#roommates drabble

[tojbnuy]

roommate!sukuna who is having a really hard time with you his new roommate. he thinks he should be offended at this rate. did you think he was gay? what other reasoning could there be for the way you act and dress infront of him. he knew for a fact that when you left the house this morning you had on a cardigan buttoned right to the top. and yet you walked into his room on your way in to show him your new nails and all that covered you was a tiny pair of shorts and a thin tank top with the lace of your bra peeking through.

“kuna looooook i got polka dots and a new shape, do you like them?”

how was he supposed to focus on your nails when your tits were practically in his face, pushed together due to the way you were positioned.

‘yeah brat they’re nice, and it’s cold put some clothes on.’

‘i’m not colddd’ you sing songed on your way out.

and this may not sound so bad, but there was also the time you had gotten your shirt mixed up with his in the wash. and when he had asked you if that was his shirt you were wearing you simply said Oops! and proceeded to take it off then and there infront of him. and only when he saw the bottom of your breasts did he realize you weren’t wearing a bra. he had managed to turn around in time and was perplexed at why you would strip infront of him with the biggest smile on your face. you weren’t even trying to be seductive you were just you. and he was beginning to be offended. why weren’t you attracted to him. he was insanely attracted to you. everytime you plopped down next to him on the couch for your movie nights in your tiny shorts or just plain underwear he’d have to cover his lap with a cushion at the immediate semi. everytime you mouthed off to him he had to convince himself not to put you over his knee. and when you napped in his bed instead of yours and sprawled your legs out as if you owned the place with one of your stupid plushies brought along with you and his pillow shoved between your thighs. that, he wasn’t so mad about however, sometimes it still smelt like you when he was touching himself at night with the thought of your soft body fresh in his mind.

you were frankly becoming a pain in the ass and he was ready to sort it out.

a/n: not proofread sorry. also starting my jjk men as roommates drabbles, feel free to send in suggestions! :) PART TWO OUT HERE

[mooningningg]

notes, the anon who requested this had a few more ideas and i appreciate it!!!

★ Roommate!Sukuna when you get drunk and wasted.

The call came from an unknown number.

Sukuna almost didn’t pick up. Almost.

Then he heard it — loud music, giggling, and a girl yelling “tell himmm! tell ‘immm I miss his mean little face!”

“…Hello?” he said flatly.

A girl — not you — answered. “Uh, hi? Sukuna, right?”

His entire body tensed. “What the fuck.”

“I’m a friend of Y/N’s. She’s um… she’s really, really drunk. Like, climbing-the-bar kind of drunk. We tried to call a cab but she—wait, she’s throwing fries again—Y/N! Stop!”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where.”

“Some place called Pink Rodeo?”

He hung up before she could say another word.

Fifteen minutes later, the bar door slammed open.

There he stood: tank top, sweats, hair a mess, jaw tight.

He looked like a demon on a mission. Several girls turned to stare. One backed away. A man instinctively took a step behind his girlfriend.

And there you were — at a corner booth, with your arms thrown around two friends like you were the queen of the night.

“There’s my husbanddd!” you shouted as soon as you saw him.

Sukuna blinked.

The girl who called him looked at him apologetically. “She’s been calling you that for an hour.”

“I live with her, not love her,” he muttered, shoving past some guy in a cowboy hat. “Big fuckin’ difference.”

You tried to stand, but one heel caught the edge of your friend's purse and you tumbled straight into Sukuna’s chest.

He caught you with a grunt.

“Ow…” you slurred dramatically. “My boobs.”

He stared down at you. “What the fuck does that have to do with—never mind. Shut up.”

“Don’t yell,” you whined, gripping his shirt like it was your lifeline. “You look so mad. Are you mad? You look like a mean cat.”

“‘Cause I am mad, dumbass.” His jaw flexed. “You let these morons call me?”

One of your friends raised a brow. “Well, husband, she did threaten to walk home barefoot.”

“And sing karaoke on the way,” another added.

You nodded proudly. “I was gonna do a Beyoncé medley.”

“You can’t even walk in a straight line,” Sukuna snapped, adjusting his grip as you melted against him like a drunk heating pad.

You frowned at him. “You’re so grumpy. Maybe you need…a kiss.”

He blinked. “Try that and I’ll drop you.”

You gasped, clutching your heart like a scandalized debutante. “You used to be nicer.”

“I was never nice. You were just less annoying.”

Sukuna’s hand stayed firm on your waist, fingers splayed like he owned the damn real estate. The way he adjusted his grip every time you stumbled—like it was second nature—made one of your friends raise a brow.

“Roommates, huh?” she muttered under her breath, eyeing the way his hand lingered low on your back.

Sukuna didn’t even look up. “Say it louder, maybe the street rats didn’t hear.”

But he didn’t move his hand. Not an inch.

One of your friends smirked. “Y’all talk like this all the time?”

You lifted your head, swaying slightly. “Mhm. That’s my boy. My little violence man.”

Sukuna turned to your friends, deadpan. “Next time she gets this wasted, leave her on the curb. Let a raccoon adopt her or something.”

Then, to you: “Come on, idiot. Let’s get you home before you start serenading a trash can.”

“I love trash cans,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging you toward the door, “and I need a fuckin’ lobotomy.”

But his grip didn’t ease up.

And even though you were floppy, giggly, and leaking perfume all over his shirt, he didn’t let go once — not even when you tried to kiss a parking meter on the way to the car.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh.

[nezuscribe]

part one

fake dating your best friend gojo satoru is a lot harder than you imagined.

not because he's not good at the faking part, he's really good at that. in fact, he's so good that you sometimes forget it's all an act. something to get him closer to the girl he's been crushing on since freshman year, and you closer to a guy he thinks you've been crushing on for forever.

thank god he doesn't know his assumption is completely incorrect.

so, yeah, maybe agreeing to fake date the guy you've been in love with since you were playing in sandboxes wasn't your brightest idea, nor was it particularly smart to help him try to get together with the girl he likes but so what? this was probably your only chance to truly experience gojo.

your friends were all shocked when the two of you came out with the news. they looked at your with furrowed brows and parted lips, not knowing whether to say congratulations or i told you so.

and it get's even harder tyring to protect yourself as this whole scheme continues because he's just such a good fake boyfriend. like that time you flunked an exam? you could've sworn he was playing with your feelings just for fun at this point.

---

"what's wrong?" his muffled voice came out from behind your bedroom door. the two of you agreed to meet up for a "fake date" that would be plastered across your socials to make geto and suki jealous, but you had missed out on his last phone call, his plethora of texts, and weren't responding to his onslaught of questions.

you groaned into your pillow, face dry with old tears as you sat in a hunched and curled up position. you were so mentally exhausted from studying the past week and failing so miserably that you didn't even have the energy to open the door for him.

"was it that test?" gojo asked, and you just groaned louder at the thought of it, wiping at your nose.

you could hear him sigh, getting his answer from your weak excuse of a response. even when the two of you were in high school you'd kick yourself down over these sorts of things. now, in college, it seems to have gotten ten times worse.

"look...can i come in?" he knows you don't want him there, but that's the exact reason he's pushing this so much.

you swallow, sniffiling again as you raise your head from the pillow just a bit so that he could hear your groggy voice.

"i looked pooped out," you tell him, "i don't think i can make it tonight."

there's a pause,

and then he opens the door.

you groan in annoyance, looking at him from over your shoulder with a wrinkled brow and ready to berate him for being so emotionally inept when you spot the mountain of things in his arms.

snacks, food, his laptop (for movies, never anything work or school related), and that peach ice cream you love so much but is never in stock.

he lays it all out on your desk with a pleased smile, watching you roll over on your bed to take it all.

"kinda pieced it together when you didn't pick up," he explains, pointing to all the things he knew would cheer you up, "thought this would help."

you slowly lift from the position you'd been rotting in for the past three hours, going on wobbly legs as you make your way over to where he was.

fresh tears well up in your eyes because this isn't even fair, you still flunked that test, and the guy you love is acting like he actually cares about you.

at your reaction, gojo's smile drops, a worried expression taking over his face as his hand shoots up to your arms, caging you in between his strong body as you lean your head back and let out a strangled wail, one reminiscent of a cat.

"hey, hey, come on," he shushes, bringing you in for a tight hug, one reserved only for you, or so you hopelessly tell yourself, "it's okay, it's just a test."

your breathing quivers, "a really important one," you say, muffled against his chest, "a really really important one."

gojo shrugs, one hand rubbing up and down your back, the other one gingerly cradling the back of your head.

"and you'll do really really good on the next one, yeah?" he says softly, all teasing gone from his voice. you hate this, you hate that he's actually nice and not some jackass who's just using you.

you nod limply.

"maybe you could just buy the grade for me?" you say through a hiccup, looking up at him through watery eyes as his face of concern melts into a more relaxed one, rolling his eyes as he pinches your side.

"always thinking about my wallet, huh?" he chastises you, pushing you away by the flick of your forehead, shoving some chips into your outstretched hands.

"it's something good to think about," you mutter weakly, opening it as you look at the ruffled chips, rubbing at your nose as another hiccup escapes your chapped lips. it's stupid, you know that, but you can't control it.

"hey," he calls, his voice dipping a little, the one that forces you to look up at him because it means he's being serious, "it's gonna be okay. promise."

you nod, blinking slowly as you eat a chip, chewing lazily.

"besides, my crazy smart fake girlfriend can do anything she puts her mind to, right?" he says with a boyish smile, taking some chips for himself as he gives you another hug.

your shoulder sink again.

damn it.

[camheaven]

(,,>﹏<,,) satoru wasn’t a bad roommate- well, at least to your knowledge, he wasn’t. he always cleaned up, grabbed groceries when you asked, and had no problem with you having people over. he was always nice to you too! he comforts you when your sad, watches movies with you, or lets you do stupid shit like decorate him with stickers! you constantly bragged about him to your friends always throwing in a dramatic “gojo would neverrrrr” when they complained about their roommates.

and of course he knew- because you were never shy about telling him he was the best. which only made him feel worse. disgusting even. especially since you didn’t know how he’d use your dirty underwear to get off every night. his cock was always flushed, the tip a soft, sticky pink when he wrapped it in the lace fabric. and to be completely honest he didn’t know how you hadn’t caught him yet- it’s not like he was being quiet.. he couldn’t be.

not when they’d still had your slick on them, from whenever you stuffed your fingers into your puffy cunt. he’d moan your name out like he was casting spells, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip tucked into his teeth like he was trying to eat it. he promised himself he’d stop. that this would be the last time. but you made it oh so hard for him.

you just had to walk around the apartment in tiny shorts that barely covered anything. and of course why wouldn’t you bend over right in front of him? you clearly didn’t have a care in the world for how he felt. so that’s why he decided he’d stop hiding it.

he’d press up right against you- he didn’t even give you time to react- one second your looking for the dish washing soap, the next he’s grinding his dick over your clothed folds, hips moving with hungry rhythm. “y-you gotta be doing this on purpose.” he moaned, wet kisses landing onto the back of your neck. you mewled in response, hands finding their way to the counter top griping it tightly, “toruu- ‘didn’t mean to!” “t-too fuckin bad.” he pulled your shorts to the side, lining himself up with your slit, “now your gonna take it.”

[suiana]

imagine yandere roommate who tries flirting with you every chance he can but reader is just dense as a brick.

"hey it's time for your monthly rent."

"oh no... I'm afraid I don't have enough for rent... is there any chance i can pay for it anyway else? you know...🫦"

"okay, I'll just collect it next month. don't worry, i know the economy is shit right now 👍 just remember to pay."

"😦"

like bro is literally dressed in the most slutty of clothes and giving you bedroom eyes. how are you so unaffected?!

trust him to walk around the house in the shortest shorts or virgin killer sweaters just to get your attention 🙏🙏 this guy will do anything to get your attention on him.

"aren't you cold wearing that?"

"oh? yeah... i guess i am... why don't you warm me up babe?"

"on it" *increases the thermostat*

have i said he'll do anything for your attention? like, anything? yeah, he'll also bring home people to fuck him and he'll make the most disgustingly obscene moans that are so loud you'll be sure to hear it. what he doesn't know is that you're a heavy sleeper.

"ah... my body is so sore from last night!"

"why? you didn't sleep well?"

"hm... i guess you could say that."

"oh. you should try some melatonin or maybe it's a problem with your pillow. personally, i recommend this brand-"

...

this guy will actually go insane because of you. not just because you're his obsession, but because of how oblivious you are.

[springtyme]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries. 

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision. 

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You. 

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease. 

Maybe this could work out after all. 

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there. 

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them. 

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete. 

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him. 

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings. 

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing. 

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own. 

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[shouyuus]

18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

[moonstruckme]

Hey angel!! hope ur doing well!!

i was wondering if I could request roommate!marauders where they have crushes on reader buttt she already has a bf but he's just a total jerk.... and u sorta get the idea?? (if u haven't done one like this already)

much love!!! <3333

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: douchebag boyfriend, marauders fancy reader but don't genuinely want her to cheat or end her relationship for them

(poly)roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s heartbreaking how lovely you look first thing in the morning. Sweet, rumpled pajamas, plodding gait, sunlight stretching over features still soft with sleep. You raise your hand to cover a yawn as you enter the kitchen, eyelashes still drooping like they’ve weights sewn into them. 

“Morning,” you say on the tail end. 

“Morning.” James opens one arm to you. You step into the hug automatically, and he drops a kiss to your head, his own private indulgence. You’re eyeing the omelet he’s frying up with his other hand. “Want one?” 

“Mm, wish I could,” your voice is a somnolent mumble, “but Dale’s taking me to breakfast in a bit.” 

James tries not to react, but his hold on you stiffens some. From the living room, he hears Sirius scoff. “Oh.” 

“I’m sure your omelet would be better.” You pat his side, moving out from under his arm to go to the coffee pot. “We’re going to this cafe he likes, and they never have anything I want. Still, I can hardly show up full.” 

James feels himself frown. Typical of your boyfriend to take you somewhere you don’t even like. Perhaps he’s a tad biased, but James thinks you should eat one of his omelets and show up full just to teach Dale a lesson. 

He plates up the one he’s just finished. You tail him into the living room as he delivers it to Sirius, curling your feet up underneath you on the couch. Remus is sitting in the armchair reading the paper. He and James have already had their breakfasts, but you and Sirius are always the last up on weekends.

“Are you finished with the funnies?” you ask Remus. 

He looks up at you with a tenderness James doesn’t know how you can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, shaking out a page. “Here.” 

Sirius snickers at your choice of reading material as you reach across him for it. You nudge his thigh with your knee. “Bite me.” 

“Anywhere you’d like me to, babe.” He winks. 

You roll your eyes and fold the page to read, well used to Sirius’ flirting. Similarly to how he’d done with Remus, Sirius’ ill-advised tactic for winning you over involves alternating between taunting you relentlessly and acting like his affection for you is all one big joke. It only barely worked on Remus—James’ interference had been required there, and that was before he’d admitted to himself his own feelings for either of the two boys—so James doesn’t understand why Sirius would give it another go with you. 

“Oh.” Remus closes his paper, seeming to remember something. “I was wondering if you might have time to go with me to the farmer’s market this morning. We’re out of eggs, but I can’t haggle with the woman like you do.” 

You give him a sorry sort of smile. “I would, but Dale’s meant to pick me up at ten.”

“Oh, well.” Sirius rolls his eyes, chewing malignantly on a bite of omelet. “If Dale said he’ll be here at ten, then surely that’s what’s happening.” 

You bump his thigh again good naturedly. “Be nice.” 

James bites his tongue, and even Remus reopens his newspaper with a tad more vigor than necessary. Sirius is by far the most vocal with you about your boyfriend’s flaws, but your roommates all hate him. The guy’s a prick. James would never in a million years try to convince you to leave your partner for them—and despite Sirius’ joking, he knows neither of the other boys would feel right about that either—but if you broke up with Dale, he would be very tempted to throw a party. 

James really doesn’t understand how someone like you could end up with someone so holistically unpleasant as your boyfriend. He’s rude, inconsiderate, he doesn’t express any gratitude for the sweet things you do for him, and he is never where he says he’s going to be when he says he’s going to be there. He shows so little regard for anyone but himself. If he told you he was going to pick you up at ten in the morning, he’s just as likely to arrive at three in the afternoon. Even for your half-hearted defense of him, it’s nearly ten and you’ve made no move to change out of your pajamas or get ready, because you know he won’t be here on time. It irks your roommates to no end to see you tolerate such poor treatment. 

“Maybe you can go with Remus to the farmer’s market,” you tell Sirius. “You seem like you could negotiate.” 

“Sirius doesn’t know how much eggs are supposed to cost,” Remus says idly. 

“Oi!” Sirius objects through a mouthful of omelet. “I do so.” 

James smiles at him. “Really. How much do you think eggs cost, love?” 

Sirius manages to take another bite while James is asking, so his mouth is conveniently too full to answer. 

“I can manage it on my own,” Remus says with indulgent fondness. “Dove, do me one favor, though?” 

You lift your coffee. “Sure.” 

“Don’t let him summon you outside with his horn again.” 

There’s a brief but thick silence while you finish swallowing your coffee and all three boys try not to look too obviously judgmental (Sirius trying the least, naturally). The purse of your lips reveals some embarrassment. 

Still, your voice comes out unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal to me. It’s not like we’re in school and I need him to come to the door and meet my parents. It’s a time saver.” 

“It’s rude,” says Remus gently. “You deserve someone who will come to the door for you.” 

James’ thoughts exactly. 

“Sure you don’t want some toast or something while you wait?” James asks, partly to dispel the tension and partly because he really does think you should eat something if Dale isn’t likely to be here until the afternoon. “You could call it an appetizer.” 

You stand with your emptied coffee mug, passing an affectionate hand over James’ hair as you move between his legs and the coffee table. “Thanks,” you say genuinely, “but I’m alright. I’m going to go get ready.” 

However eager James is to avoid the tension that comes from insulting (or, really, just speaking frankly about) your boyfriend, Sirius has no such concerns. “While we’re telling Dale things,” he says after you, “be sure to remind him that our flat has a three-strike roommate tears policy. Next time you come home crying, Jamie and I get to make a house call.” 

Your laughter echoes down the hallway. “Sure, I’ll let him know.” 

Sirius looks at James, perplexed. “Did I sound like I was joking? I was not using my joking voice.” 

James pats his leg consolingly.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Train Me in Resistance

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: You finally give in to your annoyingly hot and impossibly persistent roommate’s offer for a personal training session.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical exhaustion; slightly suggestive themes; sexual tension; slight mention of panic attacks; mutual pining; dramatic reader

Author’s Note: Ahh omg this brought me so much joy!! I’m such a sucker for Bucky and Reader being roommates, it’s crazy. This request was amazing, my darling, thank you so much for sending it in!! Hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Your keys jingle as you step into the apartment with a bag of overpriced groceries and a head full of static.

You’ve been having a gut feeling the whole way home and it won’t leave you alone.

And to top it off, you’re wearing leggings - traitorous, already one foot in the grave - and an old sweatshirt that’s a little oversized.

Bucky’s eyes sparkle when he sees you and you want to turn around and slam the door in his face.

“Oh ho ho,” he exclaims, rising from the floor where he’s been doing pushups for no reason. “Is that workout gear I see?”

You open your mouth to lie, or deflect, or curse him out.

“Don’t start,” you say, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door. “They were the only clean pants I had.”

“Pants are pants,” he shrugs, a grin forming his mouth. “You’re halfway there.”

He’s got his arms crossed and his stupid trainer tank is doing terrible things to your concentration. There’s a drop of sweat on his collarbone that you hate yourself for noticing.

Your heart jumps. Stumbles. Recovers with a limp.

“I’m nowhere,” you mutter, already walking past him to the kitchen.

“Nowhere’s closer to somewhere,” he calls after you, that grin still in his voice.

“Leave me alone, Barnes.”

His laugh echoes.

Bucky has been asking you to let him train you for months.

Months of come on, it’ll be fun and just one session, doll and you don’t even have to leave the apartment, doll, I’ll bring the gym to you. He says it as if he’s Santa Claus.

Setting the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter, you begin to put the items out and away.

You’ve got exactly four seconds of peace.

Four. That’s all it takes for the sound of his footsteps to find you again.

The floor creaks. The refrigerator hums. Your spine straightens on instinct.

And there he is, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, now fucking shirtless with a pair of resistance bands as if they’re holy relics and not the medieval torture devices they obviously are.

“You’re out of excuses, doll,” he claims. Smirking.

You don’t look at him, but you close the door of the kitchen cabinet stronger than needed.

His smirk is something you can feel all over your body. It’s the kind of smug that sips your oxygen when you’re trying to breathe.

“I wasn’t aware leave me alone was a limited-time offer,” you mumble as you pick up the freshly bought cereals and use them as a momentary fortress between you and his delusional fitness evangelism until you reach the cabinet they belong in.

“I’ve asked nicely,” he says, walking around the counter like a jungle cat with a mission. “I’ve begged-”

“You threatened to unplug the Wi-Fi.”

He grins without shame. “Persuasion comes in many forms.”

You glance up and the mistake is immediate, visceral. Because Bucky Barnes is beautiful in that very specific way that ruins good sense. All tight muscle and menace and Monday-morning stubble, wearing track pants and having left his tank somewhere in the apartment unhelpfully. Gosh, you’d like to do things to his abs.

After every grocery is packed away, you make your way back to the living room and plop down on the couch.

Bucky follows. Of course, he does.

“Come on, doll. Just a small session.”

“I’m not doing a training session with you in the middle of the living room,” you counter, trying to disappear into the cushions. “This is a sacred space.”

“You eat cereal here,” he deadpans, standing over you. “Sometimes off the floor.”

“That was one time, and it was your idea.”

“You cried during some dog commercial last Thursday,” Bucky goes on. “Don’t talk to me about sacred.”

You raise an amused brow. “Yeah, and you looked genuinely worried, might I add. Even went to hold m-”

“Thing is,” Bucky interrupts quickly. “This is the perfect place for a little training session.”

You let your head drop back against the couch and groan, long and loud and theatrical enough to satisfy some deep internal need for performance. He waits. You squint one eye open.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” His grin brightens. “Because I care. I’m nurturing. Like a plant. Or a small invasive fungus.”

You sigh so hard it could be legally classified as wind.

But you fold like a lawn chair.

“Alright,” you grumble, dragging yourself upright the same way as a reanimated corpse. “One session. But if I die, or you make me do anything that makes me hate you more than I already do, I’m keying your motorcycle.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. You might as well just hand him a medal for Most Stubborn Personal Trainer Alive.

“You’re gonna love it,” he beams, and you’re afraid his smile might send you to heaven.

“No, I’m going to tolerate it. Briefly.”

He’s already dragging the coffee table to the side as if it’s weightless - which, to him, it probably is. And suddenly, the floor beneath your feet turns into a battlefield of yoga mats and kettlebells and Bucky’s overachieving expectations.

He rearranges the couch, puts the TV on mute, and you eye the plants watching silently from the windowsill, already seeming to judge you.

Bucky sets up a speaker, picks the most aggressively upbeat playlist known to man, and claps his hands once as though he’s about to conduct a Broadway show.

You glare. He grins.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he begins lightly, elated. “Let’s start with some dynamic stretches.”

“I already regret this,” you groan, dropping to the mat with dramatic flair.

He chuckles warmly. “That’s how you know it’s working,” he says, stretching in a way that should be banned in a shared living space.

He begins slow. Gentle.

First, it’s breathing.

“Focus on your core,” he says calmly. “Engage.”

“And how the fuck do I do that?” you mutter annoyed.

Bucky snorts, but he’s patient. “You’re doing better than you think.”

You hate how your stomach flips at the praise.

Next, it’s glute bridges. Then something called bird-dog which he demonstrates with the kind of precision that makes you irrationally angry.

And then comes planks. And it feels like your entire skeletal system is trying to defect from your body.

Your arms are trembling and your abs are plotting a rebellion, and you’re pretty sure your spine has given up on modern living.

And you whimper. A real, honest-to-god whimper. High-pitched. Involuntary.

Bucky pauses. Only for a second.

You don’t see his face at first - your focus being narrowed to the floor, the mat - but you feel the way his breath catches. His silence seems to grow something.

And when he does speak - when he finally moves and crouches beside you, voice like a hand sliding down your spine - it’s not the same.

“You got twenty seconds left,” he says, too quiet, too calm. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something you’re not meant to hear. As if maybe he’s heard that sound in his head before. In a different kind of room. In a different kind of situation.

You risk a glance up.

His jaw is tight. His gaze flickers too quickly from your face to the floor and back again, trying not to look at you too hard. His towel is in his hand and he uses it to - so, so gently - swipe the sweat from your brow.

It’s a small gesture but it lingers.

You swallow hard.

“I hate you,” you whisper through clenched teeth and dying muscle.

His mouth twitches. He seems to recover from wherever the hell his thoughts went to, but his low voice is not entirely steady when he answers.

“You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs.

Too gentle. Too earnest. Too close.

His hand brushes your shoulder. Lingers again. You’re no expert in tactical touch but he might overdo it a little.

And god help you, you feel your body respond in ways that have nothing to do with fitness.

You drop to your stomach the moment the timer beeps - collapse like a marionette whose strings have been cut - and try to ignore the way your pulse is doing jazz hands underneath your skin.

Above you, Bucky exhales through his nose as if holding something in.

Then he’s continuing.

And you feel awful.

Your arms feel like wet noodles. Your thighs scream. You make dramatic noises every time he tells you to squat and whine a little too convincingly just to see if he’ll let up. He doesn’t.

“You’re doing great,” he says for the sixth time in ten minutes, voice syrupy as if trying to keep a toddler from crying.

“You’re a sadist,” you shoot back, halfway through a set of lunges, your hands flopping like fish as you try to balance.

“And you’re a liar, ‘cause I can see your form’s getting better.”

He might even be right. Your muscles are starting to shake less. Your core is actually engaging, whatever that means. You’re not entirely sure if your soul has left your body or if you’re just weirdly beginning to enjoy this.

It’s when you manage a particular decent set of push-ups that you hear it in his voice. He’s impressed.

“There she is,” he murmurs, not even looking at his timer. “Knew you had it in you.” He says it almost absentminded.

You freeze on the floor for a beat too long.

“What?”

He’s kneeling beside you now, a few droplets of sweat running down his chest, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder to adjust it. “I said, you’re killin’ it.”

You roll your eyes to recover from the sudden tightness in your chest.

“Is this your whole game?” you ask, panting slightly. “Trap unsuspecting women in their own homes, trick them into exercise, then compliment them until they’re too tired to fight back?”

Bucky smirks. “Only the special ones.”

You blink.

He stands, offers you a hand. You take it before you can think better of it, and he pulls you up. His grip is warm and rough and entirely too solid.

Training goes on and you actually find yourself growing interested.

You stop huffing. Start asking questions. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, not complaint. Your hands stop flopping through movements and start learning. Training.

Bucky watches. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.

He’s just kneeling beside you - half-naked and smug and proud and infuriatingly patient - with a voice so low you feel it more than you hear it.

“Alright,” he starts after a set of squats. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

And you let yourself sink down. Only because he says it in that voice that drops like honey. Only because he’s looking at you as if this one set of squats is a moment in history.

You’re sitting on the mat, arms draped over your knees, catching your breath and trying not to look. But he’s right there. Right there. Smelling like soap and heat and something faintly woodsy. And he’s still shirtless. Skin golden in the late afternoon light. Muscles mapped out like topography.

You should look away. You don’t.

“You’re starin’,” he states without looking at you.

“I’m dying,” you correct, dragging your gaze to the ceiling. “I’m having a cardiac event.”

He laughs, and you can’t stop yourself from watching his throat when he does, how the sound starts somewhere deep and moves like gravity. “That’s just blood flow. Healthy stuff,” he eases amused, but fondly.

You flop onto your back with a breathless groan.

The exercise is not even the problem of this session. The exercise is not why you declined his offer to do some training with him for so long.

It’s him. Having him watch you this intently, letting his hands linger a little too long when he adjusts your position. The shift in his voice when he compliments you. The way his eyes dip to your lips when you aren’t looking. Except you are. You’re always looking.

You’ve lived with him long enough to know the difference between his real smile and the one he uses on the world. You’ve seen him groggy and gorgeous at 6 am, making pancakes in pajama pants, humming lowly. You know the creak of his boots when he’s home late and trying not to wake you. You know the way his laugh changes when he’s really happy - like, all the way happy. Rare. Sharp. Wild.

And now you know how he looks like when he wants to touch you and doesn’t.

He crouches beside you again and offers his hand.

You pretend not to see it.

“You said one session,” you sigh, still lying down, closing your eyes. “You said I wouldn’t die.”

“Technically,” he starts, amused, “you’re still alive. And you’re doing better than you think.”

His offered hand reaches out to brush a slightly damp strand of hair from your temple. He tucks it behind your ear. And then he lowers his voice, quiet now, serious in a way that makes your stomach flutter. “You really are doing great, doll. You’re not weak. Knew you weren’t.”

That makes something flinch in your chest.

Because he’s seen you on the bathroom floor after a panic attack. Held you through a job you hated and a breakup you didn’t see coming. He knows how messy you get when you care too much, and how you laugh too loud when you’re scared.

And still, he says you’re not weak.

You open your eyes. He’s already watching you. His expression unreadable.

Your heart is pumping so hard and you don’t think the exercise is the cause of it.

There’s too much heat you’re under right now, so you sit up, but a little too fast. The room tilts.

Bucky reaches out immediately - hands on your back, around your waist, steadying you.

And then you’re too close.

You feel the heat of his bare chest against your shoulder. You smell cedar and sweat and something that must be Bucky because it makes your heart do an Olympic floor routine in your ribcage.

You could lean in. Right now. You could just slide forward, let your mouth meet the hollow of his throat. You wonder what he’d do.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And for a second - just one stupid, stretch-of-silence second - it feels as though the entire world is balancing on the line between maybe and almost.

Then Bucky clears his throat. Pulls back. “Alright, lazybones. Back to work.”

He offers you a hand again.

This time, you take it.

Not because you’re too tired to stand. But because you don’t want him to stop offering.

[mooningningg]

notes, if we had drunk reader request we have a drunk sukuna too.

★ Roommate!Sukuna comes home drunk.

The front door slammed open at exactly 2:37 a.m.

You jolted awake on the couch, bleary-eyed and clutching your blanket like a shield. It wasn’t even alarming anymore — not with Sukuna as your roommate. Noise, chaos, and poor life decisions? Standard package deal.

What was alarming… was the voice.

“Stop fuckin’ pushin’ me—‘m home, bitch!” he slurred, clearly talking to someone who was not there. “I know where I live. Stupid ass door tryna square up…”

There was a thud. Then a pause.

“Fucking wall came outta nowhere.”

You groaned and sat up, flipping on a lamp.

Sure enough, there he was: Sukuna, in all his drunken glory, half-stumbling into the apartment with his shirt halfway unbuttoned and his belt flapping like a sad flag of surrender. His hair was a mess, there was lipstick on his jaw — not yours, definitely not his — and his keys were still dangling from the lock.

“Oh my God,” you muttered. “You're drunk.”

Sukuna blinked at you.

Then squinted.

Then frowned.

“Who the fuck are you?”

You stared.

“Sukuna. It’s me.”

He pointed at you, wobbling. “Nah. Nope. You're not her. You don’t smell like y/n. She smells like laundry detergent and rage.”

“I am your y/n.”

“No, no. She’s hot. Way hotter. Got this mouth on her too, always talkin’ back. Yells at me when I leave ramen in the sink.”

You blinked. “Are you… complimenting me or fighting a ghost?”

He huffed and made a dramatic show of leaning against the wall, sliding down like a tragic hero in a Shakespeare play. “I want my roommate. My rude, scary, mean-ass roommate who makes me soup when I’m sick and yells when I steal her socks.”

“You’re wearing my socks right now.”

He looked down. Blinked.

“They’re warm,” he said, like it explained everything. Then his eyes narrowed at you again. “Where is she?”

“You’re actually looking at her.”

“Nooo,” he said, dragging the word out like a child. “You’re too nice. She’s not nice. She yells. She calls me gremlin when I play TikToks too loud.”

“You left your phone in the fridge yesterday.”

He gasped. “She told you that?! Fuckin’ snitch.”

“That was me, Sukuna!”

He stared at you, eyes glassy. Then slowly leaned his head back against the wall with the softest bonk.

“…She’s gonna be so mad when she finds out I threw up in her laundry basket.”

You went still. “You what.”

He moaned dramatically and curled up on the floor like a Victorian widow. “Just kill me now. She’s gonna take my skin and sell it on Etsy.”

“I should!”

“But at least I’ll die smelling like her dryer sheets,” he sighed.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it — sort of. It bounced off his forehead, and he mumbled something about betrayal.

Finally, you sighed and walked over, crouching beside him. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I can walk,” he grunted, then immediately wobbled as he tried to stand and reached for you blindly. “Where’s my scary y/n. I want her to carry me.”

You rolled your eyes, hoisting his arm over your shoulder. “Still me.”

He leaned heavily into you, breath warm against your temple.

“…You smell like her.”

“I am her, Sukuna.”

He groaned. “Then you’re way prettier than usual.”

You blinked. “That’s not even an insult.”

“You’re not even real,” he muttered as you half-dragged him down the hall. “She’s not this nice. This must be a dream.”

You shoved open his bedroom door and dumped him onto the bed. “If it is, it’s about to be a nightmare.”

He grunted as he flopped over, hugging a pillow. “Tell my roommate she’s hot. But also scary. But like… the hot kind of scary. And if she’s still mad about the laundry basket, tell her I love her.”

Your stomach twisted just a little.

You blinked. “What?”

But Sukuna was already snoring.

Dead to the world.

And covered in your socks.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

thinking about roommate dick grayson having no filter and just telling you when he masturbates to you. you’re in the kitchen making breakfast and he just sips his coffee slowly while he leans against the fridge and says “oh yeah i jerked off to you last night” and you don’t even know what to say so you thank him

[jungshookz]

taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager 

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n 

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad 

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him. 

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher 

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired 

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground 

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated 

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day! 

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics 

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song 

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down 

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack 

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way 

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted 

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time 

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so 

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly 

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?! 

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into- 

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words 

…what?

what are you even saying? 

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why 

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with 

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?” 

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk 

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth 

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips 

you didn’t even know those muscles existed 

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself 

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that 

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him 

and in your current state, you are completely helpless 

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth  

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you… 

see you just lost your train of thought 

THAT’S how bad it’s been 

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again 

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out 

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being 

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?! 

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes 

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore? 

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!) 

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!”  you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??” 

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?” 

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?” 

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in 

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.” 

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes  

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, “you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs 

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS 

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length 

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.” 

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before 

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…” 

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.) 

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[nezuscribe]

Need more jealous Gojo in my life ngh

if this is about roommate!gojo you’re in luck because it seems like his jealously only worsens over time!

the more he starts seeing you with other guys, be it on a date or just talking to them at a mutual friends party he feels like there’s this knot in his stomach that’s about to send him over the edge.

and it’s weird because he’s never felt this way before. sure he’s dated girls and been in relationships, but to be honest he’s never felt this way for any of them.

but with you it’s different, you’re different.

gojo feels like he can be weird around you with no judgement (maybe a little but its loving judgement!!). he can talk about his shows but it doesn’t matter because you’ll talk right back about this indie movie you just watched.

or he could guzzle down an entire pack of oreos during a late night conversation and you’d just giggle, point to his chin where some crumbs were left.

he laughs with you more than anyone, including geto and shoko, and constantly worries whenever you come home late because of a study group or hanging out with your friends.

so yeah, even if he doesn’t know it, what he’s feeling is unbridled, pure, deep and raging jealously.

and what’s even worse is that you have no idea he feels this way!!

[hyruling]

I've been scrolling down your blog all morning going through your drabbles and fics on my day off like you're the news channel, so if you are still accepting prompt and feel inspired by it, I'd like to submit n.21 🌞 btw your writing is incredible!!!!!

21. kissing the other’s brow & 38. stroking their leg

—

It’s late when they get home, their shift having run over by two hours thanks to a high rise fire that took the efforts of three additional houses to get under control. Buck and Eddie had scaled at least fourteen flights of stairs alone, then back down and up again when they found a few stragglers along the way, and Buck doesn’t remember ever being so tired in his life.

He shuffles into the house behind Eddie, trying to hide the way he’s limping. It’s probably no use — Eddie is too astute, and he’s sure he saw the way Buck had to grit his teeth when he took off his boots back at the station. But if he can just get into the bathtub and then into bed he’ll be fine. They have plans to take Chris and his friends to the beach tomorrow, and he doesn’t want to give Eddie any reason to think they should cancel.

Buck goes into the kitchen first to grab a bottle of water while Eddie checks in on Chris, who’s already asleep by the sounds of it. When Buck emerges, Eddie is down the hall and closing the door of the bathroom behind him. Damn.

It’s his night on the couch. He should make up his bed, but his leg is screaming and it’s all he can do to ease himself onto it without yelping in pain. He reclines and elevates it over the back of the couch with a private little wince and closes his eyes.

The next thing he’s aware of is Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him awake.

“Can you stand?” Eddie asks him.

Buck blinks, eyes bleary from the few minutes of sleep he must’ve nabbed. “I—yeah, sure.”

He moves too quickly, and there’s no way Eddie misses the way his face contorts in pain from it. He’s right there, helping Buck stand, and easily supports his weight when his leg threatens to give out.

“Sorry,” Buck hisses in his ear, gripping his shoulder for balance. “I’ll be okay in a sec.”

Eddie just tightens his hold on Buck’s waist. “Take your time bud.”

Buck stretches until he thinks he can reasonably put weight on it again, and when he nods Eddie helps him down the hall. So much for hiding it.

“Promise I’m still good for tomorrow,” Buck gets out through a clenched jaw.

“Don’t worry about that. C’mon.”

They pass the bedroom, and when Buck makes an inquisitive little noise Eddie just keeps walking him towards the bathroom.

The bath is full of warm water when they step in. Stream curls from the top of the water, slightly cloudy and heavenly looking.

“I put in some of those CBD bath salts,” Eddie tells him, releasing him at last to dig a clean towel out of the closet. “And I think there’s still some of the cream left we can put on after. Do you need one of your pills, or did you take one?”

Buck doesn’t answer for a minute, choking back the sudden lump in his throat. Eddie’s exhausted too — he climbed the same amount of stairs, carried the same amount of people as Buck. He can see in the droop shoulders and his half-lidded eyes that he’s tired, and he still took the time to do this for him. No one’s ever known him this way, cared for him the way Eddie does, save for Maddie, and it overwhelms him at times like this.

“Buck?”

Eddie’s voice breaks him out of his little reverie. He blinks a few times, croaks, “Y-yeah?”

“Do you need your medicine?”

Buck swallows and nods. “Uh, yeah. Probably should. They’re in my bag.”

Eddie nods. “Go ahead and get in, I’ll bring it to you.”

Buck undresses when he leaves, and gingerly lowers himself into the water. It’s perfect, and he immediately feels his muscles relax, his leg practically singing in relief.

Eddie comes back in a minute later and crouches to set Buck’s medicine and bottle of water on the edge of the tub. Buck’s not the least bit self conscious — Eddie’s seen him naked before, more than once, and it’s not like he can really see anything with the way Buck has his leg crooked. But he wouldn’t care if he could, and that feels significant in a way he doesn’t have the energy to examine.

“Need anything else?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “No, this is perfect. Thank you Eddie.”

Eddie smiles, and leans forward to press a soft kiss to Buck’s brow as he straightens. “Soak for at least thirty minutes. Holler if you need me.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Buck staring after him like a fish out of water.

Any chance of relaxation goes out the window. He tells himself it’s no big deal; it was probably just one of Eddie’s dad reflexes. He’s seen him do the same thing when giving Chris medicine countless times. It doesn’t mean anything, it can’t, and yet Buck feels the ghost of his lips between his eyes like a sting.

He swallows the pill and soaks until the water goes cold, and his leg is somewhat better after — he can at least put weight on it when he stands. His mind buzzes while he finishes his nightly routine, and it’s almost enough to drown out the constant diatribe of Eddie kissed me Eddie kissed me Eddie kissed me racketing around his skull.

Almost.

Eddie is on the couch when he comes out, scrolling idly on his phone. He scoots over so Buck can sit next to him and pats his lap.

“Let me see.”

“It’s okay,” Buck says as he lowers himself down. “The bath helped.”

“And yet you’re still limping. C’mon, up.”

Buck sighs and swings his leg up, foot resting on Eddie’s thigh. Eddie pushes his sweats up to his knee and brushes his hand over Buck’s calf, just feeling, and Buck tries not to shiver. He knows he’s feeling for excess warmth, for evidence of a clot, and nods to himself when Buck apparently passes the test.

“Think you can handle a massage?” he asks.

Buck swallows hard. “Yeah, think so.”

Eddie nods again and reaches over to grab the bottle of CBD cream on the coffee table. He puts a generous amount in his palm and rubs his hands together, then starts massaging it gently into Buck’s calf.

It’s not the first time he’s done this for Buck, but it’s the first time since Eddie’s touch became something of a livewire; since every brush of arms at work or friendly shoulder clap made him ache for more, since he developed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Eddie’s hands. And with the memory of Eddie’s lips on his skin still fresh, it’s all he can do not to moan as those capable hands knead at his sore leg.

“Relax,” Eddie says quietly. “You’re tense as hell bud, that’s not gonna help.”

“Sorry,” Buck says, a little more breathless than he intends.

“Lean back,” Eddie instructs, and Buck complies. He relaxes against one of the throw pillows, and Eddie pulls his leg even closer. “Close your eyes, if you want.”

He does, if only so he doesn’t have to watch Eddie be so competent and gorgeous in the soft lamplight. Slowly, he does relax, Eddie’s ministrations finally taking effect. Buck’s all but a puddle of mush on the couch by the time his leg starts to feel more normal, and Eddie’s kneading turns into gentle stroking motions up and down his shin.

“Better?”

Buck sighs and nods. “Much. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Eddie says with a small squeeze of his calf.

Eddie doesn’t stop touching him. He keeps up the soft caress of Buck’s shin until he’s half asleep, until the vulnerable knife’s edge of consciousness turn his thoughts fuzzy and precarious. He thinks, I love you, and you should know.

Instead, what he says is, “Did you mean to kiss me?”

Eddie’s hand stops, and Buck chances opening his eyes. Eddie’s are on him, dark in the low light, and Buck can’t pin down his expression. It’s not horror, or regret, or any of the things he convinced himself of in the bath, so that’s something. In fact, his lips curl into a closed-mouth smile aimed at his lap.

“I did kiss you, didn’t I?”

Buck laughs, a little self deprecating. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, and glances down at his hand on Buck’s leg. He rubs a little circle into Buck’s shin with his thumb, still smiling softly. “Not exactly how I meant to do it.”

Buck’s heart tha-thums in his chest. “Meant to?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink, eyes flicking up to meet his, and Buck kind of thinks he might die.

“Well, I’d hoped it’d be more romantic than while you were naked and in pain in the bathtub.”

All the blood in his body rushes to his head like he’s on a rollercoaster, world suddenly flipped on its head. He sits up, jostling Eddie’s hand on his leg, but he just trails it down to hold Buck’s ankle instead. There’s still a faint blush on Eddie’s cheeks but he’s smiling expectantly, waiting for whatever response Buck has to that.

He’s coming up empty so far. The seconds stretch on in silence, until Eddie starts to look a little unsure.

“Buck?”

“You could try it now,” Buck says in a rush, hoping for once that first thought best thought is the right move. “If—I mean, this feels pretty—pretty romantic. To me.”

“Oh does it?” Eddie teases, and scoots closer, pulling Buck’s leg fully over his knees until his thigh rests on Eddie’s lap. Eddie puts a warm hand on his knee and squeezes.

“Mhm, definitely,” Buck agrees, nodding like a bobble head. “Most romantic moment of my life. By a lot.”

Eddie laughs, and cups Buck’s face with his free hand. The leftover cream on his hands makes Buck’s cheek tingle, and he waits, hardly daring to breathe while Eddie’s eyes track over his face. And then Eddie leans in and brushes his lips between his eyebrows.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

Eddie moves to his birthmark, pressing gentle kisses to the pink skin above his brow and on his eyelid. He kisses Buck’s cheeks and nose and then, just when Buck thinks his heart might actually give out, his waiting mouth.

It’s brief, and sweet, and the best kiss of his life. Eddie pulls back too soon and Buck tries to follow, but Eddie kisses his forehead again instead and leans back.

“That was more how I pictured it.”

And that’s a revelation in itself, one that he’s going to need a few weeks to process. Before he can stutter out a response, Eddie gently sets Buck’s leg on the floor and stands, offering his hand.

“C’mon. You’re not sleeping out here on that leg.”

Buck takes his hand, and Eddie pulls him to his feet. His leg barely even protests, but he sways closer to Eddie all the same.

“Eddie, I—you should know, I—”

Eddie silences him with another kiss. “Tell me tomorrow, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”

—

[suiana]

(NO HATE TO ANY VIETNAMESE FOLLOWERS! I DO NOT MEAN HARM WITH THIS! ALSO TEXT IS FROM GOOGLE TRANSLATE! I AM DEEPLY SORRY IF THE TRANSLATION IS INCORRECT!)

BUT imagine yandere! vietnamese roommate...

what if u get a Vietnamese roommate right, but u dont know Vietnamese n he doesn't know english. so u ask him something in english n he responds in vietnamese.

"hey dude wanna get dinner?"

"Tôi thèm khát bạo lực, bạn cùng phòng"

"ok so where r we eating tonight?"

this makes it hard to communicate so you end up learning vietnamese to surprise him. meanwhile you've been teaching him some english so you two could try and speak to one another.

what you didn't expect was for you to finally understand all the filthy things he says in vietnamese??? what the hell was he talking about?? going on about making you his and wanting you to only notice him??

you don't confront him on this though. yeah, he's probably just joking.

until the day of his birthday and before he blows out the candles he makes his wish for you to be his. that's when you've had enough and decide to confront him. this simply cannot continue.

"Cái quái gì thế? Cậu thích tớ à?"

"Ừ- cái gì? Bạn nói được tiếng Việt à?"

an uncomfortable sipence washes over the two of you, with him in the middle of blowing out his candle and you holding the knife for the cake cutting.

you expect him to blush, to immediately refute the statement of liking you. but what happens next is shocking.

he instead looks more in love??? his eyes are dilated, cheeks a heavy red as he suddenly grabs your hand tightly in his. what?? you step back in shock, staring at him as you try pulling your hand away.

only to realise he wasn't intent on letting go.

no, not when you finally understand that he's wanted you. not when you finally realize how good you two are together. not now, not ever. and that's the way it's going to be.