#shady-grades

[batwynn]

Yes, it's a sad scene. But what do you think Stiles got a #1 Award for?

[mintytealfox]

I not sure why yet, but this exchange is so EFFIN HILARIOUS TO ME LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

just the

Norton: "my dude, what about me makes you think I enjoy latin, pshhh" Murro: "uhhhh because you zone out and quote it all the time???" Norton: "touche, you got me there"

[jesncin]

Watching the new Superman trailer… and I felt absolutely 0 emotions.

Same. My 3 feelings are: ambivalent, indifferent, and whelmed. I don't doubt James Gunn will do a solid job but there's nothing in the teaser that excited me- and I've been excited over a teaser plenty before. It's transparent nostalgia bait with comic references that made the whole thing feel disjointed for me.

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

I had to draw Jeremy the Shady Candy Man (not FNAF- he's an OC) in a profile view for school, and I'm so tired rn I just keep laughing at how ugly he is 😭

[birb-boyo]

I’m doing so good in biology that my teacher wants me to be a scientist and honestly, I love you, but-

[ladytee918]

The last little hellion is off to school. My nephew was too cool for first day of school pic he got dressed and left 😂😂😂😂

[thebluebygracieabrams]

.

[fiyaharts]

artist friends. im thinking about switching to krita or clip studio paint (i guess the one time purchase only, idk how important the subscription updates are). does anyone have any input

[madamechrissy]

Step-Daddy Issues?

pairings- Toji Fushiguro x F! reader- Toji early 40s, reader early 20s

summary- oneshot PWP- You're staying at your old home for a night while your mom's out of town, you both never have gotten along but you need to get out after a nasty breakup. Toji and your mom have been hooking up on and off but she blew him off again, and he's there to make her forget she's mad with his dick... but instead mistakes you for your mom (after sticking his fingers inside you)

warnings- so many lol- Pure filth fr, age gap (20 years) He's not ACTUALLY your step dad. Toji is nasty, spitting, slapping, oral sex (both receiving), Toji calls reader 'doll and slutty, she calls him old man and daddy lmaoo, daddy kink, reader's mom is a bitch fr lol, but even so this is shady asf. Creampie, cum drinking/cum spitting-talking shit about reader's mom lol- reader fr has MOMMY issues (I'm prob going to hell for this one) WC- 4k - Comment/reblogs if you enjoy nasty ass daddy Toji lol

Tracks for this oneshot: Daddy Issues // Often // Favorite

You were not one to ever come home, you hadn’t even seen your mom in over a year because of how much of a bitch she really was. The day you moved out, she’d already turned your room into some office, and had all your shit put in storage, there was no ‘childhood room’ or memories to come home to. Since she left your dad especially, you’ve really not talked to her.

But tonight was a bad night, and you caved, messaging her, asking if you could come over. She gives you the go ahead and tells you where the spare key is. You are exhausted after a nasty breakup with your boyfriend, and you’re for once thankful for your mom’s existence… kind of.

Ever since she left your dad she was a grade a bitch, and she had boyfriends in and out from what you hear, some your age, but one in particular irritated your dad, some felon who used to run with the Zenin, the most notorious mafia family there was. You’d never met him or seen him on her Facebook, but everyone seemed pretty concerned at her taste.

The house is nice and clean as you remember it, as you lock up and let out another yawn, take off your shoes and jacket, it’s dark aside from the little stove light, you open the fridge, you find a whole case of beer, smiling. Mom’s good for that at least, you muse, bending over to grab one from the bottom, when you get a firm smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Finally come back, huh? Thought you were fucking furious at me, ma?” You gasp as two fingers slip under your skirt, tense, half bent over in this fridge. “And what are you wearing, so fuckin slutty? F-fuck…”

“Ngh!’ You cover your cry up, when two rough pads of fingers prod under your slick panties, cunt dripping down his fingers, your heart racing, eyes rolling back when one presses into your entrance.

“Ya doing kegels? Why you so tight… mmm, c’mere…” He pulls your back against him in the dark room, you assume this must be Toji, whose finger sinks and stretches your tight little cunt, making you cry out. “Oh my god… mmm, she missed me huh?”

You can’t speak, not when the fridge shuts, leaving you both in the dark, and he’s pumping his two fingers in, other arm wrapping around you, pressing your back against him. He moans, vibrating his chest, before tilting your chin, slamming his lips down on yours. You wriggle, half in fright but half out of instinct, only earning him pressing you against the stainless steel fridge.

“You’re this wet f’me?” He huffs, amazed at how tight you feel, how soaked you are, the squelching sound loud in the kitchen, Toji’s cock straining against his sweats as he pictures sinking into you. “Not running that bitch mouth, huh?”

“Wh-what the fuck!?” Your voice halts him then, as you elbow him, making him hunch over, glaring in the dark at you, shock hitting him brutally.

You’re far prettier than your mom, and of course younger but that’s not what it is, it’s this look you have, these eyes that just end him, lips parted and inviting, your face is a little softer than hers, too. You look like her a bit, but there’s not much there similar aside from you both are the same height and about the same body size, your hair isn’t even the same now that he focuses.

He’s standing there dumb right now as you cross your arms, glaring up at him furiously, and he realizes now why that cunt felt so tight, why you were so wet for him. Your mom had been stringing Toji around for months, fucking around with this guy and that when she was mad at him, but he did it too, they were both toxic and awful to each other.

And he never even heard her mention you. He only knew about you from seeing a picture of your high school graduation, though you look more mature now, it’s unmistakable. Toji Fushiguro just had his fingers inside his girlfriend’s (ex girlfriend’s!?_ daughter’s pussy.

“Mom isn’t home.”

“Well, no shit… I… the fuck are you doing here?” He demands then, fighting the desire to suck you off his fingers.

“Bad breakup, last resort was coming here.” You sigh now, adjusting your skirt, color heating up your cheeks even in the dark. “You call her a bitch?”

“She is one. Shit she never even talked about you before, even when I asked, ya know that?”

You falter, emotions hitting then, and Toji’s face falls a bit. “Yeah I know, we don’t talk, ever.”

“That was a dick thing to say, m’sorry.”

“No worries, it’s true.” You open the fridge back up, taking out two beers, handing it to him, finally getting a good look at his face, handsome and rugged, some five o'clock shadow, a scar on his lip. He’s got dark, inky black locks all messy, and what appears to be lidded dark green eyes. “Do I really look like her from the back?”

“Same size and shit, I… fuck I had my fingers in you!?” He takes the beer, opening it and downing a bunch. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” You hop up on the counter then, and his eyes dart across your bare legs, cock leaking precum as he thinks of your sweet cunt. “No worries, more action than I’ve gotten in a while.”

“Psh, what? Look at you. Doubt it.”

“What because I have a slutty skirt?” You muse, smiling a bit.

“Nah, you’re drop dead gorgeous. So I don’t buy it.”

“That’s a compliment… from you?” You manage, nervous now, and Toji smirks, enjoying how the blush spreads across your cheeks. “Prettier than mom, Step dad?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, yuck.” You snort in laughter now, as Toji runs a hand through his hair. “We just fuck a lot, never put a label on it. But she’s been blowing me off for a month, so I came to town and thought I’d surprise her.”

“Well you surprised one of us.”

“So who broke up with you?”

“Boyfriend since high school.”

“Ouch.” You nod a bit, blinking back odd emotions. For some reason this random stranger who fingered you, thinking that you’re someone else, listens better than most people lately. “Well fuck him.”

“Yeah?” He nods, and you giggle. “Fuck him. I like that.”

“Shit, want another drink?” You nod, and he bends down, opening them both, standing between your thighs as he hands you the cool bottle, condensation seeping against your overheated skin. “Your mom really is something else though.”

“You’re telling me. You know you’re on her roster, yeah? Dad said she’s got a fantasy league.”

“Well fuck her too.”

“Fuck both of them.” You agree, giggling again, as you study him. “You’re kinda hot, for an old man.”

Toji glares now, only making your heart flutter, as you observe his strong, jacked muscles, he’s insanely buff, veins popping out of his strong arms, his neck, the shirt he’s wearing hiding damn near nothing. “Old man?”

“Mmm, you gotta be her age, older?”

“You’re a little fuckin brat. I look old to you?” Toji leans close, hands pressing against your bare thighs now, and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, breath quickening when he leans close. “Asked ya a question, doll.”

“Doll? Old man shit.” You whisper back, he grins then, a flash of white teeth, setting down your beer on the counter, big body completely overtaking your every sense, every thought. The only sounds then are of both of your breaths, coming quicker as your heart pounds in your ears, when a big hand cups your face, thumb pressing on your pulse point, feeling it flutter.

“Say that one more time, doll. Couldn’t fuckin hear ya?” You bite your lower lip, as he drags your panties down, smirking as he eyes them. “Should’ve known you’re not your mom, what kinda panties are these? My little fuckin pony!?”

“Fuck yourself, old man.” You earn his devious scowl, you see the vein in his temple throb now. “Are you stealing them!?”

He has them shoved in his pants as he shoves you back, head pressed against the cool backsplash of your kitchen, as he eyes your pussy hungrily, moaning now as your breasts heave up and down, heart pounding. He’s eyeing you like you’re some meal and he’s fucking starved, thumbs slipping down your puffy lips, spreading your pussy wide for his view.

“Oh my… fucking… your…” He is at a loss for words, gulping now as he eyes your pretty face, seeing how dilated those pretty eyes are, opening you to watch the arousal pool out of your tiny hole.

“Nicer than my mom’s, step daddy?” He glares, and you barely giggle before he smacks your pussy, making you cry out. “The fuck!?”

“You’re such a brat. They’re not teaching ya’ll shit in college anymore, huh? Should I give you a fuckin’ lesson?” He demands, smacking your pussy again, making it sting so good, you’re nodding eagerly, gasping when he spits right on your pussy, watching as the white bubbly liquid oozes down your pretty pussy. “Hah- would ya look at that…”

“D-didn’t answer.”

“You really got some mommy issues, huh?” He demands, raising a brow as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, sticky cunt, watching as trails of saliva and arousal leave little stringy trails.

“Maybe I need daddy issues, too.” You whisper, earning his fingers shoving deep in your cunt this time, the stretch too much, you’re struggling to even take his fingers, when they press up inside your slick walls and hit that spongy spots, you scream out, a sound you’ve never even heard.

“Daddy issues too, huh? You’re a freaky little brat, aren’t ya?” He leans close, lips hovering, you taste the alcohol on his breath, fingers curling in your soppy little cunt, making you whine. “Pathetic, can’t fucking talk?”

“P-please…” He moans then, kissing you desperately, while his fingers find you better than your years-long boyfriend ever could, making your tummy fill with pressure as he works you quicker and quicker.

“So sweet now, huh? Guess what, doll?” He murmurs, sloppy as he bites your lower lip, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth, you mouth the word ‘what’ as he pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, moaning. “That pussy is prettier, and yummier, but you sure are fucked up, aren’t ya?”

“Beyond fucked up.” You manage to whisper, he moans again, because your version of fucked up fits his so well. Soon he is picking you up like you’re nothing, carrying you over to your mom’s bed now, he has you on all fours, shoving your skirt up, your thighs are trembling.

“Wonder if she feels better, huh? M’gonna find out.” He whispers, before burying his face in your cunt, and drinking you up, his cock throbbing now, you’re way sweeter than your mom, your pussy is so yummy he could eat it for hours, for days. He grips your firm ass, pulling your thighs apart to shove his tongue deeper.

“Oh my g-god…” You whine out, trying to close your thighs, to pull back. “Just fuck me… what’re you…”

“Ha, I like to eat first, brat.” He shoves you on your back now, yanking your top off, moaning as your pretty tits bounce out of it, leaving you just in a slutty school girl skirt that makes him think filthy things. “Hold these fucking thighs open, or I won’t even fuck you, I’ll just eat it.”

“You want to!? Wh-what- I- ah!” You’re screaming out as he bites on your clit now, your hands yanking on his silky hair, trying to pull him off you, but he’s latched a hungry mouth on your clit, moaning then. You’re dripping down onto your mom’s blankets, you’d feel bad about that later -maybe- for now you’re too lost in the way he’s looking up at you, while his tongue licks a stripe up your slit.

“So fuckin yummy. Yeah I wanna, shit how pathetic are these college boys, huh? Ain't ate you out right?” You shake your head nervously, as he picks your little body up and shoves you where he needs you, he takes you over with his big grip, smirking against your inner thighs. “Cum f’me doll, like a pretty lil slut.”

“Little… slut!?... you- ah!” Your walls flutter around his tongue now as he fucks you with it, nose bumping your clit, chin digging in right against your little ass as he drinks you up, messy slurping sounds mixing with your cries.

Toju Fushiguro drinks every bit of you up as he spreads you wide, shoving your thighs up now. “Hold em.”

You eagerly obey, holding up your thighs so he has even better access, now flicking his tongue in little circles, finger back inside you, using both until you’re cumming all over his face, drenching him with your slick. He licks you through it, watching you arch your back, watching you scream out in pleasure, shaking and panting.

“Mmm, that’s it, doll. Cum so much more than her, don’t ya? Messy lil fuckin’ slut.” His words should irritate you, but they edge you on, as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit, teeth grinning against it as it twitches, as you cum more, until you’re soaking everything, screaming and trembling. “There ya fuckin go.”

“What even… a-are you!?” You whisper weakly, blinking back stars, making your vision so blurry, Toji leans over you, face glistening with you, he licks the scar on the corner of his mouth, smirking at you.

“Not an old man, am I?” You bite your lower lip.

“You are-”

“Open, brat. Now.” You nervously do, then he’s spitting in your mouth, smirking as you choke on it, shutting your jaw closed. “Mommy didn’t let me spit in her mouth, you’re nasty aren’t ya?”

“Oh fuck you!? Ah!” He’s standing now, yanking you to where you’re bent over, mouth against his cock that he’s pulling out, watching it smack on his tummy, as you eagerly shove up his shirt.

“Gonna shut that pretty mouth the fuck up.” He yanks off his shirt as you hungrily start lapping at his salty precum, drooling from his reddened tip, he hisses then. “Ya that cock hungry?”

“Fuck my mouth.” At that Toji loses his mind, while you’re bent over the bed, sucking him as deep as you can, saliva pooling as you deep throat him, ending him with how you worship his cock.

“Cock hungry…. Lil fuckin… what the… holy f-fuck! Doll…” Toji’s a mess for you, somthing he’s never been, as you’re working his cock with your mouth hungrily, and he’s pulling your hair into a pony tail, fucking up into your hungry, slutty throat.

You’re breathing through your nose, trying to take more and more of him as he wrecks your esophagus, you can’t wait for him inside you, you think as you’re sucking him as hard as you can, tears in your eyes. Toji’s groaning, not even moving you, just gently holding your hair back as you work his cock up and down, until he can’t take anymore.

He yanks you off him, shoving you on your back, pulling a thigh up over his arm as he lines his tip with your slutty little hole, and you whimper just from his thick, mushroom tip pressing. “You’re not a…”

You giggle, breathless. “No, not a virgin, why ya want me to be? Wanna fuck your girlfriend’s virgin daughter, pervy old- ah!” Toji’s glaring, shoving his thick cock so deep in you then, you scream out.

“Why ya feel this fucking tight!? Loosen the fuck up, slutty brat.” He huffs now, you’re gripping him way too tight, walls pulsing like you’re trying to milk him, while your pretty face screws up.

“You’re t-too big- shit!” You’re wincing now, legs shaking when he smirks, earning your little glare.

“Can’t handle me doll? Where’s all that talk?”

“Give me a second.” You’re struggling to breathe when he pulls his cock out, slapping it on your overheated cunt, slathering it in more of your slick before shoving it back inside, filling your pussy up so good he can see himself in your tummy. He moans now, pulling back.

“Look at that, fucking up your guts, brat- ha!” Toji jerks his cock in deep now, hands gripping your hips as you look down, gasping as you see the enormous bulge moving in your tummy. “Gonna fuckin ruin ya doll, for anyone.”

“Wh-what- ngh! Oh my god, Toji!” You’re whimpering as he moves, eyeing that bulge hungrily, his dark green eyes glinting, so dilated they’re black.

“Nah, don’t call me that.” He fucks into you now, thrusts wrecking your cunt as his tip bruises your cervix, bed creaking with the force of his thrusts. He has sweat dripping down onto your skin just a bit as he watches your pretty face. “You feel s’much better than any… oh my… pussy s’fucking tight, feel her…”

He’s shoving harder, faster, thick tip dragging on your walls, hitting some spot that makes you scream, Toji grins when he notices, pressing the spot again and again as he fucks into your soppy cunt. His balls smack your little ass, with arousal drooling down that hole, as you hear the ‘pap-pap-pap’ sound mix with the smacking of your skin.

“There, ya wanna cum all over this cock, huh lil girl?” Your brain short circuits, you’re pulsing around his cock as he pushes you over the edge, cumming so hard it makes the oral he gave you look like nothing. You’re weakly clinging to him, mouth opening and closing, eyes rolling back in your skull. “Look at you, cockdrunk, aren’t ya slutty girl?”

You can’t answer, not when he’s balls deep in your cunt, stuffing you so full, his big brutal hands digging into your waist. After your orgasm wracks you he yanks his cock out, making you whimper. “Back in…”

“Slutty lil brat, wait a minute.” He flips you on your tummy now, shoving back in you, so deep like this you’re a drooling mess, so fucked out you have no thoughts, you can’t remember you’re in your mom’s bed with her ex, a man twice your age, not when he’s wrecking your cunt so good.

Toji can’t remember ever even fucking anyone else, not when he’s buried in your tight little hole, you’re taking him so good. “Ngh! Toji…”

“Ha, no. What’d I say?” Toji pulls you by your hair, arching your ass up as he slips his cock so deep in your hole, pounding you over and over, licking up your neck, all the way to your chin, before he lands on your lips. “What ya gonna call me?”

“Old man? Ow!” Toji shoves his cock so deep it’s brutal, mean tip bullying your sore little pussy, you whine pathetically, head falling back as he makes you face him.

“Nah, answer right or I’ll pull out.”

“D-don’t!”

“So desperate, huh?” You just whine, as he wraps a hand around your throat, fingers so long they take you over. “Answer me, doll.”

“Desperate f’you…” You’re whispering the words, closer and closer while he’s pressing your throat, sucking your oxygen away while your pussy makes a bigger mess, leaving a huge wet spot on the blankets, now rumpled from him flipping you like a doll.

“Then how ya gonna address me, brat?” He huffs, and you look into his eyes then, reflecting how fucked out yours are.

“Daddy.” You whisper, and it ends him then, he lifts your ass up, shoving your face into the soft matress, fucking into you with hard, brutal strokes, smacking your ass over and over as you tremble, cumming down his veiny length until it’s so messy he almost slips out.

“That’s it, no one’s fucked you like this, huh doll? No one beat this pretty lil pussy up like that?” You weakly whine, nodding as he rocks his cock into you over and over. “Feel so fuckin good, best pussy I ever… oh like she’s made to take me? F-fuck… milking my cock…”

The sounds of his slapping skin and cock wrecking your sloppy pussy are ridiculous, mixing with your muffle moans and his stuttered gasps, as you clench him so good he can’t remember another pussy. As he fucks you so good you forgot you had a boyfriend, fucking every thought you ever had out of your dumb, fucked out brain.

“That’s it, taking me like that, good lil fuckin girl…” You’re pathetic and dumb at his words, nodding weakly when he pulls you back up on your knees, yanking you by your hair, pricking pain that makes your eyes water. “Want me to fill this pussy up? Knock you up? Get your mommy so fuckin mad?”

“P-please daddy…” You’re whimpering, speaking insane. “M’on the… p-pill… s’okay, please…”

“Fuck…” Toji slams up in your pussy now, tip hitting over and over until you feel him pulsing then, big hands brutally gripping you, rippling the skirt still slung up on your hips. “Oh my god… gonna fill your pretty pussy s’good…”

You’re shuddering when he pumps his hot, endless load in you, whining out a pathetic- ‘d-daddy…’

“That’s it, no one filled ya like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, as his hot gooey cum fills your cavern, all over every inch of your walls, so much it’s dripping out in blotches, all slick with you, down his balls, down the bed. He moans, shuddering and then leaning over you, pulling your chin to him. “Perfect pussy, she’s just so full of me, huh?”

You nod weakly, letting him kiss you, nasty and messy, as he slows his thrusts, pushing his cum further and further in your soppy hole, so deep. “Too much…”

“Oh, doll, I got so much more for ya.” He flips you again, smirking down at the mess you are, smacking your pretty titties as his cock drips down. “So, am I old to you, hmm?” You shake your head quickly. “Good girl, gonna reward ya, finally keeping your pretty mouth shut.”

He unzips the skirt finally, showcasing your entire body to his hungry eyes, he smacks your titties again and again as you struggle to come to, before kissing down between the valley of your breasts, lower down your tummy, until he pulls your lips apart, smirking. You’re whimpering, so sore, while he eyes your pussy, watching his white semen pour from your abused entrance.

“That’s it, look at ya doll, took m’cum so good.” He shoves your shaking thighs apart, lapping at his own cum, you gasp.

“You’re… n-nasty I swear… the fuck- mmm!”

He’s chuckling, lapping all his cum that’s pouring now, you’re so sensitive you’re twitching, when he leans back over you, grabbing you under your chin. “Nasty, doll? You’re getting fucked in your mom’s bed, this old man’s cum pouring out, makin a whole goddamn mess.”

You gasp out when he spits his own cum in your mouth again, making out so sloppy and nasty, but you’re rolling your hips up, earning his soft laugh. “T-Toji-”

“Ah-ah.” He smacks your cheek, you inhale sharply.

“Daddy.”

“Whaddaya want daddy to do now?”

You blink a bit, taking a breath. “Eat all your cum outta me, put more in me.” He moans now, diving back down, licking your cunt clean as he drinks you both together, his salty, bitter cum, your sweet pussy all on his tongue, his big hands pressing into your thighs, bruising them. “Daddy! Daddy… Fuck me…”

Toji moans against your cunt, you’re screaming out then, as he has his face buried between your thighs, right when the door opens, but you’re both too fucked out to hear as your mom walks right in. She gasps then, watching her ex-boyfriend licking his lips, leaning over her own daughter.

“Toji Fushiguro, what the fuck!? My daughter!?” Your mom’s trill voice sobers you both up, you gasp, trying to cover yourself up with a cum soaked blanket, as Toji grins, licking you off his lips, scar stretched in a smirk.

“Well, shit.”

Well I know I'm going to hell for this one lol

Perma tags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy - Toji tags - @rie-star @lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @winterautumn @g00seg1rl @lastsubstance - @getoisinnocent requested Toji, and @airandyeah wanted more Toji (sry this is so filthy loves lmaooo)

Toji Masterlist

[coolcoelacanth]

me starting drama in my friend group for no reason (jk theres actually many reasons)

[rcjackie]

fun fic idea if anyone wants to read whatever this is!!! It kind of got away from me ngl

!!!!tw for swearing!!!!

okay so soulmates bagginshield au where the name of your soulmate is written on your wrist

except Bilbo’s soulmark is written in Khuzdul, so he had no idea what it says and only knows it’s dwarvish bc of his mother’s books/stories (or maybe he doesn’t know. there are no laws)

So Bilbo at the ripe age of 50 decides to leave the shire to look for his soulmate bc he’s not getting any younger and they have to be out there SOMEWHERE.

on the road he meets Gandalf, and bc that wizard is a grade A Meddler (TM) and knows exactly whose name is on Bilbo’s wrist, he sends Bilbo in the direction of Erebor

now I know what you’re thinking: how is Bilbo, a hobbit, going to get into a dwarf kingdom? well, Gandalf sends him there as his ‘emissary’ bc all good wizards need hobbit secretaries to deal with politics on their behalf, yes this is completely normal.

and that’s how Bilbo ends up as a diplomatic negotiator in a dwarf kingdom while secretly looking for his soulmate. and you best believe he does not know what the hell he’s doing for the first few days, but he’s a baggins AND a took so he bullshits his way through without problem.

and bc of his fake position as Gandalf’s envoy he eventually ends up meeting Thorin, the eldest prince of Erebor, who happens to be deeply suspicious of him and thinks he has ulterior motives besides regular politics

and Bilbo is like yes you’re right I do have ulterior motives but how dare you ASSUME—

cue the beginning of the enemies to friends to lovers pipeline

on the other hand, the first friend he makes in Erebor is Ori, who is the kingdom’s librarian. Bilbo asks him to read the name on his wrist and Ori nearly has a heart attack on the spot before running away bc he found the prince’s soulmate and he HAS TO TELL SOMEONE (that someone being dori)

and, of course, Bilbo misinterprets that as meaning his soulmate is evil. so then Bilbos only thought is FUCK I must have someone absolutely horrible as a soulmate. like how is their reputation THAT bad

so he spends most of his days sulking around Erebor, too scared to ask anyone about the name on his wrist, when he notices some shady figures doing shady figure things

being the naturally nosy hobbit that he is, he listens in, trying to uncover a bit of juicy gossip to entertain himself with.

except that Bilbo uncovers a plot to assassinate the entire royal family and indirectly saves the lives of almost the entire line of Durin. so now he’s being welcomed by open arms by the entire kingdom bc he accidentally speed ran becoming a national hero

this does away with most of Thorin’s distrust, and the two gradually get closer as Bilbo’s place in Erebor becomes more and more permanent.

and just. for plot purposes, Bilbo has been going under a pseudonym this whole time bc it’s a big world and he’s gotta keep himself safe yk, so no one knows his actual name

but now Bilbo’s like we’re friends now and I kind of saved your life, so I feel like I should probably stop lying to you ;)

Bilbo, holding out his hand: Bilbo Baggins, at your service

Thorin, about to keel over: What.

bc Thorin knows that name, as he has in fact been repeating it over and over again for literal decades. it’s the one inscribed on his wrist in a neat cursive, and suddenly everything falls into place.

Thorin, now ripping his own hair out: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOUR NAME WAS BEEBO TWINDLEWIRE???

Bilbo: I lied :D

unfortunately Thorin’s been having grand delusions of meeting his soulmate since childhood, already planning to woo them by acting like the perfect gentleman and by being on his best behavior—just to find out that it’s the guy that he’s been actively hating on (and also guiltily crushing on) for months

knowing this, Thorin begins pulling out all the stops to make Bilbo like him. he’s sending him handmade gifts, giving him rocks of great value and meaning, showing off his craft, and making sure to train where he knows Bilbo can see. Bilbo may not be in love with him yet but it’s only a matter of time, once he realizes that Thorin is such a skilled provider

Bilbo, however, is just…deeply confused as to why Thorin suddenly seems to go from tolerating his existence to sending him longing looks from across the room, along with many, many shiny rocks and various pretty things. not to say that he doesn’t like the attention, as he’s grown very fond of Thorin over his time spent in the mountain

Bilbo eventually just chalks it up to misplaced gratitude for saving Thorin’s life and moves on. so all of the courting rituals being thrown at him continue to go over his head

meanwhile Thorin is in the midst of planning their wedding bc Bilbo is responding to all of his offerings positively, and he wants to marry his One as soon as possible

(EDIT: IVE SEEN ALL OF UR NICE COMMENTS AND THEY ARE SO SWEET, if anyone writes/draws anything w this please TAG MEEEEE)

[bluerosefox]

Hmmm we should play around with the idea of Tim going undercover more. Especially when he goes out as Caroline Hill btw.

Dead Tired prompt once again.

Danny knows the people he's working for are... shady at best but he needed this job, ever since he left Amity Park after getting into a bad fight with his parents, they wanted him to become a Ghost Hunter (funny how they never really pressured Jazz into it.), he made sure to shut down the portal now since he learned to make portals (and made sure to delete and burn his parents blueprints for it), renounced himself as Ghost King (he really didn't want the responsibility and helped set up a kinda self governing and kinda 'I will come back to help the Realms keep stable but I am NOT ruling' thing)

[Basically Danny is still technically the King, the Realms need him to keep stable (personal head canon the Realms reflect its Ruler, Danny is much more stable than Pariah Dark and thus the Realms are healing and slowly returning to its natural state), but Danny set up a somewhat self governing thing where he can leave but returns very so often to keep the Realms stable and healing. Its complicated but it works.]

AND because his grades tanked hard due to the accident and being a young ghost hero in high school, Danny didn't have a lot of choices for work or even school (he is in college, none of his dream ones though, and is juggling between it and odd jobs here and there)

Anyways so yeah, Danny knows the people he's working for aren't... great. He knows they're shady AF and knows he could maybe find out what if he used his ghost powers but he does need this job for just a bit longer, until his next paycheck that's all.

He also know his new co-worker might be an undercover cop and is investigating them.

Caroline Hill is a nice lady though, even if it was an act to get closer, polite, works hard when paired with him, and very pretty.

So Danny decides to help cover up tiny mistakes or distract their other co-workers/employers when she's snooping around their work areas/offices.

[demie90s]

The Way Life Goes

UConn WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your slipping—mentally, physically, emotionally. Your grades are tanking, her game is off, and her spark’s gone out. No breakdowns, no pleas for help. Just soft shrugs and quiet “I’m fine”s.

Genre: Angst, mental health decline, found family dynamic, emotional detachment, slow-burn comfort (implied)

Warnings: Depression, academic stress, sports performance anxiety, emotional numbness, isolation, mentions of disordered eating/sleep, no overt self-harm

Word Count: ~ 8.3k

I don’t remember the last time I felt like I was actually here.

Like—not just physically. But really here. In my body. In this life. In this uniform with my name stitched across the chest like it means something.

Most mornings I get up because I don’t wanna make anybody worry. Not because I have anything to look forward to. Not because I believe it’ll get better. Just because I don’t want someone knocking on my door, asking why I missed weights again. Or why I didn’t show up to film. Or why I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine in two and a half days.

Coach yelled at me last week. Said I’ve been coasting. Said I don’t look locked in. I nodded. Took the hit like I should. My fault. I’ll get better. That’s what I said. But I knew I wouldn’t.

I’m tired.

But it’s not the kind of tired you fix with sleep. It’s deep. Rooted. Like my bones are waterlogged and I’m dragging around someone else’s body.

My grades are circling the drain. I missed a quiz two days ago because I genuinely forgot what day it was. Showed up to the wrong class building the next day. Laughed about it when Jana asked. Told her I was just “fried.” She smiled, but she looked at me too long after. Like she was trying to figure out if I was actually joking.

I wasn’t.

My car broke down last week outside the Shell station on Whitney. Smoke poured from the hood like my life was trying to take visible form. I just stared at it. Didn’t call anyone. Just sat on the curb with my chin in my hands and watched people pass like I wasn’t sitting in the middle of my own collapse.

I think someone recognized me. I heard, “Isn’t that—” and I smiled before they could finish the sentence. Not because I was happy. Just because it was automatic. I’ve learned if you smile while everything’s burning, people assume you’re fine.

They walked off. I walked to campus. Halfway there it started raining and I didn’t even flinch.

Hair wet. Socks soaked. Hoodie clinging to me like skin. I looked up at the sky and thought—at least it’s not snowing.

That’s where I’m at now. Finding gratitude in the bare minimum. No tears. No anger. Just… acceptance. Like, damn. This is what it is, huh?

I cracked a tooth in practice yesterday. Slipped on a rebound, elbow to the mouth, and all I felt was the crunch. I got up slow, spit blood into a towel, and shrugged when Ice asked if I was okay.

“Yeah,” I said, licking the jagged edge with my tongue. “Could be worse.” I smiled.

Azzi looked at me like I’d said something in a language she couldn’t translate.

I’m losing pieces of myself every day and all I can do is keep count. That’s all I got left. The keeping track of the downfall. Hair falling out in the shower? That’s six days in a row. Appetite gone? I’ve had a protein bar and three sips of water since Tuesday. Can’t sleep without waking up in a full sweat? I stopped counting that one. Doesn’t matter. I’ll still show up. I’ll still run. I’ll still fake it.

Because what else is there?

Sometimes I hear them whisper about me in the locker room. Not loud enough to be shady, but not quiet enough to be innocent either.

“She look tired.”

“She ain’t been eating.”

“She snapped at Coach the other day.”

“She smiled when her lip was bleeding.”

And I know it don’t make sense. I know I look like a warning sign in human form. But every time someone asks if I’m okay, I say the same thing.

“I’m good.”

KK tried to pull me aside last week. Put her hand on my shoulder and said, “You know you can talk to me, right?” Her voice was soft, real. The kind that makes you wanna break down just outta spite. But I couldn’t do it.

“I’m okay. Just a lot on my plate.” I smiled.

She looked at my plate like she could see straight through it. Like she knew there was nothing on it but air and pride. Still, she nodded.

I appreciated that.

Nika’s the only one who stopped asking. She just watches now. From across the gym, in film, walking out of class. Her eyes track me like she knows I’m about to disappear.

And maybe I am. Maybe I already did.

I put my airpods in before games now. Not because I’m listening to anything. Just so I don’t have to talk. Just so I can pretend the silence is a choice.

Sometimes I play that Trippie song, though. The one that goes, “I wish you would find your chill, ‘cause Lord knows this shit get real.” That one line feels like a prayer. Like someone wrote it with me in mind. I whisper it under my breath like a spell. Doesn’t work. But I say it anyway.

Coach pulled me into his office yesterday. Said he’s worried. Said the staff’s noticed. Said I look “distant.”

I nodded again. Said, “I hear you.” He asked if I needed anything.

I smiled. “No, sir. I’m good.”

He looked like she didn’t believe me. But what can you do? You can’t force someone to want to be helped. And I don’t. Not really.

I just want to float. Just for a while. Not swim. Not sink. Just… drift. I go to sleep hoping I don’t dream. I wake up hoping I feel something.

I laugh when I forget things now. When I show up to practice without my jersey. When I leave my shoes in the locker room. When I forget to eat. When I mix up plays. I just laugh. Not loud. Not crazy. Just a soft, “Huh.”

Like I’m watching myself from somewhere else. Somewhere colder. Somewhere quiet.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t even want anyone to check in. It’s too late for that. I already made peace with it. This is the part where I fade out for a while. Maybe forever. Maybe just long enough to feel real again.

And if I don’t? Then I guess that’s just how the story goes.

———————————————————————————————

Practice was brutal today.

Not cause it was hard. Not cause I was sore. Not cause we were running drills ‘til our lungs gave out. I barely felt any of it. The burn in my legs, the ache in my shoulder—background noise. White static. I heard it, sure, but it didn’t matter.

What got me was Geno’s voice. Sharp. Heavy. Constant. Cutting through the gym like it was trying to fillet my spirit in real time.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What the hell was that?”

“You do know you’re not just here to jog around and look tired, right?”

“Pick it up. You been sleepwalking since warmups.”

I nodded. That’s it. No excuse. No attitude. No fire. Just… nod.

What could I even say? That he’s right? That I know I look like shit? That I feel worse than I look?

He moved on, barking at someone else, but his eyes flicked back to me like he knew he didn’t get through. Like he saw the dull in my stare. The silence behind my nod. The nothing.

At one point, Ice passed me the ball and I missed it completely. Like didn’t even move my hands. It bounced off my knee and rolled into the corner.

“She wide open and asleep,” Paige muttered, just loud enough. I smiled.

Not cause it was funny. Not cause I cared. Just cause I didn’t want her to think I’d heard it and been hurt. Easier to smile. Easier to act like I agree.

Later, in the locker room, no one really talked to me. Azzi handed me a towel. I said thanks. She didn’t move right away. Just looked at me like she wanted to say something.

I tucked the towel into my lap and bent down to untie my shoes. Silence is my defense now. Not cause I’m trying to be cold, but cause I don’t trust what’ll come out if I open my mouth. Maybe a scream. Maybe a sob. Maybe nothing at all.

Some of the girls are starting to get frustrated. I can feel it in the way they pass me the ball just a little too hard. The way they huddle without me. The way their tone shifts when they say my name.

Caroline called me out during walkthroughs.

“You’re not even running the plays,” she said. “You’re just kinda… there.”

I nodded. Again. Said, “My bad.”

She blinked at me like she was waiting for more. Something. Anything. But I didn’t have it. Didn’t even try.

They don’t get it. How could they? I used to be sharp. Funny. Reliable. I used to know every damn set like muscle memory. I used to lead warm-ups. I used to hype people up when they missed. I used to care.

Now I just… exist. Like a light switch someone forgot to turn off in an empty room. Coach Geno pulled me aside after practice. Private, but not gentle.

“You either get your head on straight, or you’re gonna sit. I don’t care how much talent you’ve got. You’re hurting this team.”

His voice was steady, not yelling. Almost worse. He sounded disappointed. And that—that used to break me. But now? Now it just bounced off. I stared at the wall behind him and nodded.

“You hearing me?”

“Yeah.”

“You care?”

That one made me blink. I didn’t answer. Just looked at him with eyes that probably said more than I could. Eyes that whispered, I’m trying. But I think I already drowned. He sighed. Walked off.

I sat in the locker room after everyone left. Hoodie on. Music low. Something old—Trippie, maybe. Something sad with too much bass and not enough hope.

Wish you’d get out my face

Might go MIA

Might just blow my brain…

I mouthed the words but didn’t sing. Just let them sit on my tongue like smoke I didn’t have the energy to exhale.

I haven’t cried in weeks. I want to. Desperately. I want to sob. Scream. Punch a locker until my knuckles split. But there’s nothing left inside to release. No pressure. No build-up. Just a flat line where my heartbeat used to live.

I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t feel my face half the time. I watch the world through glass, and nobody notices I’m behind it. Or maybe they do, and they’re just scared to tap on it too hard.

I laugh now, at everything. At nothing. Dropped my phone in the shower yesterday. Fried it. Laughed so hard I had to sit down.

Stepped in gum. Laughed.

Burnt my toast. Laughed.

Got an email saying I’m failing two classes. Laughed so long the girl next to me in the library moved tables. I think I’m becoming a ghost.And the worst part? No one can even say I didn’t try.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t go to practice today. Not because I overslept. Not because I was sick. Not because I had something else to do. I just didn’t feel like going. I knew what time I needed to be there. I knew what would happen if I missed.

I knew Geno would call me out, that the team would probably run for me, that my absence would be loud even if I didn’t say a word. But I stayed in bed for a while, then I got up, grabbed my hoodie, and walked off campus until I found somewhere with water.

It was some lake—I couldn’t tell you the name. I don’t even remember how far I walked to get there. I just sat down and watched the ripples.

The way they moved like they had direction, like they had somewhere to be, calmed me. Everything in my life feels stuck, but the water kept flowing. That made me feel less alone, in a weird way.

My phone vibrated in my pocket every couple of minutes. I didn’t look at it. I knew it was them—coach, teammates, maybe even someone from academic support. At one point, I think my mom called too.

I felt it ring a little longer than usual, which is what happens when she’s trying to wait me out. I let it pass.

It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I don’t have the energy to pretend I do. I haven’t felt anything in weeks—not really. I eat because my stomach cramps when I don’t. I show up to class and sit in the back because if I don’t, I get flagged for attendance.

I speak in practice when spoken to. I smile when someone makes a joke. But it’s all fake. A tired performance I don’t have the strength to keep doing. So today, I didn’t perform.

I haven’t answered a call from my mom since last Thursday. I’ve opened her messages, read them in full, and just… set the phone down.

She keeps saying she’s worried about me, that I sound different, that I “don’t check in anymore.” And I want to say something. I really do. But nothing feels true. Nothing feels worth saying. What would I even tell her?

That I think I’m fading out of my own body? That I sit on the floor of my room at night and stare at the same spot on the wall for hours and it brings me more peace than any conversation could? That I don’t want to die but I wouldn’t fight it if it came?

I came back to my dorm once the sun started dropping. I took a shower without thinking—hot water on my neck, just standing there until I was dizzy. I laid in bed in a hoodie and let music play from my laptop, but I couldn’t hear any of it. I couldn’t feel it. The lyrics were there. The bass was low. But it didn’t reach me. It’s been like that for a while now.

I checked my phone briefly. Three missed calls from my mom. Two from my dad. One from Paige that just said, “You straight?” with a question mark and no follow-up. I didn’t reply. I stared at it until the screen dimmed, then flipped it over.

The team had bonding night tonight—Azzi posted a photo on her story. Everybody was smiling, even the ones who never smile.

I was tagged in it, even though I wasn’t there. I think that was someone’s attempt at pulling me in without forcing it. I didn’t repost it. I didn’t even look long.

They’ve stopped asking me to come to things. The invitations have turned into suggestions, and then into silence. And I get it.

I wouldn’t want to be around me either. I’m not fun. I’m not present. I’m not even angry anymore. I’m just… empty. I laugh at things that aren’t funny. I smile when I’m shaking. I tell people I’m okay when I feel like I’m made of glass.

And the worst part? I’ve accepted it.

I’m not trying to get better. I’m not journaling. I’m not meditating. I’m not reaching out. I’m letting it happen. Letting it all fade. Letting the world run past me while I sit still. I don’t think I want to be saved. I don’t want to be fixed. I want to be left alone, to let whatever this is run its course.

Maybe this is the end. Maybe this is just the part where I disappear without making a sound.

———————————————————————————————

The door wasn’t locked.

That’s the first thing I remember—hearing it click open. Then footsteps. Hesitant. Too soft for Coach. Too unsure to be campus security. It was one of them. Or maybe more than one. I didn’t look. I didn’t move. I barely even breathed.

I was curled up on the floor between my bed and the wall, right where the light didn’t reach. Hoodie on. Legs pulled to my chest. Arms limp. Not crying. Not asleep. Just still.

The room was dark. Not dim—dark. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Laptop closed. The only real sound was the faint hum of the mini fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling around me. I hadn’t cleaned in days. Maybe longer. Clothes everywhere. Trash untouched. Air stale. My toothbrush still sealed in the little cup of water I’d left it in three nights ago.

The silence broke when they stepped fully inside.

“…She in here?” someone whispered. A girl’s voice. Familiar. Too careful.

Another voice—closer. Lower. Less afraid. “Yeah. God…”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just focused on the cracked piece of paint on the baseboard across from me. I’d been staring at it so long I started seeing patterns in it—faces, rivers, maybe even a map if I tilted my head enough.

Then the light from the hallway stretched across the floor, and I felt it touch my hoodie. A hand hesitated in the air next to me. Didn’t grab. Didn’t shake. Just hovered like they were scared I’d shatter if they made contact.

I would have.

“Hey…” It was a soft murmur, like they were testing if I was still alive. I was. Barely. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. No energy left for anything but existence.

Someone crouched down. I heard a knee pop against the floor. Then breath. Real close.

“Can you… can you hear me?”

Yes. But I didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Couldn’t figure out if the truth mattered. What difference would it make? They were here now, and I was still on the floor.

Someone else walked around to the side of the bed. They were trying not to step on anything. There was too much to step on. I’d stopped noticing the mess. It had become part of me. Part of the decay.

“She’s not talking,” a voice said, somewhere in the corner. I didn’t know who. I could name every one of their shoes by sound, but their voices melted together. Gentle. Uneasy. Like I was something they didn’t know how to fix.

“She’s breathing, though.”

“Barely.”

“Fuck.”

The one next to me finally touched my sleeve. Just two fingers. Barely a nudge.

“You good?” she asked. Not because she didn’t know. But because people don’t know what else to say.

I could’ve laughed if I had the strength. Am I good? I was limp on the floor of my own room like a corpse that hadn’t made up its mind yet. Frail. Faded. My eyes were open but there was nothing behind them.

No hunger. No pain. No fear. Just… gone.

“She’s freezing,” someone said. “Her hands—look.”

There was rustling. A blanket. Arms. I didn’t resist when they shifted me slightly. I barely felt it. My body didn’t register the weight. I was used to being weightless now. Useless. Empty.

One of them settled on the floor behind me and let me lean into her. I think it was Azzi. I knew that smell. Subtle lavender, soft sweatshirt cotton. She didn’t say anything. She just exhaled and rested her chin against the top of my hoodie. Her arms wrapped loosely around my knees like she was scared to squeeze too tight.

The silence grew thick. Nobody tried to break it.

Someone turned on the lamp. Not the main light—just enough to see. The room looked worse in the glow. More real. More alive than I felt.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” someone whispered.

“She’s been like this for how long?”

“I don’t know…”

“I didn’t think—”

“Nah. Me neither.”

I kept staring. Blank. Detached. Somewhere else. The weight of Azzi behind me was warm, but I wasn’t sure if I felt it or just remembered what warmth used to be.

The girls around us didn’t leave. They didn’t press. They didn’t cry. They just sat there, like they were waiting for me to come back to earth. But I wasn’t ready yet.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But they stayed. And for the first time in days, I realized I hadn’t imagined the world outside my head.

———————————————————————————————

I could move. That’s what scared me most.

Not that I was stuck. Not that my body had finally quit on me. But that I could move—still. That there was just enough breath left to keep going even though everything inside me was begging to stop. I wasn’t paralyzed. I wasn’t dead. I was functional, and that was worse.

The girls were still in my room. Not saying much. Just there. One of them—Azzi, I think—sat behind me, quiet and steady. She hadn’t moved since I’d curled into her chest. Her hand rubbed small circles on my knee. It was meant to be comforting. It didn’t reach me.

The others didn’t say my name anymore. They’d said it earlier. Once. Twice. Too many times. It hung heavy in the room like smoke no one could wave away. They knew now. Knew this was beyond a rough patch. Beyond a bad day. This was a collapse. A full shut-down in a girl-shaped body. This was what it looked like when someone gave up and didn’t bother to announce it.

After a while, I shifted. Slow. Mechanical. Like I had to remember where my limbs went.

Azzi’s arms eased back as I sat up. Her hand lingered for a second, just in case I fell again. I didn’t.

I didn’t look at anyone. My eyes were blurry anyway. Not from tears—there were none left—but from everything being too sharp, too loud, even in silence. I stood. My legs ached like they hadn’t been used in years. My back cracked when I straightened. I felt everything. Every joint. Every bruise. Every rib like it was separate from the rest.

I walked to the bathroom with bare feet, stepping over wrappers, books, and clothes without reacting to any of it. The light in there stung, so I turned it off and let the hallway lamp behind me throw in a little glow.

I shut the door. Not slammed. Not even fully closed. Just… pressed it mostly shut. Enough to breathe without them watching. I didn’t lock it.

My knees hit the tile slower than expected. My hand found the edge of the bathtub. I climbed in, not to run water. Not to wash off. Just to sit.

I curled again, this time in porcelain instead of carpet. My hoodie was too big, but the weight of it felt safe. Like armor I didn’t earn.

I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. My throat burned. Not from sickness. From silence. From fear. From knowing that if I said what I was actually thinking, I’d never be able to take it back.

Because if I said it—if I really let the words come—it’d be too real. The part of me that’s been quiet would finally scream. And it’d sound something like:

“I want to die.”

And I wasn’t sure who I’d become after that. So I didn’t say it. I sat there with my lips parted, my voice crumpled in the back of my tongue, and I imagined what it’d sound like anyway.

What it’d sound like if I let the truth slip out the way it always tries to in my sleep.

I imagined the water filling. I imagined floating. I imagined peace. Not escape. Not relief. Just nothing. Blankness. Silence that didn’t need to be survived.

My fingers twitched in my lap. I wasn’t in pain. Not really. Pain implies sensation. I was beyond that. I was absence. I was empty space. But still alive.

That’s the worst part.

They didn’t knock. They didn’t call my name. Maybe they knew. Maybe Azzi put her hand against the door and waited. Maybe someone cried quietly into my pillow. Maybe Geno was on the phone already, demanding answers no one had.

I didn’t care. Not because I was selfish. Not because I wanted to make anyone feel bad. I just didn’t have it in me to care anymore.

Not about practice. Not about school. Not about the game I used to bleed for. Not about the people I love who love me back. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t resentful. I was just done. Done trying to fix it. Done trying to explain it. Done pretending like I wanted to stay.

The water wasn’t running. The light was off. The tile was cold. And I sat in the tub, knees to my chest, staring into a dark corner, breathing as quietly as possible, just waiting to either disappear or be left alone long enough to stop hoping I would.

And that smile—the small one I’d been holding on to like a shield—was still there. Tight. Faint. Fragile. But there. Because if I let go of that smile, even for a second, I knew what would come next. And I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t plan to die that night. But I also didn’t plan to stay alive.

I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was just… sitting. Letting the cold of the bathroom tile creep up through my bones, curled in the tub like a forgotten thing. My arms were wrapped around my knees, my hoodie damp with sweat and something else I couldn’t name. My lips were parted slightly, but no sound had come out in hours. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t try. My body was still, my mind somewhere far past quiet—hovering in that eerie space between numbness and surrender.

I could feel the edges of my thoughts turning darker. Not loud, not explosive. Just whispers. Steady, certain. You’re done. That was the tone. Not panicked, not afraid. Just done.

The room had been still for so long I’d forgotten how it felt to hear movement. When the door eased open, I barely noticed. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lift my head. But I felt the shift—the pressure of air, the faint creak of the hinges, the gentle sound of sneakers moving slow across the tile.

Someone was here. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Azzi.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t call my name. She must’ve heard them outside the room. Or maybe she saw my face back in that moment on the floor and couldn’t get it out of her head. I don’t know what pulled her in. All I know is that the second she stepped into the bathroom, everything inside me started to shiver. Not my body. My soul. Like it knew someone had finally come too close to the truth I’d been hiding.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She didn’t try to make sense of the scene. She didn’t stop to ask questions or assess. She just moved. Fast and certain. She dropped to her knees beside the tub and looked at me, like really looked—like she already knew she wasn’t going to leave without me.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. So she did the only thing she could. She climbed in.

I didn’t even realize what was happening at first. One minute I was alone, the next there was weight behind me. She pressed her body into the space, wedging herself between the edge of the tub and my hunched frame, and before I could think to resist, she wrapped her arms around me. Tight. Firm. Like she was physically anchoring me to earth.

I didn’t respond. Not right away. But when her arms didn’t loosen—when I felt her breath against the side of my neck, and her hands pressed flat against my chest like she was trying to catch my heartbeat—I broke.

Not loud. Not all at once. Just… cracked.

My head fell back against her collarbone. My fingers twitched against her arm. My chest rose in one sharp breath that didn’t quite make it out. I couldn’t speak. I was too afraid. Afraid of what would come out if I opened my mouth. I hadn’t said anything all day because I knew if I did, it would come out sounding like death. It would be the truth I’d been avoiding. The one I knew would scare her. Scare them all.

Because what I was feeling wasn’t just sadness. It wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t even hopelessness.

It was surrender.

If I had spoken, if I had said anything at all, it would have been, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” And once I said it, I couldn’t unsay it.

So I stayed quiet. But I held her. My hands clutched her sleeves, desperate and shaking. My head turned into her neck and I gripped her like she was the only thing keeping me here, because in that moment, she was. I couldn’t feel the floor. I couldn’t feel the tub. I couldn’t feel myself. But I could feel her. Warm, alive, breathing.

She rocked me slowly, not saying a word. Not telling me it would be okay. Not promising anything. She didn’t give advice or ask questions. She just held me like she knew I couldn’t hold myself anymore.

Eventually, I felt her whisper against my ear. Her voice was soft, cracking under the weight of her own fear.

“I got you.” That’s all she said. And that was enough to break me open.

Not in a messy way. Not in a way that made noise. Just in a way that finally let some air in. That allowed something inside me to tremble and not completely fall apart.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was still too tight, my thoughts too dangerous. But I shifted closer. I pressed back into her like I was trying to disappear into her skin. Like if I held her tight enough, the darkness in me wouldn’t win.

And Azzi stayed. In that cold, dark bathroom. In the tub. On the floor. With her arms around a girl who wasn’t sure she wanted to live past sunrise.

She stayed. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel completely alone. I still wasn’t okay. But I was still breathing. And for now, that had to be enough.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Truth is, I didn’t fall asleep—I passed out. There’s a difference.

Sleep is something you ease into, something your body chooses when it feels safe. Passing out is when your body decides for you. When it can’t take anymore and pulls the plug without warning. That’s what happened.

One minute, I was in the tub with Azzi wrapped around me like she was trying to shield me from my own thoughts. Her arms still tight. Her breath steady against the back of my neck. My hands still gripping the sleeves of her hoodie like she was the only solid thing left in a world I’d long since floated away from.

And then everything just… went blank. There was no fade. No tunnel vision. Just lights out. No pain. No panic. Just stillness. It was the most peaceful I’d felt in weeks.

Azzi said later that she didn’t even notice at first. That I was already so still, she thought I’d finally fallen asleep. She didn’t want to move me, didn’t want to break the fragile quiet. But then my weight shifted. My grip loosened. My head dropped just a little too hard against her collarbone, and I didn’t correct it. She said she whispered my name and I didn’t flinch. She shook me and I didn’t respond.

That’s when she knew. She screamed my name. Once. Loud. The girls outside the door heard. They came running. Somebody was already on the phone before Azzi could finish the sentence.

“We need Geno. Now.”

And that was it. That was the moment everything finally cracked open.

They couldn’t reach my parents right away. My emergency contact on file wasn’t even them—it was Geno. I’d put him down when I first got to UConn. It was a joke at the time. Might as well put the man who runs my entire life.

No one was laughing now.

They said he got there before the ambulance did. Said he pushed through whoever was in the way and didn’t stop moving until he was kneeling beside the tub, checking my pulse like he was trying to will it steady.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t panic. But his face was white. Like he’d aged ten years in five minutes.

He rode in the ambulance. Sat right next to me the entire time. Quiet. Holding the blanket around my shoulders like I was glass and he wasn’t sure which piece to catch first.

When I finally opened my eyes, the hospital room was dim. Clean. Too cold. Wires were taped to my chest. My arm had an IV. My mouth was dry and my lips cracked. I didn’t feel pain. Just weight. Like someone had replaced my blood with wet sand.

There were nurses nearby, moving soft, not saying much. I heard them whisper things like “dehydration,” “malnutrition,” “severe exhaustion.” But I didn’t care about any of it.

I turned my head—slow, foggy. He was there.

Sitting in the chair next to my bed. Elbows on his knees. Eyes red. Still in his UConn jacket. He didn’t look like Coach. He looked like a man trying not to break in front of one of his kids.

I could’ve asked for anyone. My mom. My dad. My sister. But the first thing I whispered—barely audible—was:

“Coach?”

He looked up instantly. Eyes sharp, like he was waiting on that single thread of sound to come through. His jaw clenched, but he nodded. Stood. Moved to the side of my bed and sat on the edge like he was scared I’d slip away again if he didn’t get close enough.

“I’m here,” he said. I stared at him for a long time. Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to.

Because for the first time in this whole spiral, someone didn’t need me to explain. Someone had already shown up. Without conditions. Without questions. Just… present.

He didn’t say I scared him. He didn’t say he should’ve noticed sooner. He didn’t say anything at first.

He just reached over and wrapped his hand around mine, careful and firm. Like he was trying to ground me to something that mattered. And I squeezed back.

Not because I was okay. Not because I was fixed. But because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had to hold myself together on my own.

———————————————————————————————

They put me on watch.

Not in the scary, screaming, strapped-to-the-bed kind of way. More like: someone had to be in the room with me. All the time. No closed doors. No unsupervised hours. And Geno made it clear—he was that someone.

When the doctor explained everything—dehydration, physical burnout, near syncope from starvation and stress—he didn’t blink. He just nodded once and asked, “What’s the recovery plan?”

They said rest. Fluids. Monitoring.

He said, “She won’t be alone. You have my word.”

That was two nights ago. He’s been here since.

I tried telling him to leave. Not because I wanted him to go, but because I felt guilty. Embarrassed. I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV and cracked lips, my skin pale, my bones sharp against the sheets, and he was sitting in a plastic chair next to me like it was his job. Like the Huskies didn’t have a game this week. Like film didn’t need to be watched. Like the world could wait until I got back on my feet.

I cracked my eyes open this morning and croaked, “You know you can go coach them now.”

He didn’t even look up from the stat sheet he was fake-reading. Just muttered, “Hush.”

I blinked at him, lips dry but tugging upward. “Yes, sir.”

He finally glanced over, the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But almost.

He’d moved the rolling chair closer to the bed sometime during the night. I’d woken up once or twice, and he was still there—half-asleep, arms crossed, feet kicked out like he’d been guarding a door no one else could see.

Every nurse who came in, he asked questions. Double-checked vitals. Stood close but didn’t hover. When the attending physician came for rounds, Geno stepped aside but stayed in earshot, arms folded, listening to every word.

Later, the team came.

Not all at once. They rotated in. Small groups. Azzi was the first, obviously. She hadn’t left the waiting room since the ambulance pulled out. When they finally let her back in, she walked slow, like she didn’t trust the sight of me sitting upright in the bed, sipping water from a straw.

I gave her a tiny wave. She stared for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and touched my wrist like she was making sure I was real.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back.

Then we just sat there. No crying. No explaining. Her fingers slid between mine and stayed there until the nurse came back.

The others came in waves—Paige, Nika, Ice, KK, Caroline. Some brought snacks. Some brought cards. One brought a plush husky someone had won at an arcade a month ago. I think it was Inês. She sat it at the foot of my bed and said, “He’s ugly but loyal,” and I actually laughed.

Geno didn’t say much while they visited. Just stood in the corner with his hands in his pockets, watching like a quiet referee. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to me. Checking. Measuring. Not for performance. For presence. He was making sure I was still here.

That night, after everyone had left and the room was quiet again, I looked over at him and asked, “Why’d you stay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached up and rubbed the back of his neck like the words were heavy.

Then he said, “Because you’re mine.”

My throat burned, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. He kept going.

“I’ve seen injuries. Surgeries. Career-ending breaks. But this?” He gestured to me softly, eyes sharp but soft. “This scared me more than anything.”

I blinked up at him. My voice came out thin. “But I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “I know. That’s the part that scares me. You didn’t have to try. You just… stopped.”

I looked down at my hands in my lap. They were shaking again.

“I didn’t want to die,” I whispered. “But I didn’t care if I lived either.”

He was quiet for a second. “That’s what watch is for.”

I smiled again, small and cracked. “You really don’t trust me, huh?”

“I trust you enough not to lie,” he said. “But I don’t trust your body yet. Or your brain. So yeah. You’re stuck with me.”

“Great.”

“Hush.”

I snorted into the pillow. “Yes, sir.”

And then he leaned back into the chair, one foot propped up, arms folded again like always. Like he could sit there forever if that’s what it took. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I didn’t have to fight alone.

Maybe I could let someone else stand watch for a while.

———————————————————————————————

The hospital cleared me to go home four days later.

Well—“home” was relative. Technically, I was allowed back in my dorm, but there was an asterisk on everything now. A counselor’s number. A new meal plan. A daily check-in from athletic staff. A list of suggestions that felt more like guardrails. I nodded through all of it. Smiled politely. Said thank you. But the truth was, I didn’t really hear most of it.

The one voice I did hear? Azzi’s. She rode back with me. Didn’t even ask. Just showed up at the discharge desk with my hoodie folded over her arm and said, “I’ve got her.”

And she did. Literally. She kept a hand on me the whole walk to the car. Not tight. Not possessive. Just… constant. As if her touch was the only proof I hadn’t disappeared again.

The team was already in my room when we got there.

Ice was sitting cross-legged on my bed with a smoothie in one hand and a protein bar in the other. KK was digging through my drawers looking for a clean hoodie to throw at me. Paige was trying to untangle my charging cord like it was a full-time job. Jana and Ayanna were at the desk building a Lego bonsai tree like it was life or death. Caroline and Inês? Hugging each other—until they saw me, and then it was me they were hugging. Hard.

I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed. I hadn’t said anything yet.

Then Azzi nudged my back gently. “Go on. They missed you.”

I blinked. Ice grinned. “Hey zombie.”

KK threw a hoodie at me. “Put that on. You look like you just broke out of a psych ward.”

Paige lifted her head. “Ok but if she did, that’s kinda iconic.”

And just like that, I was laughing. Not hard. Not loud. But real.

Paige’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my God. Did we just win?”

KK raised her fist. “YES. That’s one smile point for Team Dumbass.”

“Stop calling us that!” Paige yelled.

“We voted. It’s done,” KK said.

Azzi pulled me over to the bed and sat me down beside her. She handed me the smoothie Ice hadn’t touched and stared at me until I took a sip.

I raised my brows. “You watching me eat now?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “Yup.”

“I’m fine, Az—”

“Shush and drink.”

I sighed but took another sip. She held my gaze the whole time, like she was scanning me for secrets. I didn’t have the energy to hide anything anymore, so I just let her look.

Paige pulled KK up by the elbow like she was auditioning for Broadway. “Okay, so we’re doing a talent show.”

Azzi groaned. “Paige…”

“No, no—listen,” Paige said, spinning in a circle like a chaotic little planet. “KK’s doing spoken word, I’m doing a ventriloquist act with a sock, and y/n over here is doing—wait, what’s your talent again?”

I blinked. “Being alive?”

The room went silent. I let out a giggle. It was funny to me idk.

Then Paige clapped. “Honestly? That’s a showstopper. No notes.”

Caroline let go of my arm just long enough to squeeze my face with both hands. “We love you so much.”

Inês tackled me from the other side. “You’re never allowed to go ghost again.”

I mumbled into her shoulder, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Still not allowed.”

Azzi pulled me back into her side like she needed me closer. “You can sleep. You can cry. You can sit in silence. But you don’t disappear. Not from us. Not ever again.”

I nodded slowly. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t pull away. Jana tossed me a bag of Legos. “You’re on leaf duty.”

Ayanna handed me a piece with a wink. “It’s therapeutic. You’ll love it.”

And somehow, in the middle of my wreckage, I found myself surrounded by pieces that were trying—desperately—to build me back together. One sip. One laugh. One ugly little plastic bonsai tree at a time.

I wasn’t okay. That was the first piece I actually wanted to keep.

———————————————————————————————

The problem with recovery is that everyone treats you like you’re made of spun glass—pretty, delicate, and one good sneeze away from shattering.

I’d been out of the hospital for a week. Seven whole days. Enough to shower on my own. Enough to eat a full meal without Azzi breathing down my neck. Enough to walk across campus without someone holding my elbow like I might vanish mid-step. Or at least it should’ve been enough.

But everyone was still moving around me like I was some wounded bird they weren’t sure could fly again.

I was sitting on the floor in the locker room, lacing up my shoes before a light scrimmage when I finally snapped—gently, but loud enough.

“Guys. I’m fine. Please. Just… treat me normal.”

The room went still for half a beat. KK was mid-bite of a granola bar. Paige had one foot in a sneaker and the other on a bench like she was modeling. Ice was already halfway into her practice jersey. Azzi stood behind me, arms crossed, eyes locked onto my spine like she could see through it.

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked carefully.

“Positive.”

Inês looked like she wanted to hug me on the spot, but I held up a hand. “And no hugging. At least not every five minutes.”

That was it. That was the go-ahead KK needed.

She launched herself across the locker room with full linebacker energy, practically tackling me back onto the bench.

“I MISSED YOUUUUU—”

“KK!” Azzi’s voice shot out like a bullet. “Get off her!”

I wheezed, trying to suck in air under all the love and chaos. “Okay—okay, I take it back—”

“You said normal!” KK yelled, hugging me tighter. “This is so normal.”

“She’s not a jungle gym,” Azzi growled, stepping forward like she was ready to fight.

“Actually,” Paige chimed in, “this is exactly how KK treats people she loves. It’s terrifying. But very on brand.”

KK nuzzled into my neck dramatically. “Let me love you back to life.”

“I can’t breathe!”

Azzi yanked KK off me like she was detangling a toddler from a balloon. “Give her space, damn.”

KK threw up her hands. “Fine. But if she passes out again it’s not ‘cause of me this time.”

Azzi turned to me, kneeling a little to meet my eyes. Her voice dropped, calm but serious. “You sure you’re okay?”

I smiled, breathless but honest. “Yeah. I just… I want to feel like myself again. Not like a walking reminder.”

She scanned my face, searching. Then slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

Paige popped up behind her, holding two rolled-up socks like microphones. “So you’re saying you’re well enough to help judge our locker room talent show.”

I blinked. “This is still happening?”

“Absolutely,” KK said, already doing stretches like she had choreography planned.

Ice tossed me a mini whiteboard. “You’re head judge. Be brutal.”

Caroline wrapped an arm around Inês’s waist. “We’re doing a dramatic reading of Twilight.”

Inês gave me a solemn nod. “I’m Bella.”

“And I’m Edward,” Caroline said, voice dropping two octaves.

I cracked up.

Like full laugh. No hesitation. No guilt. Just joy.

Azzi looked at me sideways, her mouth twitching. “You’re sure you want normal?”

I leaned into her just enough to feel her warmth. “Yeah. I want this.”

And for the first time since everything broke, it didn’t feel like I was putting pieces back together. It felt like they were already fitting.

———————————————————————————————

I don’t really know when it started. I just… started sticking close to Coach.

Not in a weird, clingy way. Not on purpose. It wasn’t a cry for help or some dramatic emotional moment. It was quieter than that. Subtle. I’d walk into the gym and instead of joining the girls in the weight room, I’d drift into his office and sit in the spare chair. Not talking. Not doing anything. Just… there.

And he let me. That was the thing. He never once asked why.

He never asked what I needed. Never said, Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Never told me to go join the others or encouraged me to laugh more. He’d glance up from his laptop, see me walk in, nod once, and keep typing. Like it was normal. Like I belonged there.

Sometimes I’d watch film with him. Just sit off to the side while he muttered about shot selection and turnovers under his breath. Sometimes he’d slide me a notepad and tell me to track plays, and I’d do it without question.

One afternoon, I followed him to weights.

Didn’t even realize I was doing it until he looked behind him in the hallway and blinked.

“You know we’re not conditioning today, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I know.”

He held the door open anyway.

There were days I didn’t say a word. Days I just sat on the bleachers while he ran drills with the girls. He didn’t force me to participate. Didn’t try to make me run reps. He let me sit there, hoodie on, water bottle in hand, eyes dull but present.

Once, Ice tried to tease me about it.

“Yo, is Coach adopting you or something?”

Coach glanced over and without missing a beat said, “You jealous?”

The team erupted. I smiled into my hoodie.

Paige started calling me “Geno’s shadow.” KK started calling me “coach’s emotional support player.” Azzi just shook her head, but she never questioned it. She knew. Everyone did.

I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe because he never flinched. Never coddled. Never tried to fix what he didn’t understand. He didn’t ask me to heal faster. He didn’t give motivational speeches. He just let me exist near him like being around someone who always had a game plan made the world a little less chaotic.

One day, I dozed off in the corner of his office—hood over my head, knees to my chest in that ugly green chair. He was on the phone, probably with compliance or someone from admin. But when I stirred a little in my sleep, I heard him pause and say, “Hold on.”

A second later, he draped a blanket over me. Didn’t say anything. Just picked up the call again and kept talking like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing to me. It was everything.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[sixeyesonathiel]

01 | kill switch

pairing — target!satoru x assasin!reader

synopsis : a professional assassin accepts a job to eliminate an ordinary high school teacher—only to find her target is gojo satoru, a man who eats gas station sushi with religious devotion and nearly dies walking to work. as days pass, she finds herself less concerned with completing the job and more preoccupied with why someone would want this disastrous man dead. or: when your target's worst enemy is himself and your professional detachment keeps slipping every time he almost gets hit by a bus.

tags — no curses au, crack treated seriously, dark humor, fluff for all the wrong reasons, assassin & target dynamic, self-destructive disaster man, implied nerdjo, satoru is a great teacher, moral ambiguity, reluctant caretaking, food aggression (affectionate), chaotic neighbors, near-death hijinks, emotional constipation, eventual smut, happy ending. art by @Leimiruu.

a/n : reposting this officially as a series now because im too lazy to edit the original and tumblr mobile is shit <3

series masterlist. | next.

you’ve killed men for less.

and yet, something about this one already irritates you before you've even scoped him out. the client was anonymous, the job listed in the familiar red-font message board you frequent, tucked beneath a refreshingly high bounty. no attached reasons, no requests for theatrics, just the face of a pretty man with white hair and an offer large enough to retire your gear for a year—maybe even two.

your first thought when you read the numbers is that this man is either an international war criminal, an ex-boyfriend who slept with someone’s sister, or a cheating piece of shit whose dick broke a heart so bad it now wants revenge and closure via sniper rifle. all fine reasons to die. you accept it out of habit, maybe greed.

you regret it by day three.

day one.

you stake out his apartment the way you always do. quiet, efficient, professional.

the blonde wig itches against your neck, but you’ve worn worse disguises. the oversized sunglasses and loose blouse make you blend in with the other young professionals in this upscale neighborhood. you look like any other woman waiting for a rideshare, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—except your phone is transmitting thermal readings from his apartment and the binoculars disguised as a compact mirror in your hand are military-grade.

and then he stumbles into frame through your binoculars in a stained hoodie and mismatched socks, trying to unlock his front door with a banana. not a burner phone, not even keys. a banana.

your lips part slightly in disbelief.

it takes him five minutes to realize it, and another two to drop his bag and just sit on the hallway floor, staring at the wall like it just told him bad news. his shoulders droop forward, his expression blank. he eventually eats the banana, chewing mechanically, gaze fixed on nothing.

you lower your binoculars and blink.

“the fuck?” you whisper to yourself, the words escaping between barely parted lips.

day two.

you follow him to work. he’s a high school teacher, apparently.

your outfit today is casual—light summer dress, different wig (auburn this time), sensible shoes. you’ve prepared a story about being a substitute at the neighboring elementary school if anyone asks. no one does. you trail him discreetly, prepared for a twist—maybe a shady meeting, some dark past, some slip.

instead, he offers a student his umbrella when the sky cracks open unexpectedly, rain pouring down in sheets. you duck under a shop awning, watching him through the downpour.

“take it,” he says to the wide-eyed student, voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “i’m already soaked anyway.”

he walks in the rain with a box of graded papers under his arm, making a half-hearted attempt to shield them with his body. you note the detail, even as you wince watching him step into a deep puddle with sneakers and just sigh, like he expected it. water soaks his pants up to mid-calf. he doesn't even attempt to avoid the next puddle.

his students like him, and worse, he’s good at what he does. you observe his class from the courtyard, pretending to read. through the window, you watch him explain complex concepts with surprising clarity, his hands gesturing expressively, occasionally running through that shock of white hair when students ask good questions.

“he’s a teacher,” you mutter to yourself, perched on the rooftop across his school during lunch break, scanning through the lens. your fingers tap an agitated rhythm against the concrete ledge. “he’s a good teacher. the hell did you do, gojo satoru?”

day three.

you almost blow your cover today.

he’s at a convenience store, standing in front of the refrigerated section. you’re pretending to browse magazines, peeking over the top of some celebrity gossip rag. he stares at the drinks for seventeen minutes—you counted—before selecting what appears to be the most sugary, caffeinated option available.

then he walks to the counter, places his energy drink down, and adds three packages of aspirin.

your stomach drops.

the cashier doesn't even look up, just scans everything with bored efficiency.

you abandon your post, slipping out the door and around the corner, heart hammering uncomfortably against your ribs. you’ve seen enough suicides to recognize the signs. but when he emerges five minutes later, he's downing the energy drink and the aspirin is nowhere to be seen.

it’s only when you follow him to his next stop—a pharmacy—that you realize he's delivering medication to an elderly neighbor. she greets him with a trembling smile, patting his cheek with paper-thin hands. he stays for twenty minutes, fixing a loose cabinet door before leaving.

you lean against the building across the street, exhaling slowly through your nose, suddenly aware of how tightly you've been gripping your fake shopping bag.

“what the hell am i missing?” you whisper to yourself.

day four.

by day four, he has become your most infuriating subject to date.

he lives like a man who lost a bet with life and is now doing his best to make death easier.

your perch today is a cafe across from his apartment. you've rotated through three different outfits already, your current disguise featuring dark hair cropped short, glasses, and a conservative button-up. you look like an accountant on lunch break, nibbling at a sandwich that tastes like cardboard in your mouth as you watch his apartment through the window.

through your high-powered lens, you witness him eat an entire strawberry shortcake for dinner and wash it down with a can of expired soda—you can see the bloated sides of the can from here, for god's sake. your fork pauses halfway to your mouth, appetite suddenly gone.

“that can’t be your dinner,” you murmur, annoyed, brow furrowing. “where's the protein? vegetables? anything?”

later, you trail him to the grocery store, hoping—praying—he’ll buy something resembling actual nutrition. instead, he fills his basket with instant ramen, more energy drinks, and another cake. you find yourself in the produce section, hand tightening around an innocent apple as you watch him bypass every single vegetable without a glance.

on his walk home, he crosses the street disassociating, eyes unfocused, headphones in, not even looking both ways. your heart leaps into your throat as a car swerves toward him, horn blaring. he barely dodges, the vehicle missing him by inches.

you almost scream when the car swerves and he barely dodges. instead of panic, he just offers the driver a lazy two–fingered salute and keeps walking, shoulders relaxed as if he hadn't nearly become roadkill.

“what the fuck is wrong with you,” you hiss into your sleeve, nails digging half–moons into your palms. “do you have a death wish or are you just naturally stupid?”

your fingers are trembling slightly when you lower your hand. professionals don’t get emotional about targets. professionals don’t care if their target eats cake for dinner. professionals don’t feel this strange, twisting sensation in their gut when they watch someone court death so casually.

you are a professional. you remind yourself of this fact three times before continuing your surveillance.

day five.

by day five, you realize you are stalking a man trying to die before you can kill him.

he has no sense of self-preservation. none.

you’re positioned in the building opposite his apartment again, this time with a camera set up to look like you're a photographer working on a project. your hair is tucked under a cap, face partially obscured by the equipment.

through your lens, you watch him microwave aluminum foil and then eat the food anyway when it doesn't immediately burst into flames. sparks fly inside the microwave; he doesn't even flinch, just waits for it to finish with dead eyes.

“are you kidding me right now?” you whisper, fingers tightening on your camera. “that could have electrocuted you or started a fire!”

he leaves his door unlocked when he goes for a run. he clicks on pop-up ads on his laptop without hesitation. he buys sushi from a gas station—the one with the flickering lights and questionable health rating that you'd never even walk into—and winces mid-bite but finishes it anyway.

you almost cry when you see him with it again the next day.

“that’s food poisoning waiting to happen,” you mutter with a grimace, stomach churning in sympathetic nausea as you watch him poke at the discolored fish. “please, please don't eat that.”

he eats it.

you’ve planned this assassination like a professional—timed his routes, noted his blind spots, patterned his movements—and he’s just... walking into open traffic without looking. staying up until 3 AM watching what appears to be Digimon marathon reruns, blue light washing over his exhausted face. drinking straight from a milk carton that expired last week.

you start tailing him less like a killer and more like a babysitter. every time he trips over nothing, you flinch, body instinctively moving forward before you catch yourself. every time he shrugs off something dangerous, you scribble angrily in your notes, pressing so hard the pen nearly tears through the paper.

“at this rate,” you mutter through gritted teeth, crouched behind a newspaper stand, watching him nearly walk into a construction pit while texting, “i won’t get paid because he’s going to accidentally electrocute himself trying to toast frozen pizza.”

your hand tightens around your pen until your knuckles turn white.

day six.

you break protocol on day six.

it’s raining again, a miserable drizzle that seeps into bones. you’re in a dark peacoat, hair hidden under a fashionable hat, makeup subtle but effective in changing the structure of your face. anyone looking would see just another commuter hurrying through the weather.

he’s at the park, sitting on a bench, getting soaked. just... sitting there. not reading, not on his phone. sitting and staring at nothing, letting the rain plaster his white hair to his forehead, droplets running down his face like tears—or hiding them.

thirty minutes pass. he doesn't move.

forty–five minutes.

an hour.

your fingers are numb around your umbrella handle. you shouldn’t care. you should be calculating the perfect moment to complete your job, not wondering if he’s going to catch pneumonia.

when his shoulders start to shake—from cold or something else, you can’t tell—something in you snaps. you approach from behind, making your footsteps deliberately loud on the wet pavement.

you hold your umbrella over his head, not saying a word.

he looks up at you, startled, blue eyes wide and rimmed with red. for a split second, his expression is so vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

“you’re getting soaked,” you say, voice carefully neutral, face deliberately unremarkable. forgettable. “take it.”

you place the umbrella in his unresisting hand and walk away before he can respond, rain immediately soaking through your coat. you don't look back, even when you feel his eyes following you.

that night, in your temporary apartment, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from your real hair after a hot shower that couldn't seem to warm you.

“what the hell are you doing?” you ask yourself angrily, voice echoing against the tile. “this isn’t the job. this isn’t who you are.”

but even as you say it, you’re already planning tomorrow's surveillance route, already wondering if he'll eat a proper breakfast.

day seven.

day seven is a monday. it starts, as many do, with him almost getting hit by a bus.

you’re across the street, dark sunglasses shielding your eyes despite the overcast sky, a fitted blazer and pencil skirt making you look like any other office worker heading to their cubicle. your hair is your natural color today, styled differently than you’d normally wear it—a calculated risk to blend in better with the morning crowd.

he doesn’t even flinch as the bus screeches to a halt inches from him. just raises a hand in apology, earbuds in, music blasting, hoodie hoodied. he smells like gas station teriyaki sticks and failure, you can tell from the crumpled wrapper sticking out of his pocket. your nose wrinkles involuntarily.

you’re watching from the shadows again, jaw clenched, heart tight for reasons you refuse to name. one hand grips the strap of your messenger bag so tightly the leather creaks. it’s the bento in your bag that does it. you made it without thinking last night, slapping it together like some fevered instinct. rice, miso, actual vegetables. protein. things humans need to survive.

he's digging into his hoodie pocket for change when you stomp across the street, dodging morning traffic with the precision you usually reserve for more lethal tasks.

“what the—” he starts, blue eyes widening behind those ridiculous glasses he sometimes wears.

you shove the warm box into his chest, the heat of it burning through your gloves. your expression is murderous, brows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line.

“eat it.” you snap, each syllable sharp and distinct.

he stares at you. your face is neutral except for the slight flush of exertion climbing your neck. he doesn’t recognize you. of course he doesn't. you’re a professional. the wind rustles his hair, the corner of his lips twitch like he’s about to laugh, revealing a dimple you hadn't noticed before.

you turn on your heel and storm away, shoulders stiff, steps measured despite the urge to run.

he watches you go. the box in his hands is still warm.

he blinks once. twice. looks down at it. looks back at your retreating form.

“huh,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, voice rough from too many sleepless nights. “figures. i fall in love at first sight with a pretty girl the same week i hire someone to kill me.”

he looks down at the warm bento like it personally insulted him.

“timing really is a bitch.”

[ilovekkarnolds]

“Why You Always Got an Attitude?”

UConn!Paige Bueckers x Teammate!Reader

Description: You and Paige Bueckers argue like it’s a sport—petty, loud, and way too often. But after one late-night practice turns into something more, ignoring her stops being so easy.

Divider: @cursed-carmine

That little smug grin she always had on. That fake innocent voice she used when she was really being shady. The way she acted like she wasn’t the biggest name on campus but still got every door opened for her. Every pass from professors. Every retweet. Every little TikTok with her corny voiceovers getting millions of likes while you out here grinding for half the recognition.

And the worst part? She knew you ain’t like her… and she thought it was funny.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she smirked at you as she passed you in the locker room, her hair still wet from practice, UConn hoodie halfway off her shoulder like she just accidentally looked like a Pinterest board.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Die.”

“Awww. You missed me,” she said with that fake lil pout, reaching out to flick the back of your ear as she walked off.

You sucked your teeth and turned to your homegirl Jana. “Bro… why she always in my face?”

Jana just laughed. “Lowkey you love it.”

“Please.”

But deep down? Yeah… okay. Maybe she was kinda cute. On a good day. When she wasn’t running her mouth.

⸻

The Problem Started With That Damn Study Group

You wasn’t even supposed to be in there. But your academic advisor had pulled you aside, talking about “keeping eligibility” and “grade check” and “maybe partner with someone academically strong.”

Next thing you know? Paige sitting right across from you at a library table. Hoodie up, glasses on (that she did NOT need—like girl, you play basketball, you don’t read for real), and legs stretched all the way out like she paid rent for both sides of the table.

“Hey, partner,” she grinned.

You groaned. “Please don’t start.”

The first hour was cool. Quiet. Focused. You did your notes. Paige did hers. You halfway started thinking maybe she’d stay out your way.

Then she started doing that thing where she tapped her pen against the table every five seconds. Humming under her breath. Typing loud as hell. Bumping your leg with hers on purpose.

By the time she reached over and stole your highlighter, you slammed your notebook shut.

“I will literally swing on you.”

Paige leaned back in her chair, smiling like she loved the chaos. “I’m just tryna get close. Why you so mean?”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re cute when you mad.”

Silence.

You blinked.

She blinked.

Jana, who had been sitting behind y’all fake-studying, damn near choked on her water. “Oh—OH?!”

You grabbed your stuff and walked out before you did something stupid.

⸻

It Got Worse at the Party

Somebody’s birthday. One of the football boys. The whole women’s basketball team was there, scattered in different corners, taking shots, dancing, arguing over dumb stuff. You showed up cute, in your little skims dress with your hair done nice and long. and your lip gloss poppin’. You wasn’t here for Paige, but when you walked in and saw her standing by the speakers in a black fit with a slick back bun and a silver robe chain on… yeah. You noticed.

And she noticed you noticing.

It started off petty. Every time you walked past her, she stared too long. Every time she laughed at somebody’s joke, she looked over to check if you were looking. She stood behind you during a group photo and put her hand on your waist like it was normal.

You was fake ignoring her the whole night… until you caught her talking to some girl from the volleyball team.

That’s when the switch flipped.

You grabbed your drink, walked right past them, and just happened to laugh extra loud at something Jana said… tossing your hair like you was in a music video.

Paige peeped it.

Later that night, when you were sitting on the porch trying to cool off, she came outside.

“You really got an attitude tonight, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Do I know you?”

She stepped closer. Smelling like Hennessy and Dior. “You act like you don’t, but you do.”

Silence.

Neither of y’all moved.

Then she hit you with the, “Say you don’t like me to my face.”

You sucked your teeth. “I don’t like you.”

She licked her lips, leaned down right next to your ear. “Liar.”

Then she walked back inside, leaving you sitting there looking dumb.

⸻

The Night It Finally Happened

It had been building for weeks. More flirting. More arguing. More tension.

After practice, you stayed late working on free throws. Paige stayed late too. Said she needed to shoot threes, but really? She barely took five shots. She just kept watching you from the corner.

“Your form off,” she said after your third missed free throw.

“Mind your business.”

She grabbed the ball before you could. “Lemme show you.”

You snatched it back. “I’m good.”

“Scared to let me touch you?”

That was it.

You shoved her. Not too hard but enough to say “stop playing with me.”

Next thing you knew, she shoved you back. Then y’all were chest to chest. Then she kissed you.

No warning. No slow build. Just hands on your face, her lips on yours, and your knees damn near giving out on the baseline.

You kissed her back harder than you should’ve.

⸻

The Aftermath

It didn’t make sense.

Y’all was still arguing every day. Still throwing shade on Instagram stories. Still fake ignoring each other in the hallway just to end up texting at midnight like:

Paige: “You still hate me?”

You: “Yeah.”

Paige: “Pull up.”

Now you here, laying in her bed, scrolling through TikTok while she sleeps next to you with her arm slung over your waist like she ain’t just been the most annoying human alive for the past month.

Jana texted you:

“So y’all dating or nah?”

You typed back:

“idk. shut up

And when Paige shifted in her sleep, nuzzling into your neck with a sleepy little, “Stop moving… come here,” you smiled to yourself.

Hating her was easier.

But this?

This was kinda fun too.

END.

You guys asked for paigeee here ya gooooo, hope u guys liked it!!

[meiieiri]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒

Now isn’t this just perfect?

Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.

A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.

Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.

“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”

Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?

“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”

It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.

He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.

He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.

Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.

“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”

You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.

“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”

“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”

That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”

“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.

The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.

You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.

You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.

He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”

You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”

Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”

“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.

Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.

You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.

Clang-dong!

“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.

Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”

“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”

“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.

Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.

Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.

“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”

He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.

“Y/N.”

Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”

You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”