raised a brow, cheeks tinted a slight color as she cast her gaze in the same direction. Seeing you close to another man, only escalating the befuddlement.

“What’s wrong, Sukuna?”

A disgruntled look was plastered all over said man’s face, his frown so prominent it was a waste of time to even attempt to hide it. A chasm of wrinkles forming on his forehead as his brows pressed together at the sight before him. Watching the way you and some kid walked side by side with a smile on your face, not a care in the world.

When did you get so chummy?

“It’s nothing.. Let’s go, Haru,” He said, not sparing a second to look back at you. With a huff, he pulled his work partner, Haru, with him to the nearby library to find a good subject for this project.

It’s what he wanted anyways.. right?

. . .

“Wait, wait.. He punched Gojo in the face?!” Nickolas laughed, holding his cup up to his lips quickly to cover his giggles and chuckles. His nose crinkled up as they continued despite his obvious resistance. “He must’ve been drunk too to get so defensive!! I thought he was just a jerk most of the time.”

“Usually he is,” You start, crossing your legs under the coffee table. Looking over some of the notebooks the both of you had sprawled out onto the wood to look for any good topics to talk about in the presentation. Quickly, you scribbled out one, taking a sip from your cup and looking back up to Nickolas. “Recently though, he’s been alright. Not as mean as he used to be, but not one-hundred percent rude and annoying.”

A calm silence filled the air as Nickolas rested his work in his lap, taking a moment to look from them to you. “Speaking of, how long have you known this guy? You talk about him like he’s an old friend.”

The corner of your lips twitch upwards for a short second before you let your face relax. “He was. Not really interested in joining forces again recently.”

Nickolas nodded his head in understanding, eyes glazing over somewhat on what response to give. Seeing that the idea of this guy somehow hurt you, it got him concerned. Why bother letting him get to you so deeply if this is the result? It doesn’t make sense.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, Y/n,” He mustered after a short silence, placing his cup on the coffee table and letting his ring tap against the plastic. “If he’s still letting you be this close, even helping you care for a friend, that’s gotta be something.”

You nod numbly, knowing the obvious has been said too many times. Talk to him, ask him how he’s doing about the relationship, what does he want from you? The same three things that you always wanted to say when you were with him, but how. Other than tutoring, other than being near each other in class, you and Sukuna spent little to no time together.

All you remember about him is that he was the tough kid in school with home problems that liked to play tag and hide and seek. That he scared you with bugs and frogs while at the lake or near the Willow tree. The fond memories you shared with him couldn’t be the only factor that you had to use to judge what you wanted, you had to be around him more.

How was going to be the hardest puzzle to solve.

“Oh well,” Nickolas yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s about time i get headed to my dorm. I have an early class tomorrow. I’ll leave you my number so that we can plan meetings for the project!”

Jokes and laughter filled the room as you and your partner exchanged information when there was a loud commotion at the door. You glanced from Nickolas to the dorm door and let out a light hearted chuckle, waving your hands next to your head.

“Ah, I’ll go get that! Gather your things, okay?”

Nickolas nodded and turned to his open binder and mess of notebook paper splayed on the coffee table, humming to himself as you rushed over to the front door. Hair stood at attention when you opened that door, seeing a messed up man laying on the hallway floor. A big wine bottle squeezed tightly in his right hand, the other placed next to his head on the floor.

His voice came out in gentle hums of some random rock song, lyrics jumping out from his mouth every second or so in a drunken daze. His fluffy hair was messy and almost unrecognizable until you realized who it was.

It was Sukuna.

“Wh.. What are you doing here?” You shout, shocked at his arrival, but there was not really a response. Only his hand raising to wave his finger around to the hum of his song. “Sukuna, answer me!!”

“..rather be.. Than lonely..”

Letting out a sigh, you look back at Nickolas and see his confused face staring at the gap between you and the door down at Sukuna. He stood there ready to go with his bag strap on his shoulder and keys in hand, giving you quick glances for some semblance of an answer. You give a small shrug, looking back to the immobile man on the ground.

Gently, you kick at one of his legs to try and get something out of him. “Sukuna, get up!”

Not a single thing, just a grunt and a tussle before your eyes finally connect with glazed ones. Maroon pools that were foggy beyond belief, not having a thought behind them. Nickolas tilts his head to the side and shakes it, giving you a pat on the arm and a sheepish smile.

“I'll get out of your hair, Y/n. Good luck!”

You step out of the man’s way, looking down at the disgruntled Sukuna and give a weak chuckle. Parting ways with Nickolas for the evening and kneeling down to Sukuna and shaking his shoulder. “Sukuna, you’ll get sick, get up.”

“..Doesn’t matter,” Sukuna mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a sip of his drink. “F’m sick, I’ll just be sick..”

“It does matter, now get up.”

You did your best to pull Sukuna up by his arm and into a sitting position, hooking the limp appendage over your shoulder and lifting him up onto his feet. It was a struggle since Sukuna was so heavy, but you managed. The stench of alcohol reeked from his breath and shirt, mixes of dirt and some stains that you didn’t feel the need to ask where they came from. 

Stumbling into your dormitory you freed the near empty beer bottle from Sukuna’s grasp and pulled the door close. He wasn’t giving much fight– probably due to the amount he drank– and just leaned his weight onto you. Mumbling to himself about things you weren’t going to pressure him into answering. Still, it made you wonder.

What the hell drove him to come to my place?

Surely, he wouldn’t mind answering that.

With a huff to your lips you plopped Sukuna’s heavy ass onto the couch and folded your arms. The beer bottle in your hand swirling around as you rotate your wrist ever so slightly, brow raising at Sukuna’s nearly asleep form. It was odd to see the big, strong and mean Sukuna Ryomen on his last leg from intoxication. 

Despite this, you found it cute.

“I’ll go get you some water and maybe a change of clothes,” You announce, tilting your head to see if that gauges a reaction. Sadly there was nothing but a huff and some finger taps on the couch’s cushions. Letting your arms fall to your side, you grunt and place the beer on the table. “Whatever, I’ll be right back.”

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and some extra sheets from your bedroom before making your way back into the living room to Sukuna. A fresh set of clothing was provided, thanks to Geto’s many late night bang sessions with Shoko, and some cooling pads were placed next to Sukuna on the couch. He didn’t do much but glance at the items, turning his face away in– what you assumed– was a quiet protest.

Sukuna never acted this petty and spoiled before. What’s gotten into him?

“Let’s get you changed, yeah?” Gently, you press your hands to his chest, earning a reaffirming nod and proceeding to undo the buttons of his collared shirt. 

It was strange to be in this position. On your knees, undressing the man you’ve pinned for for so long, only to be seeing this messy and unkempt side you didn’t like to imagine him being. The feelings in your chest that you wanted to put away were making your heart race once more, every glance you got to see from the mess you called Sukuna.

His hair made him resemble his brother more than anything else now, hanging over his sweaty forehead and tattoo. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, man spreading for all of the world to see. Shamefully, you enjoyed the calm attention. Even though it was unsightly, you liked getting to touch all over Sukuna’s body.

“There,” You mumble to yourself, having officially released Sukuna from his shirt. “N-Now, onto your..”

Trailing off, you look down at Sukuna’s pants. Swallowing thickly at the idea of pulling off his trousers, you took a deep breath. I’m never going to live this shame down!

Gently, you began to undo his belt. You face burning ever more as the air began to tense, wishing that anyone but you would be this bashful over something so silly. Still, regret hit you harder than the embarrassment or shame ever could.

Sukuna was watching you. Watching your hands slip the belt loose, pulling his button undone and pulling at his waistband. You tugged, unable to yank them down and free his lower half.

“Sukuna.. Can you lift your hips?” You ask in a soft voice, startled by the quick response. But what was it really, he was watching your every move. You felt like you were being examined in some office and not helping Sukuna undress. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

Making haste of the situation, you pulled down the fabric of his trousers and grabbed the loose shorts you had found from earlier. Ignoring all thoughts of Sukuna and how perfect his legs looked, the thick black bands of his tattoos on the fat of his thigh. The way the bulge in his briefs was much a cause for distraction, even denying that it twitched once freed from it’s confines.

Yep, never happened.

“There, all better,” You sigh, satisfied. “Now that your ready for bed, I’m going to do the same.”

It took a few minutes, but you had completely reclothed Sukuna and he now looked more sleepy and ready for bed rather than drunk off his ass and about to black out on the couch. You had struggled to even get him to take a sip of water and sober up, but to no avail. You figured you’d have to try again tomorrow morning and explain the situation once he woke up in a confused fit.

Getting him comfortable on the couch too was another ordeal you didn’t think you’d go through, but you did. Tucking in the large male until he was all cozy and warm, safely resting his head on one of your spare pillows.

“I’ll see ya in the morning, Ryo,” You mumble, letting your mind wander for a moment and tracing the outline of one of his tattoos on his bicep. Feeling the muscle twitch under your touch momentarily.

“Mgh,” Sukuna muffled out, cheeks warm to the touch.

Letting out another sigh, you stand from your spot next to the couch. Only to be pulled back towards the culprit at hand, falling ass first next to his lap. Sukuna didn’t make a sound, just grasped onto your hips and pulled you in for a hug. His arms anchored around your lower stomach, pressing into the arch of your spine and forcing you to press against him as well.

His nose was pressed into the crook of your shoulder, but you continued to crusade for answers from the sudden affection. “AGH! Sukuna, that was highly uncalled for!! What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Answer me, dammit–!!”

“Who was that guy?”

You flinch, caught off guard. The clarity and conviction in Sukuna’s voice was strange, seeing as he had been stumbling and leaning into you for the last few moments. “Uhm, my Economics partner Nickolas. It shouldn’t matter, you need to sleep!”

“I don’t need sleep,” Sukuna grunts out, lifting himself off of the couch and trapping you underneath him. Using his big arms like a cage, eyes locking you in place with a vice on your heart. “What was he doin’ hanging here?”

“Sukuna, this is childish,” You start, ready to defend yourself for a confrontation. “He’s my class partner, you shouldn’t be upset over it.”

Wait.. why was he upset?

Previously, he had never seemed to give a flying fuck what you did or whom you did it with. What’s with the sudden change of heart? It made yours ache at the possibilities, wondering what could it be that made him so hostile all of the sudden over Nickolas.

“I barely know him anyways..”

“And you let him sit here on this couch?”

There was a small slap sound as skin met skin, Sukuna’s palm and fingers grasping your chin and cheeks. A gentle but firm squeeze sent shivers down your spine, your hand reaching up to try and pull Sukuna’s off but to no avail. His eyes scanned your face for anything, a sign.

Something. Anything that would make this ache in his chest stop.

“What is he to you, huh?” His voice came out rough, deep. Intimidating. 

It was scary, but a shudder was sent up your spine. A lustful and unneeded shudder, one that sent ideas to your brain. That made your mind wander, but you held them back. 

Even as Sukuna’s lips captured yours, as his teeth grazed and nibbled at your lower lip, your hands reached up to tangle themselves in his pink locks. You had to deny, because the Sukuna that was here wasn’t really him. It was a drunk and dissociated version of him, a side that you normally didn’t see. 

A side that he probably didn’t like showing.

“Did you let him do this, mh?” Sukuna muttered, pulling away from your mouth. A string of saliva connecting the both of you for a moment as your lungs fought for breath. Chest rising and falling heavily, your hands hold onto Sukuna’s arms, trying to find something to stabilize yourself in this mess of kisses.

“N-No, we just.. Talked about class–”

“Talked? About class? Me? You?”

Sukuna retreated his touch from your face and instead placed them on your thighs. Laying beside you on the couch, keeping you trapped against his chest and making sure to dress the blankets over you.

“Sukuna, seriously, this isn’t funny anymore,” You whimper, covering your face. How could you push this away? You’ve wanted nothing but to be closer to him, haven’t you?

Desired, pleaded. You wanted everything.. But this wasn’t the way.

Feeling Sukuna’s hands wrap around your waist, having his hot breath on your neck and shoulder as he rutted his hips against the fat of your ass. You felt utterly guilty, like trash. Wanting to crawl away from Sukuna and save him the little grace he had, to avoid giving him something to wake up and regret tomorrow.

“Y/n.. look at me.. Look at what you’ve done,” The man in question ordered, hooking your top leg over his elbow. Letting the bulge in his pants grow more and more, his voice becoming ragged and deep as he got harder and harder. “You’re making a mess of me, can’t you tell?”

You nod, wanting to pull away and sleep in your bed. But the desires in you only wanted you to fall deeper. The strings of your heart being plucked as Sukuna’s lips found the sensitive skin of your neck. Marking and sucking, lewd sucking sounds erupting from his lips as he made harsh hickeys form on the skin.

Mewl after moan escaped you, your pussy wet and slick under the confines of your panties and pajama bottoms. Sukuna could tell, releasing your leg from his hold and slowing his hips for a moment until his hand migrated to your front.

Grinding the flat surface of his palm against your clothed cunt, whispering naughty words into your ear that you had to drown out. Even if the wants in your belly wished for Sukuna to be there, to fill up your insides and make a mess. To be closer than he’s ever let you been for the last month or so, you had to stop this.

And you did, with much regret.

“Sukuna, stop,” You whimper, pulling Sukuna’s hand away from your body. Breaths coming out in baited huffs, you sat up. Not taking a moment to let yourself get lured back in, feeling Sukuna’s hand find your waist again as you resisted further.

“Stop what?” He mutters, annoyance in his voice. Laced with an emotion you wished to unhear. “Didn’t you want this too?”

“Not like this.” Cold, respectful. You had to be this way, to give Sukuna another chance. Letting him have his way now in such a drunken state, you wouldn’t be able to recover a good relationship. “If I was like anyone else, you’d be taken advantage of.”

Sukuna’s touch softened, his glazed eyes clearing for a moment as he looked at the back of your head. Seeing a shimmer of something on your cheek, his fingers trembled. He desired to reach up, to brush those tears away. It was against his very nature, his very being.

He didn’t like the idea of being all cuddly and cozy, being soft and vulnerable with someone. The idea of it made his stomach churn and made the urge to vomit impending. 

But, with you. Seeing those tears form, for his sake. He felt irritated with himself. He caused it. Him.

“I’m going to bed now,” You say, voice shaken up. “Get some water, sleep.”

You stood from your place on the sofa and walked over to the small hallway, entering your bedroom and letting out a shuddering exhale. A weight was now firmly sitting on your chest. It ached, it hurt, it burned.

Everything that pain felt like was exploding in your chest. Reaching up a hand to try and comfort yourself wasn’t worth the effort either as you slid down the wood of your bedroom door. Curling into a feeble position as the tears fell from your eyes, finally free after holding them the whole time.

What you wished you could do about the man on your couch.

. . .

a/n: y'all i literally have a crippling addiction to crime videos and all that shit it's just so interesting for no reason oml (crying inside) also sorry for the month long pause (i say sorry too much) i was creating new characters and working on ideas for the next few chapters!

Chapter Song Them: — Granite - Sleep Token (Lyrics)

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalfleshlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleebloomed, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir, @domainofmarie, @the-moongoddess, @dark-n-dirty-duchess, @agentdedf1sh, @sukunastoy, @lyn-soso, @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9, @heyitstacy, @lost-in-tokyo, @marksassybanana, @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-c-h, @chaoticqueen33, @dxxny-loves-u, @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci, @opossum0-0, @gumisgirl, @mommasbigd, @heyitstacy, @misslauravillanueva, @fallenlostarchives, @infinitivesearch

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#liliacommuni (not a piece of writing / fanfiction but instead is me just posting a random thought / opinion of mine)

#liliarespo (the tag i’ll feature when answering an anon ask / send in)

O5 b . other tags will be added under a post depending on what fandom i wrote the fanfiction for!

O6 . my writings are all yandere. if that makes you uncomfortable, please go find another blog. i won’t be writing anything but yandere content. if you don’t specify yandere in your ask, i’ll automatically assume it was meant to be a yandere ask. if you send in anything that’s not intended to be yandere, i will delete your ask.

O7 . reader will be GN unless specified to be female. this means no pronouns will be mentioned / specified unless the ask mentions a female reader. i only write for fem and GN reader. any requests that ask for a male reader will be ignored and deleted.

O8 . reader will never be yandere in any of my fanfics. if you’re looking for yandere reader content, you’ll need to find some other blog that’s not mine.

O9 . yandere is always male. i don’t write for fem yanderes since i personally enjoy the concept of male yanderes more.

© @liliawrizz 2023 - do NOT modify, translate, or repost my writings on any platform without my permission!!

[ultradiqueer]

A 'Brief' Comment on the Quadrants (and how humans interact with them)

so this is gonna be a mess sorta cause im not good with formatting. also SORRY it took so long for this to be made im miserably low on motivation rn. but yaknow

For anyone who (somehow) isnt aware, the trollian quadrants are 4 separate, unique relationships a troll can be in. Hence the name "quadrants" since, yaknow,,, theres 4 of them

Of these 4 quadrants there are: 2 conciliatory, 2 concupiscent and 2 red, 2 black. Red-rom is for quadrants that are more centred on feelings of pity (being the trollian ~equivalent~ for love), and black-rom quadrants, hate

♥♦♠♣

♥ Matespritship (represented by the heart <3) is the red, concupiscent (Flushed) quadrant. It is the most similar to human romance, so I won't really explain it cause, yaknow, humans/non-trolls can experience it (and other trolls know what its like anyways)

♦ Moiraillegiance (represented by the diamond <>) is the red, conciliatory (Pale) quadrant. It centred on emotional regulation, extreme care expressed by both parties, and is generally utilised most in (social) troll society to help mitigate the extreme violence trolls are prone to

♠ Kismesissitude (represented by the spade <3<) is the black, concupiscent (Pitch) quadrant. Being a black-romance quadrant, it is more centred on feelings of hate, and is generally a more ~intense~ relationship as a result (keep in mind that feelings of Hate and just general Dislike for another troll are very clearly different, at least in my experience.)

♣ Auspisticism (represented by the club o8<) is the black, conciliatory (Ashen) quadrant. This quadrant in particular is an outlier from the others, at it contains 3 trolls (which is generally unheard of in regards to the other quadrants, which only contain 2). This quadrant arises when a 3rd troll feels Ashen for two trolls in a Kismesissitude (typically, the kismesissitude that one would feel Ashen FOR is unbalanced, or excessively violent). The third troll (being the Auspice, or Auspistice) would then mediate between the two Pitch trolls to ensure they dont Fucking Kill Each Other

♥♦♠♣

My problem with human's interactions with the quadrants is that: They don't understand them, and don't make an effort to.

When you see a human post about Matespritship, they get it right, since its the quadrant most comparable to typical human romance. That's all fine and good, obviously

The real issue arises when they try to talk about any of the OTHER quadrants

For example, Moiraillegiance. A lot of humans look at moiraillegiance as the "besties" or "best friends" quadrant. IT IS NOT. It is a ROMANCE. It is in the QUADRANT ROMANCE SYSTEM for god's sake.

Ashen romance clearly just goes over humans' heads. Most seem to not consider it at all when it comes to art or fanfic or anything, since its just seen as an "add-on" to Kismesissitude, which is WHOLLY incorrect, and frankly, really fucking rude. The Club is a quadrant that is centred on another trolls' Spade quadrant, yes, but that doesn't make the quadrant inherently less. It is just as important, and valuable, and REAL as any other quadrant, and frankly, I'm quite fucking tired of seeing how little humans seem to care.

And Pitch romance. Oh. My. God. I hesitate to say this is the most misrepresented quadrant, due to how wide-spread the issue is with Moiraillegiance. But holy god. If I see. Another fucking person. Say that "pitch romance is inherently abusive". I'm going to lose my mind. First of all: Trolls are an alien race. The concepts of abuse, romance, love (pity/hate) and so on are COMPLETELY different for us. People don't ever seem to take this in to account when talking about how ""toxic"" kismesissitudes are. Secondly: Did you even fucking READ the quadrant explanations? Like at all. Did you just skip over the Pitch quadrant? Pitch romance's MAIN FEELING is HATE. Fucking obviously theres going to be insults, and fighting. That is the nature of the quadrant!!!! Can pitch romance be abusive? Absolutely it can. just like how ANY OTHER QUADRANT can. But it being Pitch doesn't ~make it toxic~. Pitch romances can be abusive if theres an imbalance in hate, or manipulation or violence that exceeds the boundaries of what can be considered Pitch. For example, a purpleblood using chucklevoodoos to psychically torment their jadeblooded kismesis, even though it's been established that that is too far and excessively cruel, that would be considered abusive! If a kismesis emotionally manipulates their pitchmate? Abusive! A lot of things that would make human romance abusive do apply to pitch romance. But Pitch romance being ~kinda violent~ and involving ~Hate~ doesn't make it abusive by default, considering That Is The Nature Of The Quadrant (not that humans CARE because they're not trolls)

Additionally, I am extremely fucking bothered when humans use quadrant terms to describe their relationships with other humans/nontrolls. Because humans CANNOT EXPERIENCE THE QUADRANTS. They just Can't. It is not a thing they are Capable of experiencing. A human cannot be Pale for another human. Two humans cannot be Pitch for each other. And while human romance does fall close to Flushed romance, it is not the same, so the issue applies there as well. Humans cannot, and never will, experience the true emotional and romantic scope of the quadrants. A human cannot have a moirail (and someone calling their QPR their moirail does not work, because moiraillegiance is a romance). A human cannot have a kismesis (that'd just be a rival they have feelings for, which doesn't make it a kismesissitude). Ashen quadrants cannot exist between humans.

In the case of a human-troll romance, it's up to the troll to decide if they want to use quadrant terms (NOT the human. For reasons I hope are obvious considering the above ~rant~). If they decide to use quadrant terms, sure. Who am I to say anything about it. But it is woefully inappropriate (and I'd go so far as to say it bastardises the terms entirely) for humans to use quadrant terms for their relationships with other humans

As always, I'm totally down for asks or questions. Sorry it took so long for me to post about the quadrants lol

[reverims]

20 writing questions by @togenabi <3 thx for tagging me sweets !!

   O1   ›       it really depends , with me it happens both ways . i can write anywhere , anytime , if i have the opportunity , and if i have at least a brief synopsis of the central idea of the story i want to write . i usually like to write when i have the idea , so that i don't lose the details that i think of first before i forget or have new ideas . but if i can't write at that moment , i try to jot down as much information about the story as possible in a note.

   O2   ›       i write most of the time on my phone , but sometimes ( when writing really long fanfics like the ones i have on wattpad ) i use my pc . i find that my phone is more accessible . when an idea comes and i can write faster.

   O3   ›       i use my phone's note to write down random ideas i have , this includes a brief synopsis , summary of ideas to develop the stories , some lines i would like to have in the story , just the basics . but i really write on docs . i love docs because it's simple and easy to use.

   O4   ›       i started writing when i was 9 y.o , i always liked creating stories , so i decided to start writing them so i wouldn't lose these creations ( which ended up becoming my refuge and my escape from the world ) . but i only started posting my stories on spirit in 2018 , and it was in 2020 that i decided to move to wattpad . however , as i wanted to improve my writing in eng , since i lost the habit of writing in eng , i decided to post here on tumblr.

   O5   ›       i write for literally every fandom i belong to kkkjsjskskjj i write for anime , kdramas , kpop , western movies and series , different artists . i like to write about a little bit of everything because that way i can approach different themes and genres and not just stick to the characters of a single work . but here on tumblr i've decided to focus on anime fandoms.

   O6   ›       music 99.9% of the time i write . i don't listen to just one genre , so my playlist is pretty varied ( i even listen to funk mtg while writing kkkdjsksk ) . i get a lot of inspiration from music , so i like to have a musical backdrop . but sometimes i like to write without listening to anything , it depends on my mood.

   O7   ›       i'm a bit of a mess when it comes to writing . i have a lot of ideas written down on sticky notes or post-its or even on sheets of paper at the back of my notebooks . these ideas serve as the basic notes for my stories and define the direction and focus i want to take with the story and the characters themselves . if it's a multi-chapter story ( like my fanfics on wattpad ) , i like to make a very detailed summary of what i intend to cover in each chapter . in the docs , i like to use the font times new roman because i think it's pretty , and i only use colors to highlight the title and the main character ( for example , i use blue in all stories related to gojo ).

   O8   ›       i proofread all my stories at least twice before i post them . sometimes i also proofread stories that i've already posted and sometimes i even give the story a boost by adding a description or even a line that fits the context.

   O9   ›       i recently researched eng royal pronouns for the gojo story i plan to work on after 12 / 11 👀👀

   1O   ›       it really depends on what i want to write . if it's a one-shot , it's usually between 300 and +1k , but if it's a multi-chapter story , i try to write +1k per chapter . it's not necessarily a rule or a goal i have , it can even vary depending on my mood when i'm writing.

   11   ›       here's a little spoiler from the beginning of the last chapter i wrote from a fanfic i used to publish on wattpad called lost souls ( chishiya x oc ).

i didn't want to leave this question blank so i put this excerpt kkdjskskk unfortunately i haven't written anything for the stories i'm going to post here on tumblr , just some planning . not to mention i already gave a mini spoiler out there 🤭🤭

   12   ›       i just discovered that i have +30 drafts , putting together ideas for one-shots and multi-chapter fanfics . i think i need help kdjskskkkk

   13   ›       my best friend said that a lot of what i write is a reflection of what i've felt over a long or short period of time , and she wasn't wrong when she told me that . what i write is a way to release my feelings in a fictional universe where anything is possible . not only that , but my own character ( kugisaki mei from lost souls ) is self-critical , and not to mention that a lot of what mei feels mirrors my own feelings.

   14   ›       my safety zone is definitely fluff stories , usually focusing on romance in the romantic sense . i really like to challenge myself and write things that are different from what i'm used to , but i always end up writing something fluffy . i don't have a specific character that i feel confident writing about , i usually write about the characters that i'm obsessed with at the moment.

   15   ›       i always want to try new things in my stories , i love to challenge myself with new themes and characters , but i've always wanted to try suspense or smut , but i'm not really good at those two things kkkdjsks

   16   ›       ( i decided to answer about my own works because i'm too indecisive to choose a favorite work of other writers ) well , here on tumblr i loved writing sensei's wife ( gojo ) and memory garden ( gojo ) , even though mg was better in my head than written kkkjsksk 😭😭 as for wattpad , my favorite story i ever wrote was lost souls ( which i mentioned here a lot ) which is an alice in bordeland fanfic where chishiya is my oc's romantic partner , i think it was the longest slow burn i ever wrote ( 2 full acts and they didn't hold hands or kiss once 😃😃 ).

   17   ›       that i've already written here on tumblr was memórias ( geto ) it was my first attempt at writing a one-shot in eng and i think it made more sense written in portuguese because of the song i was inspired by.

   18   ›       was a romance that mixed adventure , action , fantasy , the supernatural , greek mythology , and k-pop.

   19   ›       was a fluff / romantic one-shot with fushiguro megumi.

   2O   ›       you can find all the information in my pinned post here on tumblr.

20 writing questions !

give a preview into your mind! how does the genius flow? how do you write? (only answer questions you're comfortable with! feel free to tag other writers to share the love ♡)

1. Is it a spur of the moment thing, or do you need a specific environment/set up to get into it? 2. Where do you write? (phone/pc/typewriter/all of the above?) 3. What apps/programs do you use? 4. How long have you been writing? 5. What fandoms do you write for? 6. Music, or no music while writing? (if music, what kind?) 7. What does a WIP look like to you? (do you take notes? is anything color-coded? do you have a preferred font?) 8. Do you proofread? 9. What's something you googled recently for writing? 10. How many words does a usual work from you have? 11. Share a snippet from something you're working on! 12. How many drafts do you have currently? 13. What's something someone said about your writing that stuck with you? 14. What's your safe zone? Is there a character or genre you're most confident writing for? 15. Is there something you want to try in your work that you haven't done yet? 16. Do you have a favorite work? 17. Do you have a least favorite work? 18. Genre of the very first thing you wrote? 19. Genre of the latest thing you wrote! 20. Last but not least, where can readers find your stuff? (your masterlist/other sites you post on/etc.)

tags! @flowerjun/@boba-at-323 @songsofadelaide @ay0nha @wolfegoddess @seonghrtz @stephisokay @manumimiii @silverinkbottle @eclidse (love you all, and all that you do! thank you for sharing your creativity, every word you write is dearly appreciated. the world shines brighter with you in it ♡)

[ricochetmoon]

tfw you’re nearing the end of a fic but you didn’t actually plan it all the way out and now you have no freaking idea how the story should end and hate everything you’re writing. 

[psychdyke]

Fandom: Ocean's 8 (2018) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Characters: Debbie Ocean, Lou Miller Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Drinking & Talking, post-heist celebrations, they even say the p word, Partners in Crime

Summary: “So, tell me. Lou… what's that short for?” “Actually, it’s short for Lou,” the blonde replies. Somehow, she sounds both serious and teasing at once and Debbie is confused which way she means it. “Aww, come on, tell me... Please?” Debbie gives her her best puppy eyes, but Lou only glances over and grins, amused and the slightest bit endeared. “What’s Debbie short for, then?” “Oh no, I asked first!” “Then you'll never find out, baby.”

[blackacre13]

I’m going to get roasted for disappearing and then posting this as my only post in six months but I cannot get over this being a future published novel that is literally compared to O8 and is literally the name of one of my AO3 fics. Need to get my literary shit together 😭

(Yes, I am alive. I have just seriously neglected tumblr and writing fic/prompts and my health is a hot mess but I needed to share this in a world that understands)

[sakuraryomen01]

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Reader/ .10

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, smut/nsfw, hook ups, sexual fantasies and masturbation

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 1.761k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n:: before u guys read i hope that y'all r doing well and that the beginning of this chapter isn't as traumatic as it seems (to me anyways lmao XD). my life is crazy, but i wanted to get this next chapter out asap!! i love u guys!!

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

. . .

“A-Ahh, fuck.. Shit~“

Dirty and whiny moaning, harsh slaps of skin on skin. The bed rocking hard, creating dents into the headboard, knocking against the wall. Nails dug into the skin of Sukuna’s biceps, his groaning and panting masked by the girl beneath him. Her cries louder than his ever were, the lewd mewls elicited from her throat as he continued to ram his cock deep into her cunny.

“Dammit, haa..” Sukuna’s brows pressed tighter together, his eyes glazing over as his edge neared. “Fuckk..”

The lady blushed, her gazed foggy but her cheeks flushed as she reached up to grab a hold of Sukuna’s face. Her fingers grazed the edges of his jawline as she squeezed harshly around his aching cock. He was so close.

“S-Sukuna.. I’m gonna cum again,” Her sultry voice echoed through his foggy head. The distraction he wanted to keep creating for himself wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.

At this point, Sukuna didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Raise your damn ass, woman,” He said, his rough voice making the girl’s blush go from a slight heat to an almost feverish touch. Sukuna slipped himself from her heat– lifting her hips and flipped her onto her stomach– before slipping himself back into her warmth, beginning to feel his edge nearing, truly. “Fuck, ‘m close, girl.”

While Sukuna’s soft groans start to grow louder, even if only slightly, while the woman’s wails beneath him began to break. Her cries of pleasure and almost pain echoed with the bed’s creaking, only to be covered by the boom box downstairs and thirty other seniors and junior college students. The loud music, the booze, it was all a dangerous combo Sukuna had taken a liking to since attending this college. 

Since seeing you, and the moment he was forced to have you as a tutor.

He wasn’t so used to the common hustle and bustle, but seeing you among it. Seeing how well you were already molded into the society of the city, it disturbed him deeply. He didn’t understand, nor did he want to know why. All he knew was that it upset him, and he wanted to beat you at whatever this sad game was. This heart-to-heart shit wasn’t in the cards, neither was that “promise” he made. 

Sukuna was foolish when he was young, he didn’t want a broken heart. 

He didn’t have a broken heart.

“Call me sometime, hunny?” The drunk girl he had just destroyed giggled, slipping her pink and lacy thong over her plush thighs, a droopy smile on her face. “This was really, really fun.”

Sukuna, who was busy with his thoughts and belt, didn’t take a second glance. He just fixed his leather jacket up and grabbed his shoes, unlocking the door and leaving the room. “Not interested.”

While the woman was left frazzled and somewhat hurt, Sukuna fixed up his shirt and slipped on his shoes, glancing around the hallways before heading to the main living area. Grabbing another drink from the table, he chugged it down quickly despite the numb stink he got from the weird mixes. He crushed the plastic cup and turned away from all the grinding women and men that were swaying to the music that was playing outside, heading to the door as his mind began to fog up.

It was like an addiction, to remove all worry and annoyance from his mind.

Taking a second look around the party room, he pulled a small box from his back pocket and headed outside. Getting a lighter from his other pocket, he opened the small box, and lifted a cig from it. Bringing the stick to his lips, Sukuna lights the end of it as he climbs into his truck and starts the engine. While he said very few words on the way back to his dorm, he was lost in thought.

Thinking about the last month, seeing you near daily.

Seeing that skittish smile, and your nervous glances towards him. Even just recently, seeing you straight from the shower, it brought a small warmth to his cheeks. Although he’s seen tits before, it was shameful that he was wondering often what was hidden under that damned towel. What was covered that he didn’t want to think about after so long.

He had thought at first that you were truly the most annoying thing on the face of the planet, but a very small and dark part of him thought you had grown well. That your looks were down right gorgeous and adorable at the same time.

You looked so soft, but toned. Eyes pretty but they didn’t sparkle as bright as any attention whore he crossed paths with. You were perfectly imperfect to him.

Poetic.. Gross.

Once parked and out of the car, Sukuna walked from the parking lot to the male’s dormitory. His eyes found themselves looking towards the girl’s area, tracing each darkened or lit window they came across. Unable to spot which one probably belonged to you, he took a breath of the cold night air and a puff from his cancer stick. Wondering if your dorm was still as messy as it seemed last time. If it still smelled like cum and perfume. If your gaming system was all sorted like you used to keep your books in the Stix. 

The very thought of back then made him shiver and stiffen, pulling the now burned out end of the cigarette from his pinkish lips and pressing the lit end to a brick wall.

Tossing the bit over to the sidewalk, he stepped up to the building and headed to his dorn. Stepping passed the socks on knobs, the laughs of friends playing games in their rooms, the quiet murmurs and somewhat opened doors of people studying for their semi-finals and upcoming midterms. Sukuna passed them all to the third floor where his door sat at the very end of a quiet hallway, the silence almost too loud as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. 

Taking one step inside and feeling a sense of slight dread. A sense that something inside him wanted to stir.

Whatever it was, he was going to have to do it by hand.

Closing the door, he went to shower before going to make a breakfast burrito that he had saved from that morning. There wasn’t much on TV other than some news that didn’t interest him, so he got finished with his dinner and ended up watching some of the cartoons that he, you, and Gojo had watched prior. 

It didn’t matter if it made him kinda smile at the thought of you sitting on the floor with a blanket wrapped around your waist and thighs. It didn’t upset him to think about how cute you had grown up to be, that your features weren’t as bad as he wished they could. It was hard that he had to ignore this shitty clench of his chest and the throb in his pants.

Not a day in his life did Sukuna ever feel anything but rage or anger, but today, it was a feeling he despised. That he never wanted to feel again since his childhood, it was a stupid feeling he had squashed the second he left the Stix.

“..Fuck me,” He muttered to himself, letting his head rest back on the head of the couch. Pulling a blanket over his lap as Sukuna’s hand found its way underneath the cloth and rubbed at his crotch.

With very little effort, he could tell that he was rock hard. And even littler effort to free himself and start pumping his shaft, feeling all the pre that had collected in his pants. Sukuna lets out a groan, pressing his brows together as his mind wanders back to when he had walked in on you.

In my own room, you weirdo. At least you could’ve hung up a sock or some shit.

The cartoons continued to play, although the childish music and jokes on the screen didn’t make it to Sukuna’s ears. All he could think about was his new release, and about that damned towel. Wondering what would’ve happened if he had just snatched that rag and saw what was underneath for himself. Sukuna’s eyes lidded and his breath became ragged, thinking about what your tits felt like against his chest, wanting to grind his girth between them.

“Shit.. fuckk..”

The image of your small hips in his hands, letting him glide them over the fat or your ass until you yelped. Sukuna had wondered plenty about what your lips felt like against his, if you were a good or bad kisser. Whatever you were, he was willing to teach you. 

Returning the favor right?

Imagining the feeling of your lips between his teeth as he tugged and nibbled, wanting to watch them slightly swell from the kisses and breathless moans.

Sukuna felt his tummy and thighs clench, wanting to savor his orgasm. His hand went faster, the sounds of his fist pumping and shaking as pre slipped through his fingers became louder. Completely drowning out the sounds of the TV, Sukuna’s face scrunched up and he grabbed at the blanket.

His imagination brought him to his bed, your body under his. Your face flushed red, hands against his chest as if to attempt to push him away.

“Ryo.. It's embarrassing!”

Sukuna smirked as his fist squeezed his shaft, groaning under the intense pleasure. Wondering what your whimpers and moans sounded like, if your pussy was tight enough to make him finish early.

The thought of what lay between your thighs sent a jolt up Sukuna's spine, a sudden urge to cum overcame him.

He pulled the blanket from over his cock and glanced down at his naughty member. Seeing it become an angry looking red, it made him upset. How could you of all people make him so hard?

Why was it you? Your soft looking lips, your huggable waist and chest? Why of everyone he's fucked, everyone he's come across it was you that toppled over all?

Whatever his mind wanted, he wished he didn't.

As he released all over his pants, even kicking at his coffee table from the powerful climax, Sukuna's heart wasn't fulfilled.

He could feel a ping of guilt in his chest.

He really, really shouldn't have done that.

Worst part about it all was that he was going to be seeing you in class again, after the third time he played with his cock to thoughts of you.

“..Really.. Fuck my life.”

. . .

a/n: finally got the chapter out guys!! I'll be quick on here since there's little to say but I hope y'all r doing good!!><

Chapter Song Theme:

— Varsity Fanclub - Zero [Lyrics] | 7Vibes Lyrics

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalflashlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleeboomed, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir, @domainofmarie, @the-moongoddess, @dark-n-dirty-duchess, @agentdedf1sh, @sukunastoy, @lyn-soso, @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9, @heyitstacy, @lost-in-tokyo, @marksassybanana, @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-c-h, @chaoticqueen33, @dxxny-loves-u, @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci, @opossum0-0, @gumisgirl, @mommasbigd, @heyitstacy

last chapter || next chapter

[widomauked]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ocean's 8 (2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Characters: Lou Miller (Ocean's), Debbie Ocean Additional Tags: First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Cigarettes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Introspection, Character Study Summary:

Debbie was very easy to fall in love with. She had this innate quality that pulled everyone into her orbit — and either they didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. They just wanted to be around her. Lou just wanted to be around her.

[magdalenacats]

It's a Ocean's 8, it's mainly about Lou, Debbie and Juliana (Lous biological daughter).

It's also a Loubbie Fiction 🧚🏼‍♀️🫐🌌💜

[ricochetmoon]

Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean, Debbie Ocean/Tammy, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean/Tammy Characters: Debbie Ocean, Tammy (Ocean's), Lou Miller (Ocean's) Additional Tags: Childhood Friends, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Backstory, Internalized Homophobia, Angst, Self-Harm Summary:

Tammy, Debbie, and Lou have lived many lives leading up to the Toussaint heist. Over the years, their lives have intersected in a number of ways. Tammy and Debbie were childhood best friends, but that changed when Tammy mysteriously vanished. Lou has a mysterious past that nobody quite knows.

This story is about missed connections, actual connections, miscommunications, and the secrets families keep.

[blackacre13]

[psychdyke]

Fandom: Ocean's 8 (2018) Rating: Mature Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Spanking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Debbie is an idiot, Lou is hurt

Summary:

"Please," Debbie whispers, and then she sinks to her knees because there's no other way she can think of anymore. Words may evade her and Lou won’t give her the time to find them, but she needs to make her understand that she’s sorry, that she’s willing to do anything to make this right.

“Punish me.”

[dulciscoeur]

It took me some time, but the last chapter of Lapses is finally up. Click here if you want to read the whole fic on AO3. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Summary: Lost time doesn’t matter now. Trigger warnings: child neglect/abuse, trauma, dissociation. It’s angsty!

Lapses

Chapter 1: Conquest

Lou wakes just past three thirty. January is unapologetically cold, bringing along freezing air that filters through the places of her loft that don’t quite close or aren’t sealed properly. The only illumination comes from city lights outside and the pink Christmas lights on the opposite wall that she forgot to turn off last night, her attention focused on something-- someone else. Frost creeps up the windows behind Debbie’s sleeping form next to her the same way that realization of what they did just hours before creeps up her spine to settle vividly inside her mind. It definitely makes the cut for her top three most precious memories. She smiles, lets warmth sink into her chest when her eyes travel to Debbie’s face.

Debbie looks softened like this, no barriers around her. Lou thinks of lilies and soft summer breeze. Shadows from the snow falling dance across her face, bare shoulders and comforter like military expedition ghosts. Her lashes, dark and curled, rest against the softness of her cheeks, lips slightly parted. Fingertips ache to touch them, itching at the sense-memory, now familiar with how they feel against the pad of her skin. Lou moves as quietly as she can to rest on her side, right hand advances slowly as does the tightening in her heart.

The sound of the ice maker slices the quiet of the night, and she retrieves her hand as if she were a child caught doing something wrong.

Maybe she is.

Falling in love with Debbie came organically, an inevitable fate that she couldn’t nor wanted to fight against. Doing something about it though, that was something different. She was painfully aware of that, looking away whenever she caught herself admiring the way Debbie’s mouth curled when she spoke, making sure her hand didn’t linger on her lower back for too long when guiding her through doors, or straight up leaving the room when her emotions were too much to handle, her lone-wolf personality as an excuse.

Debbie interrupts her thoughts mumbling something in her sleep and snuggling closer to Lou, smooth legs wrapped around her like silky vines. The warmth emanating from her body is well appreciated, and she sighs at the time lost. When Debbie squeezes Lou with her arms, a small smile on her lips barely imperceptible in the dim light, Lou closes her eyes. Lost time doesn’t matter now. She lets the current of her emotions pull her back to sleep.

Chapter 2: War

Lou’s sipping the last of her coffee when Debbie wakes, eyes wide for a moment. Lou watches her from the small kitchen, half expecting Debbie to sigh in relief once she realizes where she is. She knows Debbie got good at sleeping at unfamiliar places, growing up with a dysfunctional family that would take her to jobs if needed. But this is not a hotel room, or the back of a car, or even a friend of her dad’s house. This is Lou’s bed and so Lou’s not really disappointed when, instead, Debbie sits up and smooths her hair, face twisting with concern. Judging by the way she does sigh, definitely not relieved, she’s either still confused or, on the contrary, very aware of where she is and what’s happened.

Lou suspects the latter.

She wasn’t expecting Debbie to have a breakdown once guilt (or regret) settled in, exactly. But she’s cursed with knowledge and some part of her she’d tried really hard to ignore figured she would react like this. Debbie’s predictable that way.

It still takes her by surprise— the tightening that forms a lump in her throat, the prickling of hot tears behind her eyes. She finds a distraction by pouring water into a cup of tea she had prepared for Debbie, instinctively dissolving two teaspoons of sugar in it, painfully aware that she’s done this so many times before under different circumstances that she knows how Debbie takes her tea without having to even think about it. Of course.

Feeling strangely out of place, she moves slowly and deliberately to let Debbie know she’s there. Debbie’s peripheral vision catches the movement and she regards her presence with a stare, whole body going tense. Her face is impassive, but Lou sees right through her.

Quietly, so as not to scare her: “Hey.”

Brown eyes remind her faintly of a scared deer before Debbie looks away, eyeing the items of clothing carelessly discarded the night before scattered on the bed and floor, mentally targeting each, and then standing up to collect and most likely erase (at least) the physical evidence of what happened between them as fast as she can, not even bothering to hide her nakedness.

Deep burgundy underwear in hand, she has the decency of darting her eyes at her when she says, “Lou,” her name on her lips a blend between an embarrassed apology and a low warning. Don’t.

It absolutely guts her, how Debbie acts sometimes. Lou’s used to ignoring it, the way Debbie just pretends her actions don’t have any impact on the people around her, as if the things she does and says don’t affect anyone except her. A whole minute of silence, Debbie in her bra and panties now, and Lou’s tired of pretending.

There’s a coppery taste on the back of her tongue when she speaks.

“We need to talk about this.” She slides the mug intently towards her on the breakfast bar that serves to divide both the kitchen and the bedroom, and them both. An unspoken threat.

Debbie stares at the mug as if it were a Molotov cocktail, then back at her, and Lou senses her trying to decide whether or not to act like she doesn’t know what she means. Scrutinizing her, she holds her gaze steadily, impassively. Another minute of silence (or hours, Lou doesn’t know anymore) where the weight of her words thread through the space between them, making its heavy presence impossible to ignore, humming and buzzing in the air like tension wires.

A sigh at last, defeated, Debbie gives her that face that says she’s irritated by Lou mind-reading her before moving to the end of the bed where her pantsuit is.

Lou can’t find the strength to look away from the paleness of Debbie’s legs starting to disappear as she puts the dark grey fabric on. She finds herself taking mental notes of the newly discovered birthmark on her upper thigh, almost hiding where the silk of her underwear begins; convinced that would be the last time she’ll see it. Africa-shaped, kind of. Faint cinnamon in color. Small, but noticeable if you’re close and interested enough. Which she is, both. And then the pants move upwards, upwards, past it, and Lou suddenly feels like she’s lost something valuable.

Her gaze flicks back to Debbie’s face, where a pantomime of emotions plays out across her features.

Debbie breathes in deeply, smiles a sad smile right into Lou, and says, quiet, like an afterthought, “Okay.”

Chapter 3: Famine

It hurts Debbie, looking at Lou’s hopeful expression and knowing it’s about to turn into something much more hurtful because of her. So she doesn’t, because it’s pitiful and that’s the last emotion she wants her face to show when she takes one last look at Lou and says the words that weight heavy on her chest, struggling to come out and cause inevitable damage. She’s also selfish and knows that look will haunt her later, and God knows for how long, which is the last thing she wants. They’ve known each other for years now, and Debbie sort of curses Lou for making her do this. Lou knows better than to force her to explain her feelings (feelings she’s more than happy to ignore and go back to pretending that nothing changed between them), knows better than to trick her into confessing why this (whatever this is) shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Debbie manages to get through the awkwardness of getting dressed while pretending that Lou wasn’t blatantly staring, and finds herself moving to sit on the small couch where Lou’s already taking up half the space with her legs spread. She considers sitting on the coffee table to put more distance between them without it being so obvious, but she’s not so certain it will hold her weight and isn’t particularly inclined to find out. At last, she settles for the second best option, which is as far away from Lou at the other end of the couch as she can.

She feels Lou breathing deliberate shallow puffs of air in and out waiting for Debbie to look at her, the burn of those stubbornly expectant blue eyes that surely already predicted what she’ll say but probably want to, knowing Lou, search what truly hides in Debbie’s eyes when their gazes lock as she finally speaks, looking to find any hint of emotions that’d contradict her words and give her away. So Debbie keeps her face lowered, glares intently at anything that isn’t Lou, partly because she can’t bear exposing herself like that, but mostly because she’s never been one to make things harder than necessary. A pragmatist, if she’s ever seen one.

Still.

Her mind runs with thousands of useless excuses she could use to get out of the situation. Her eyes flicker to her phone on the bed, hoping for something to come through instead, a call about an emergency that requires immediate attention.

No such luck.

Reluctantly, she decides that Lou deserves better than her stalling. She deserves better than her, period. As ready as she’ll ever be and not wanting to prolong the tension any longer, she opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by Lou.

“At least have the decency of looking at me when you say it,” comes dryly, measured voice through clenched teeth.

Oh. So she really is tired of letting her off the hook. Fine.

Debbie sternly instructs her face to stay impassive, tilts her head and finds Lou watching her almost defiantly. Defiant is better than hopeful, she supposes. She’s not sure why that doesn’t make her feel any better. If anything, the pang in her chest feels even more painful than before.

“This can’t happen again.” She says simply and honestly, and it’s about as cold as she was afraid it would be.

“I thought you’d say that,” Lou says automatically with an irritably knowing look on her face, but the usual fondness in her voice is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a disappointed but unsurprised tone.

Debbie doesn’t remember moving closer, but somehow, her leg is almost pressed against Lou’s, and she’s acutely aware of her own body betraying her, embracing the warmth that seeps through her skin with a sigh she thinks for a second she had managed to suppress, but if Lou tensing next to her is anything to go by, she hadn’t. Lou notices because of course she does, she’s fluent in Debbie.

Debbie almost rolls her eyes. There’s an odd stirring and restlessness in her limbs as if she were physically rejecting this whole situation.

She is used to being the one in control. She is used to well thought out plans that she ploys carefully in advance so that everything happens as it should, her mind calculating every option and possible outcome in every situation because being a few steps ahead makes her feel safe. She’s used to knowing what to say and do, which is why her mood further darkens as helplessness takes over her.

She’s never meant for any of this to happen because yes, they flirt, their bodies are drawn to each other magnetically and the air is filled with undeniable chemistry buzzing and sparkling between them even in the most innocent exchanges, but before last night, Debbie could count on Lou to efficiently make a witty remark when the atmosphere got too heavy and lighten the tension so that Debbie could breathe again.

It’s not that she feels like she’s drowning when Lou invades personal space or says something that’s charged with a little too much double entendre, enough to make her chest heave unpleasantly, which happens more often than she’d like. It’s just that the air catches in her throat when there’s not enough physical distance between them and her mind feels foggy at the innuendos and the blood thrumming incessantly in her ears makes it impossible for her to concentrate on whatever task she’s taking care of that needs to be done properly lest she makes out of character errors— which leads to her feeling like she’s losing touch with who she is, which then leads to her needing something to ground herself. That something usually being Lou reading her body language and taking a step back instinctively, giving her space, or Lou willing her eyes to erase the unbearable adoration (raw enough to suffocate Debbie sometimes) that shows there when Debbie catches her staring without meaning to, or Lou changing the subject and guiding the conversation into (safe) work-related territory when her actual feelings for Debbie lurk behind a teasing joke. All things that Debbie greatly appreciates because she relies on them being part of the equation, part of the routine.

That is, until now.

“I just can’t afford to lose you, Lou, when I eventually fuck up,” Debbie catches herself saying, only the slightest hint of a waver in her voice.

Lou seems to chew on that for a minute, but apparently decides it’s not good enough for her. Debbie sighs impatiently, not sure what Lou really expects.

“I’ll hurt y--”

“Oh, don’t fucking patronize me!” Lou bites out wryly, offended that Debbie would still try to take the easy way out. “Don’t make this about me. You don’t wanna face your feelings, fine, but don’t pretend this is about you worrying about me,” her voice is brittle and crisp.

Lou’s only inches away from her face now, a fact that Debbie only noticed because all her instincts are telling her to move back as if Lou’s hard expression were scalding her, earnest as ever, eyes roving across her face trying to read her.

Debbie can feel herself pale despite her best efforts to keep her composure, words caught in her throat. “I--”

She sees the exact moment Lou realizes she’s pushing the right buttons, holding her gaze and refusing to let go. Her mind registers the shift with panic, caught like a prey with no escape. Lou’s intent on further needling at her, Debbie knows she wants to make sure she feels as off-balance as she’s feeling.

“I’m more than capable of keeping things professional, Debbie. In fact, let’s keep it at that from now on. That means you don’t get to send mixed signals,” Lou snaps heatedly, standing up abruptly and whirling to walk towards the bed to grab Debbie’s phone and put it inside her purse forcefully.

Debbie stands up awkwardly, looking at Lou inching closer to her, tries to clear the dismay from her face when Lou shoves the purse to her chest, dismissing her.

“You don’t get to flirt with me the way you do and then push me away whenever you feel like me flirting back is too much.” Lou hisses, careful to keep her voice low, threateningly forcing her to step back towards the exit without ever touching her, even when Debbie trips on her feet a little. 

“You don’t get to put your hands on me and then act like I’m the one who’s pushing it too far when I lean into your touch,” Lou pushes on, almost nose to nose, blindly opening the door beside her, glare glued to her own. 

“You don’t get to act jealous and possessive when a woman looks at me, because I see you, Debbie, and I’m not your fucking toy. You don’t get to play with my feelings anymore,” Lou finishes, radiantly angry; but before she shuts the door in her face, Debbie manages to catch the hurt that passes across her blazing eyes.

Chapter 4: Death

Debbie’s eight the first time it happens. It was supposed to be exciting, the first winter storm of the year, but that day something more than just snow falls around her and eight-year-old Debbie dies, along with most of her innocence and all of her immaturity.

And at that moment, dying felt like this: Being held from behind by big muscular arms that are too strong for her fragile body. The cold barrel of a gun like a kiss of death pressed against her temple, the foul smell of alcohol hot in contrast at her cheek when the man speaks,

“I won’t hurt her,” he says, voice thick. You already are, Debbie wants to say, “if you just give my boss his money back.”

The playroom is freezing despite the fact that the heater is working. The temperature was not supposed to be a problem because Debbie took it all into consideration when she made the list of things she needed to keep herself warm: her fluffiest stuffed toys, piled up pillows and blankets on the carpet and a mug of hot cocoa. Now the improvised fort sits abandoned and the beverage must be as cold as she is in just her pajamas.

His father looks at her like he’d just realized she was there, and Debbie tries her best not to cry because he doesn’t like it when she does but the tears prickle her eyes all the same.

Oh, but then.

The hesitance she reads in his face digs a hole deep and wide in her chest that webs out and expands, expands, expands with every passing second until there’s no more room and suddenly something clicks and everything shatters, tears spilling down her face that somehow have nothing to do with the stranger holding her and everything to do with the one that’s looking at her like he’s considering her worth with mild resentment, like she just cost him his plan. She understands, because she’s little but she’s always been too smart for her own good.

Mr. Ocean opens his mouth to speak, but before he does, the man’s cell phone rings and he interrupts him to answer, the hand holding the gun still aimed at Debbie’s head.

She stands in place, dead but not quite gone. Listening, but not really.

She somewhat feels like she’s escaped her body to watch the scene develop from above, like the camera that hangs on the corner of that very room— unmoving, quiet, like an all-seeing eye rhythmically blinking red.

Her gaze darts down to stare at her own chest quizzically like it’s a stranger’s, contracting with sobs that she didn’t know were breaking through her. It looks like it should hurt but it doesn’t. She tries to logic her way out of it, to will her body to stop whatever it’s doing because it’s scaring her, but there’s no response. She feels empty, like static on a radio signal that chirps with every little breath she takes but that communicates nothing but buzzing hollowness, interference noise that makes no sense to her.

The idea of continuing to exist physically trapped, limited and controlled this way suddenly overwhelms her.

She says, “I can’t feel,” but it comes from the voice inside her head instead of her own, the words caught in her throat like fragments of bone.

She forces herself, ruthlessly, to swallow in much the same way she does when they have Borscht for dinner. Her mouth is sandpaper dry, but she thinks it would be silly of her to ask for water.

Instead, as if she were in class, she tries really hard to pay attention to the man’s chatter that continues to reach her ears like her head is sunken underwater, distorted. With difficulty, because the lurch of terror that is making her sick is still there, she follows the sound of the voice that seems to be coming from another room until the syllables start to make sense. There are curse words, lots of them, then something about his boss’s rule, not harming any kids and coming back. For her father, she supposes. It should make her feel bad. She feels guilty that it doesn’t.

When the man lets her go, she barely registers the burn on her knees as they hit the carpet.

After some time, when she looks up, there’s no one else in the room with her. After some more time, when the sun is starting to set, Danny finds her, curled up on the bed of pillows and talking to herself. Lately, he’s been ignoring her because he thinks he’s a grown-up, and Debbie only notices his presence when he asks if she’s seen his special deck of cards.

“No,” she says. Something in the way she’s said it must’ve caught his attention. He stares at her. She stares back. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks in that worried voice that’s reserved only for her.

She tells him what happened mechanically because they never told her she should keep it a secret and she likes that he is finally talking to her again like he used to. She decides she won’t cry because she’s afraid he’ll think she’s not strong and she wants to prove that she is. Danny looks at her like she’s weird, as if trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. Before Debbie can get defensive because she thinks he doesn’t believe her, he rolls his eyes, embarrassed about what he’s about to do, then hugs her for the first time in months and sits with her to teach her about Schödinger’s cat.

He says it might make her feel better.

It... doesn’t.

She understands the concept, kind of. Mostly. But it still upsets her that Danny is defending their father to some extent and acting like “dad isn’t capable of doing such a thing.”

“Yeah, to you,” she thinks.

“You weren’t there to see it but I was!” she wants to say.

Instead, because she’d hate to make her brother sad:

“Thanks. I feel much better.” Her index and middle finger are crossed behind her back. “Now leave, loser. Unless you wanna have a sleepover with me and Ms. Sprinkles.”

She looks pointedly at the light pink teddy bear that’s been sitting next to them smiling perpetually.

He leaves and she doesn’t sleep, that night and many others, wondering what would’ve happened if rules about harming children didn’t exist and her father hadn’t been interrupted.

Debbie hears what people don’t say. Always has: the “I’m not” behind every dishonest “I’m sorry” she’s ever received, the “I’m doing this to hurt you” that’s covered up by “this is for your own good”, the “but” after every “I love you” before the words are even spoken.

“but you can’t give me what I want and this is not enough.”

“but there’s something wrong with the way you handle emotions that I can’t quite figure out and I rather leave.”

“but what is it with you and your family?”

“but you won’t open up and let me in.”

To read unspoken words and non-verbal cues is freeing as it is useful. She did make a living out of it after all, collecting paychecks thanks to her ability. Or more like stealing them. But for all her skills, she’s pretty bad at reading angry Lou, because her anger has never been directed at her and she doesn’t know what to make of that because it’s not the type of anger she’s used to being surrounded by growing up.

No shouting, no threats, no punishment. There’s only cold and she’s good at reading people but she’s not good at reading... nothingness.

She’s lost track of how many times she’s knocked on the door that Lou just closed, fighting not to let her body sink to the floor. She waits for the clamor, for the door to open again and the sharp accusations to cut deep into her but they never come. She waits and waits and waits but she’s not sure what answer she’s expecting, if there will be one at all, because she’s saying something but she doesn’t know if she’s apologizing or cursing or making sense at all because already she’s starting to experience the sounds coming out of her mouth in the surreal, distorted way she recognizes and loathes.  

Lou’s silence is so loud she can hear it over her own heartbeat thrumming erratically in her chest and echoing in her ears.

Her heart weighs heavy in her chest when she accepts silence is an answer in itself like she used to accept her mom telling her TV static is expected during a storm. The last thing she remembers before willing her feet to leave is telling Lou “I understand”, and braces herself to listen to white noise buzzing and humming, glitched and broken, for however long it takes for the signal to come back.

Lou doesn’t speak to her for four days. Her absence in the aftermath is abrupt, it leaves a mute echo everywhere and only hollowness to fill her outstretched hands with, wrapping her up in a cemetery quiet similar to the one she sees in the movies after a grenade has gone off.

Coincidentally, she feels the passing of time acutely during those days, like a sharp blade that is slowly sinking into her, making it bleed pain inside - pain that seeps over, under, around.

She’s thought about calling her, about texting her. She’s considered knocking on her door, going to the places she knows she frequents, asking about her to a friend in common.

Endless possibilities, but all of them with the same result: breaking her trust by disrespecting her boundaries. And as a result, watching the ledge she is standing on begin to crumble, only to shatter and widen the space between them like a rift in the landscape.

Lou has never asked anything of her before. Debbie owes her this, respecting that she wants to be left alone.

It is more than she knows what to do with, but she tries.

It’s hard.

Debbie thinks that she should be used to knowing what dying inside feels like by now. She became capable of not being paralyzed by it because she’d been forced to adapt to survive as a little girl. Good times. The thing is, after she’d left the family house, she never felt the need to fight to regain control of herself again, and now that is happening to her more often than she considers fair and she feels out of practice.

She tries to remember how to block out her emotions enough to function properly but not so much that she disconnects from her body, because that’s even worse.

She can’t remember and she loses herself, over and over again. Each time is different, each time feels the same.

Five days after that day, the day when everything went wrong, she gets a text from her. Lou tells her she should talk with Tammy, then doesn’t reply to her when she tries to make conversation. Debbie takes the hint with a heavy heart, grateful that at least she is speaking to her, and eventually meets Tammy at a café after a long panic attack bent over behind a drugstore that has seen better days.

Tammy counts four different pill boxes at the bottom of Debbie’s purse when she opens it to put the paper with all the necessary information of the target into her bag. She is smart enough not to mention it but she does ask,

“Is that everything you need?”

“Yes,” she answers too quickly. Tammy looks at her, achingly sweet. Debbie’s right leg bounces impatiently.

“Debbie...” her voice holds an extra layer of caution like the one people use on wounded animals.

Even knowing she means well, she resents her for it.

“I’m fine,” she says, flat.

She’s not. Tammy must notice because she touches her arm very gently before saying goodbye.

Debbie finishes her tea watching the snowflakes fall outside the café window, one after the other. If she could muster any sort of fondness for it she would, but she just rolls her eyes because she has come to hate winter. No need for another reminder of how she feels inside.

There is a party being held at this hotel, Tammy had told her. Lots of rich people. Lots of stupid rich people. Lots of stupid rich people drinking. Easy. Tammy also telling her Lou would be there had been more than enough for Debbie to put extra effort into the way she looked. It was presumptuous and she hated herself a little bit for it but it made sense earlier.

Now, not so much. Dressing up is no fun when the only person she is hoping will notice is nowhere to be seen.

She mostly succeeds in not letting her eyes roam the room looking for her and do her part of the job -  like she said, easy, really: run into businessman, swap key cards and put his in the plant pot near the entrance for Lou to pick it up and do the rest - but she can’t help the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat at even the suggestion of blonde hair.

It’s done in a matter of seconds and she sits at the waiting lounge by the reception area instead of joining the party, eyes glued to the Monstera Deliciosa.

She has to tear her gaze away when she feels fingers poking her shoulder. For a moment, her traitorous mind thinks it could be Lou and a rush of adrenaline courses through her but when she turns, it is a man that is looking at her expectantly. She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Hi, I’m Joe. Can I buy you a drink?” and then says something about seeing her there all alone but she’s distracted enough to miss most of his words.

She never gets the chance to see Lou that night-- by the time Debbie turns around to look back at the plant pot she is already gone.

Excusing herself absentmindedly to a confused Joe, she laments a quiet “maybe next time” on her way out, though she is not talking to or about him.

In the parking lot, she looks up at the barely shining stars hidden behind clouds that announce storms, self-conscious in only her aubergine dress. She tells herself she is shaking from the cold breeze that is curling sweetly around her, but she can’t justify the apprehension that’s radiating from her heart and pushing against the slashes of her ribcage.

So she looks up for a long time, lets the night engulf her until it feels like she’s suddenly in space. Darkness, no oxygen, no sound except for the rush of blood in her ears.

The silence expands.

There’s a sob trapped in her throat when she finally grabs the car keys from her purse, eager to get home and take off a dress that feels tighter by the minute, clinging to her in a suffocating way.

Debbie ponders what to do with the money on her account now that she’s not spending half of it going out to eat with Lou or purchasing top-shelf vodka from the fancy liquor store across the street to keep in her apartment— no use in doing that if the person she used to buy it for doesn’t stop by anymore.

The last bottle she bought for Lou has been sitting there half empty, untouched, for a week now. She feels like it’s mocking her by just existing but stops that train of thought before it evolves into something else and drags her away.

She grabs the bottle of wine next to it instead, her laptop, sits on the couch. She checks online shops to see if there’s anything worth buying instead of stealing.

Six open tabs later, she can’t really think of anything she wants besides... well.

She researches properties in Italy just to imagine what it would be like to live someplace else, far away.

It’s two weeks later that she finally meets Lou, really meets, for the first time in what felt like forever.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all lately. They have, but definitely not like this. Most of the conversations about how to approach their jobs have been over the phone and whenever they did saw each other it was painfully impersonal. They talked briefly about going separate ways after what happened but agreed that it made no sense to either of them. They’re just that good when they work together, seemed stupid to waste their potential.

Although in moments like these, Debbie regrets their decision.

Lou’s gaze focuses on anything over Debbie’s shoulder but never on her when she meets her in the casino bar. She sits next to her, close enough to touch if she wanted to (was allowed to), which is already nerve-racking enough, but then her hand covers Debbie’s, discreetly putting there the earpiece that’ll whisper numbers in her ear when she goes to play blackjack in a minute, and bittersweet ache fills her lungs. She feels like she might burst into tears when Lou breaks contact, already missing it.

Lou seems unaffected, a fake-warm smile on her face while she goes over her part of the plan monitoring the cameras. Debbie nods at her and tries to breathe through the pounding of a heart that seems too big for her chest so it looks they’re having a normal conversation to anyone who might be watching.

She tries to ignore Lou’s hand resting too close to hers, but can’t help it when her pinky twitches involuntarily to brush against Lou’s.

Debbie feels a hot rush of shame, embarrassment coloring her cheeks pink when Lou pulls her hand away almost immediately, giving her an accusatory look.

“Lou,” she says. Sorry, she means.

Both of them stay in silence, looking at each other for seconds that feel like forever.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” is all Lou says, and is gone before Debbie can respond.

Debbie stands to do what she came here to do on autopilot.

It becomes a routine. Days of silence that become a week, sometimes more, and then a text or a phone call or, if luck is on her side, she gets to see her.

“You look like shit,” Lou says one night after pulling off a job successfully, her smile the closest thing to experiencing what heaven is like.

They’re at the rooftop of the second hotel they’ve checked into with fake names in as many days. Lou is usually gone right after she finishes her part, so Debbie is pleasantly surprised she is still there with her, looking at her in a way she’s not quite familiar with. Almost tender, like the look the Lou that usually bleeds into her dreams has, but not quite. There’s an elusiveness and vulnerability to it that serves as a reminder of what she’s done to her, and suddenly all the exhaustion and sleep deprivation and guilt and shame she’s been burying hit. She is so, so tired she thinks any second her legs might give away. She sort of wishes they do, just so she would have an excuse to look away from Lou’s eyes.

“I also feel like shit,” she says, and hopes it didn’t sound as pitiful as she thinks.

Two things happen:

Something about the way Lou’s hands shake makes Debbie think she is about to reach out to her, a thought that is only reinforced by the way the air, biting and crisp just seconds ago, seems to shift and turn into a current of nervous anticipation, humming between them like a live wire.

A group of friends chooses right that moment to open the door that leads to where they are, startling them-- and just like that, the moment is gone.

In some ways, Debbie feels as though she’s been waiting her whole life for it to end.

“I should go,” Lou half-whispers, but to Debbie’s complete surprise, she doesn’t move.

The wind had ruffled through her blond hair and her eyes seem to be sparkling and it’s only then that Debbie realizes just how much she’s missedher. Warmth spools through her organs, for the first time in ages. She doesn’t want Lou to go. She tells her that.

Lou wavers.

Thoughts whirling, spiraling, Debbie blurts out, “Let’s go to my place. Let’s just talk.”

Lou considers this, frowns for a moment as she contemplates an answer.

“Please,” Debbie adds softly, and the low timbre of her voice is enough to make Lou nod.

“Okay,” Lou breathes, and it’s filled with so much-- something familiar, something electrifying and pulsating and right.

The tiny quirk to her lips, the molten eyes that shine as if the sun had set in their depths ignite a flicker of hope inside Debbie. She breathes in, feels a pressure against her ribs, scribbles of emotions weaving a thread, like a spiderweb, around her heart, stitching up the broken parts together and mending the cracks.

“Okay.” She repeats, voice only trembling a little.

Everything is quiet around them except for the sound of heels piercing the silence and echoing on the city streets as they make their way to her apartment.

Determined to keep her nervousness at bay, Debbie focuses her attention on her steps, studying the ground moving underneath her feet, the yellowy blobs of light thrown downward by street lamps, the shadows that contrast with the neon pink that dances with a tidal motion as they pass by a tattoo parlour. The lights wavers and flares in yesterday’s rain reflection, and it’s not long until she feels dizzy and has to will her gaze to focus on something else.

Lou, looking straight ahead, all business, doesn’t seem to notice the way her eyes roam over her body, appreciating the black turtleneck that insinuates soft curves, the red faux-fur jacket thrown on top that ends at her hips where toned legs clad in leather pants start and end in graphite ankle boots to tie everything together.

Just when she’s about to complain about how long it’s taking them to get to her place, Lou stops abruptly, and Debbie almost bumps into her.

“Like what you see?,” she jokes, amused, and Debbie would’ve acted like she wasn’t blatantly staring if she weren’t too tired to pretend she wasn’t doing just that.

And this Lou who is trying to hide in the shadows the playful smile at the curve of her mouth, whose gaze feels like it’s reaching something remote inside her, reminds her so much of the Lou that would throw an extra blanket on her in the middle of the night or bring her something to eat when she would forget how to be a person that she wants to swallow the faint curl of her lips with her own and just soak in the warmth that is working through her body and pouring over and into every part of her. It’s hard to stop herself from reaching out, but she does, too afraid of breaking this image that seems to soften her around the edges, diffusing the coldness that had settled into a pang in her chest ever since she stopped talking to her.

“I’ve missed you,” is all she murmurs. Is all she can say.

This time, not only Lou’s eyes don’t skitter away from hers at the raw honesty, but there’s no bitterness to her voice when she eventually says,

“Yeah,” she agrees, not scornful, neither her tone nor her look. Just understanding in that way of hers that still surprises Debbie to this day.

Lou has written her code into hers with such naturality that it’s hard not to believe they’re not intrinsically linked, she is so planted into her that she is able to sense everything she’s feeling as if she were experiencing the emotions herself. There is a part of her that is afraid she will never be able to fit as seamlessly into Lou’s life here as she had been able to fit into hers. But standing in front of her apartment with the world seemingly slowed to a standstill in a city looks like it’s been here forever, silent and untouched and unwavering, she makes a decision.

“Let’s get inside,” Debbie says after a beat. Lou nods.

Her grip is tight on the keys when she moves to open the door. If she listens closely, she can pick up the steady sound of Lou’s breathing behind her, even over the thunderous beat of her own heart, and sense the tenseness of her posture mirroring hers. She feels faintly sick with anticipation as she steps inside.

By march the winter is already starting to die, but the cold in the flat is still present-- delicate, calm, the fading baseline at the end of a song. She doesn’t have to ask Lou to take a seat because Lou is already moving to her spot on the couch, the one Debbie avoided even looking at just hours ago and it’s almost like nothing ever happened between them.

Almost, anyway.

Lou is looking up at her like she’s waiting for something and, oh. Debbie had forgotten how her irises look under the soft glow of the fish tank, fire burning blue.

The scent of her perfume is comforting as she closes the distance between to sit next to her, hands pressed between her knees. Lou doesn’t comment on her closeness but clears her throat impatiently. Debbie knows she’s invited her for a reason other than just sitting in silence.

She wants to say Don’t make me say everything you already know but she’s tired of disappointing the people she cares about.

Fuck it.

“I need a drink, first,” she says, mostly to herself. Lou agrees with the softest smile, nodding.

It is essential to her psyche to distract herself so as not to have an anxiety attack, so she takes her time walking over to the kitchen, putting some ice cubes into two glasses and pouring more than enough whiskey into them. When she comes back, she finds Lou in the same place she’s left her, only mildly surprised she’s still there. Lou stares back with interest through her inspection, head slightly tilted to one side.

She offers one glass to her as she swipes a droplet of condensation off the side of her own, sitting next to her once again. They sip in silence for a second, both cognizant of how they filled in the void last time they were in a similar situation.

It isn’t the liquor, but she finds her throat cleared to speak, emboldened by it, committed.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, meeting her eyes, sharp and full of emotion. It’s a relief to look at her and see something familiar.

“I know,” Lou says.

It’s not enough, though. She needs to get this right.

“No, listen,” she continues, conscious of their proximity. “You were right,” she acknowledges. “I was-- I am terrified of my feelings.”

It’s comforting how transparent she sounds when she says it. Lou chews her lip, light dancing to life in the once guarded ice of her eyes, making her feel twelve and daring.

A sort of sound of amusement, and then: “Feelings, huh? I think we’re going too fast.”

Lou’s mouth, shaped like laughter, makes it hard for Debbie to concentrate, but with a proud tilt of her chin she manages to say,

“Feelings, yeah. I just... It’s not an excuse, but I don’t have much experience with those.”

“Deb—” Lou starts, with a soft look accompanied by an even softer smile.

“And I’m tired of that,” she goes on quietly, frown heavy on her face.

She thinks of how right the confession feels, and how true it is. For someone who considers herself strong and fearless, all her life she had instinctively leapt back when it came to facing her emotions, used to disdain emotions because to her, they meant weakness-- weakness she didn’t need or want. She has sought physical company as frequently as she wanted, but never committed to anything past that because she’s experienced first hand what loving someone does to you if things were to go wrong.

But things don’t have to be that way, she understands that now.

“And if I’m being completely honest, I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s not your decision to make, is it?” she asks, voice imbued with the knowledge of one who already knows the answer.

The way she is looking at her is something out of a movie, in that way of hers that even if the best artist were to paint her they wouldn’t get the emotions quite right. So she looks and looks and looks. She doesn’t answer but she lets herself enjoy the longing, the unbreakable circling, the pressure of every single one of her molecules being pulled by Lou’s gravity. She doesn’t answer, not with words, but she lets herself fall into everything that is Lou, her lips against hers a near-worshipful thing, and for once, she’s not afraid of how Lou makes her want for things she never thought she would.

All her guilt collapses until it’s nothing but a flat surface where she can rebuild again, something better, something with Lou.

That is the last thought that reigns in her mind as she pulls her closer, fingers tracing the nape of her neck, slipping through silky hair like she’s holding onto a lifeline. And then she’s too preoccupied with the delirious torment of Lou’s body pressing against her-- skin warm, mouth pliant, greedy-- to think about anything else.