#sigh anyway loll

[kuiinncedes]

i rly shouldn’t keep doing the whole staying up to have alone time and fuck around but 2am here we are lmao

[cashweasel]

Got tagged by @lilyoffandoms and @sosolenoo to share a wip 💓

I believe the term wip applies to something a person intends to finish so 😂 idk KDJSKSJSK but here’s a little self indulgent sketch of the best homies

Tagging @night-triumphantt @rjschoicesstuff @nerdferatum @erixadraws @oh-so-youre-a-nerd and basically everyone lol

[artsiemelodyy]

Hai

Finished these a few weeks ago!! But I wanted to draw my ocs if they were eepy, so here they are!! Eepy!!

Might post another artdump after this lol, havent posted in a while

[keeps-ache]

why's all the colorful stuff always in the kids' options oTL

[katsukikitten]

cum here

Warnings: spit, dub con

A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!

A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.

A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.

Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.

You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.

Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.

Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.

Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.

Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.

He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..

Cum here.

“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.

Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?

And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.

Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.

You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?

Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.

Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.

Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.

At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.

Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.

Toxic, crystalline bromine.

"Dynamight?”

“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.

Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.

“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”

Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.

“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.

He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.

“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.

Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.

You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.

Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.

“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”

It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.

Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.

“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.

“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.

Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.

Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.

He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.

You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.

If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.

Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.

Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.

Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.

Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.

Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.

The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.

And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.

“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.

Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.

Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.

“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.

Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.

Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.

Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.

“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.

“Now I gotta return the favor.”

[bunnyrafe]

morning sex w rafey and it’s all sleepy and slow and sloppy and just yeahh so yum😋

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. f!reader, finger sucking, short ‘n naughty.

rafe is so soft but so filthy all at once during those few hours you two get to spend together… before he's forced to get ready for work and leave abandon you.

you're so warm and sleepy as you cling to him— it’s the only way to ground yourself, and he has no choice but to wrap you up in his strong arms and press your bare chest to his own, groaning against the fullness of your cheek when your plush breasts rub up on him and his cock runs along your silky cunt, inviting him in despite how sensitive you are in the mornings. at that his name falls off of your lips in a pleading whisper, letting him know that you need it.

"gotta start my baby's day right, hm?" his voice is a deep drawl, thick with the heavy slumber you both were still in only moments ago.

yeah. that's all you can bring yourself to sigh out.

you're sucking a breath in between your teeth in the next moment, once the tip of his cock nudges up on your drooling entrance. that's the only warning you get before he slips right in, and before you know it you're on your back with your knees hooked over his arms so he can reach all those spots that have you babbling dumbly and telling him you love him.

he leans over you, stuffing a thumb in your mouth to lazily loll your wet tongue over as he brings you to your first orgasm of the day. with slow thrusts that have your legs trembling against him. your poor, little cunt squeezes around him like you're trying to get every single drop out of him already you are.

"my pretty baby," he croons, "you're gonna cum so good f'me, huh?"

it's cruel for him to ask you anything at a time like this, but you nod anyway. while he presses his lips to your forehead, determined to get you to make a mess on him before the sun's fully up.

[charliemwrites]

Part 1

Finally finished this! I think I put way too much pressure on myself to get this just right and it gave me some major writer's block. Anyway, please enjoy!

Content: Wet dreams, Somnophilia (sort of), Identity Porn, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (through dreams), Uncomfortable Situation, Pushy/Predatory behavior (brief)

“Bad dreams again?”

Drowsy and sluggish, you blink at your aunt. She’s as sleek and coiffed as always, pressed business attire and shiny hair. Shoulders back, spine straight. A woman people respect and heed without question.

Your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, that lovingly patronizing tone. See how professional she looks, dear? Isn’t that nice?

It’s not Aunt Katie’s fault though. She does look professional, and it is nice. It suits her.

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “They’re not bad, really. Just… intense.”

She hums, elegant fingers tracing the edge of your borrowed desk. “They can’t be very good if they’re keeping you up.”

You’re tired enough that you almost correct her a second time. The problem is that the dreams are too good. You wake up panting, sweating, halfway to – well. You’re not about to discuss the finer points of a kinky wet dream with your CIA aunt. Besides, it’s silly to get so defensive of something that affects you seemingly negatively.

“Maybe,” you reply, rubbing at your heavy eyes. It feels like you’re trying to look through clear jelly.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Aunt Kate suggests.

You frown, a pang of guilt striking your empty tummy. “No… no, I’m okay. It’s not even lunch yet.”

She smiles at you. The same fond smile she’s always graced you with, on holidays and birthdays, whenever she could escape the secretive walls and red tape to be with family.

“You’re already ahead on paperwork. You’re not a bad employee for getting a little sun.”

Your eyes flick longingly to the door.

Apparently, the government doesn’t believe in things like windows or sunlight. Your little desk is at the very end of a long, half-empty hallway in the middle of a concrete cube and drowning in awful blue fluorescence. You can’t even bring yourself to drag a plant to this crappy little island because you’d feel too guilty putting it through this.

“Okay… maybe just for a few minutes,” you allow.

Her smile widens as she nods for you to follow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. I think the dogs will be free for some enrichment.”

Well, that certainly gets you out of your squeaky office chair.

Honey sunlight drizzles over your neck and shoulders, dripping syrupy-slow down your spine. It diffuses through your chest, chasing away the artificial chill of the office. The sleepy haze retreats like frost melting from glass.

You sigh into the fresh air, ignoring the tang of gunpowder lingering on the breeze, and turn your face to the sun. Summer is coming to an end, the heat broken into mellower warmth. There won’t be many days like this left before autumn bites down and shakes the leaves from the trees. A shame you’ll likely waste most of them in your administrative prison. 

The dogs stretch out in the grass around you, tongues lolling and eyes bright, keeping you company. A furry bouquet of black and tan in the manicured grass, their ears and tails like stalks to strange plants.

You bury your fingers in Zeus’s coat and get a fuzzy white tummy for your efforts. He’s a young and handsome thing, the newest addition to the K-9 unit, still a bit fluffy around the ears. You try not to think of how that will fade and harden, just like the older dogs in the unit, just like his human counterparts. Just scratch at that itchy spot by his ribs and smile when his hindleg kicks.

Friga stands and stretches on your right side, leaning her shoulder into yours. Then picks her way around the others to sniff at Zeus. Offended by her interruption, he flails onto his stomach and nips at her, one big forepaw thumping the ground.

She goads him into playtime, and you watch with the older pack members as they begin to romp. They tumble and grumble around you, heedless of bumping into any of the others. You laugh, bright and loud—

The back of your neck tingles.

You glance around, not even sure why. Until you see a figure across the field. He’s standing by the track where about two dozen men are jogging. Recruits, you guess. But he’s not observing them or barking orders. No, he’s clearly turned to face you. It’s too far to make out any features, apart from what seems to be an unusual haircut.

You quickly glance away, surreptitiously trying to determine if the man’s attention was on something else that happened to be in your direction. But there’s little else but you and the dogs in this field, the kennels noticeably off to the left.

Then again, someone sitting in the grass with half the K-9 unit is a bit unusual. He’s probably trying to decide if it’s something that needs investigation. You hope it’s not.

Still, you can’t shake the discomfiting sense that he’s looking at you.

You ignore him until it’s time for the dogs to go back - but that prickly feeling of being watched never subsides.

That night, in the guest room of your aunts’ house, the dreams take on new life.

It starts as it always does. A dark room. A lush bed. Silky sheets. Moonlight seeping through blinds like smoke. And him.

He’s behind you. A broad body so solid you’d think he was a wall if not for the heat. It’s so intense this time, like a wildfire raging out of control, crawling from his skin beneath yours. You sense more than feel the big hand around your jaw. Rough fingers clutch at the plush of your thigh. Hot breath fans across the back of your neck, rippling shivers down your spine.

There’s a voice in your ear. No words you can discern, just a thunder-deep rumble with smoky edges. Stubble scrapes the delicate skin of your neck and catches in your hair.

A thick, heavy cock is buried deep inside you, kissing the entrance to your womb. Your pussy twinges a sweet-sharp ache with each deliberate grind of his hips. He’s spreading you open to get as deep as he can, throbbing balls pressed up tight to your sopping entrance.

Your own hands are all but useless. One twists desperately in the sheets, the other clutches at the meaty swell of his ass. Pleasure upends anything like sense or thought, even hazy dream logic. There is just this man fucking you like he owns you, two of his fingers in your drooling mouth, petting your tongue. A ring clicks against your teeth.

“Found you,” he whispers.

You jolt, eyes flying open. The powder blue ceiling of your borrowed room greets you. You’ve kicked the cotton sheets into a tangled mess around your ankles, tiny shirt ridden up your chest. Your panties are soaked.

The taste of metal lingers behind your incisors.

It’s a busy day. For once, you’re free from the confines of your sad little nook. Aunt Kate must have taken pity on your sorry state the day before and has procured busy work. Files that need hand delivery, or physical reports for you to gather. You don’t care if it’s just something to get you out of the office, you relish the stolen moments outside between buildings.

If there’s a downside, it’s the glances you attract. Everything about you projects civilian, despite the access card prominently pinned to the lapel of your blazer. It draws curious once-overs at best and suspicious scans at worst – or speculative appreciation at the very worst. Every time a fresh-faced recruit or overly decorated middle-aged man lingers as you pass, you hear your mother’s voice again.

Don’t you know what those military men are like? Practically animals. I couldn’t possibly let you be exposed to them.

It’s long ingrained to keep your eyes forward, head level, and try to keep your hips from swaying as much as possible. You’re grateful for whatever bit of paperwork you can clutch to your chest, just to hide your figure and have something to do with your hands.

You’re picking up some personnel files from the infirmary, smile brightly at the receptionist as she passes them over. Mallory is only a couple years older than you, and she’s been working here a year already.

“Lunch in the mess today?” she asks, spinning a pen between her fingers.

“As if you even need to ask,” you tease. “Noon?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave, counting the number of files to be sure you have them all. Your eyes skim over one of the names, a white label on the folder fin. “MacTavish, J.” in blocky typewriter font. You shuffle them back into a neat stack and pivot for Aunt Kate’s office.

You’re not in the moonlit bedroom this time. A half-moon grins down from a starry sky, wearing smoky nebulas for lipstick. Beneath you lays cool grass and soft earth, rich and loamy in your heaving lungs. Petals blooming in the dark kiss your overheated skin, little relief for the burn in your veins.

The change in scenery is almost as dizzying as the man between your thighs. Almost.

But it’s not the dew-saturated breeze that muddles your bewildered thoughts. It’s the hot, wet, clever tongue lavishing your drenched pussy. He licks in broad stripes from your aching hole to your throbbing clit, only ever pausing to indulge a slow suck to the bundle of nerves, before resuming that hypnotic circuit.

One thigh is hooked over a wide shoulder, your heel dug into the flexing muscles of a broad back. The other is spread by a big, calloused hand, giving him unfettered access to the softest, neediest parts of you.

You mewl desperately, hand darting down to his bobbing head. Your nails scrape shorn stubble, eliciting a gravelly groan that sends electricity up your tingling spine. It’s nothing compared to the growl you earn when your fingers twist into the longer, soft strands at the top.

For the first time, you’re able to voice more than helpless moans and wanton whimpers.

“Please,” you sob softly, “please.”

You feel him smirking, a wicked curl against your fluttering cunt. Then he focuses the tip of that awful, dexterous tongue on your clit, flicking in purposeful little strokes.

M-A-

“S-so close,” you whine, hips twitching. He pins you flat, pace never faltering.

V-I-

You shudder as your pussy clenches and spasms, finally, finally—

You wake with a sharp sound, head spinning. Your orgasm washes away like the tide, leaving disappointment and exhaustion behind. You nearly scream into your pillow as you press your thighs together. Still half asleep, it even feels like you have beard-burn.

You’re in line at the mess with Mallory, listening to her complain about some rude colonel that just had to share his opinion about her acrylics. She does the best impressions, and you’re grinning and laughing as the two of you shuffle through the options. You’re reaching for a scoop of rice when the conversation behind you catches your attention.

“—came in a couple days ago.”

“The whole squad?”

“With Braveheart himself.”

A snort. “You better not let MacTavish hear you say that. He’ll—”

“Helloooo?” You blink at Mallory, who arches her brows and waves a bagel at you. “Want one?”

“Oh, uh… sure, why not,” you answer.

“Atta girl!” she cheers, tossing it in the toaster. “Carbs for days.”

You giggle but can’t help glancing behind you. The two men have already moved on though. Not that it was any of your business – or anything interesting. You’re not sure why that caught your attention. Men are just loud, you suppose, snatching a couple to-go packets of cream cheese.

As you’re leaving the mess, you happen to glance over your shoulder. A pair of sharp blue eyes catch yours from one of the tables. A group of men, just about to sit. Mallory tugs your shirt to keep you from clipping the doorjamb and you hurry after her.

There’s heat at your back. Not from a body this time, but a fire burning low and hot in a hearth. No, the body is in front of you this time, filling up your watery field of vision. Peachy skin and coarse dark hair, an old scar slashing across a sharp hip, miles of lean muscle.

Not that you have much opportunity to ogle with tears blurring your sight. The fat cock bullying the back of your throat makes it hard to do anything but choke. You dig your nails into a thick thigh and pull back, writhing your tongue along a puffy vein as you go. The leaking head rests on your drenched tongue as you catch your breath. Smoke and leather and musk saturate your lungs, cloud your empty head.

He smells so good; you don’t even like cigars.

A rough thumb caresses your cheek, a silent request for you to continue. You can practically feel the lust-drunk moans vibrating in his chest – so deep, they’re barely audible over the crackling fire.

You hiccup as deep a breath as you can manage and swallow him down again. He’s silky on your tongue, you sigh softly through your nose as the blunt head flirts with your gag reflex. You slacken your jaw despite the ache already crawling into the joint. Even then, your teeth scrape the base a bit, but that only makes him twitch against your soft palate.

“Look here, love.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to focus your gaze, scrolling your eyes up his body. Most of the details are lost either in the haze of desire or the vagary of dreams, but the blue eyes that greet you are sharper than real life.

You jolt back to consciousness with a dry cough, the scent of him still haunting your senses. You stumble to the restroom for water. Don’t even realize that you’re glancing in the mirror over your shoulder, expecting someone to be there, until you realize you’re alone.

Oddly bereft, you trudge back to bed and try to focus on the clean soap smell of your aunts’ detergent.

In moments like this, it’s hard not to blame yourself.

Not because you’ve done anything wrong, or even feel like you have. It’s because the situation is so frustratingly out of your control that it’s almost easier to tell yourself that one decision or another would have avoided this outcome. A sharper response, a frown instead of a smile, a different walking route.

(There’s also your mother’s voice, always. Saying to be smart, to pay attention, to not “put yourself” in a vulnerable position. You silence that voice viciously this time.)

Still, the fact of the matter is, there’s no personal choice you could have made to keep Corporal Callahan from cornering you in this supply closet. You just wanted a box of tissues.

“Look, I know you’re Agent Laswell’s niece, but I don’t see why we can’t go out because of it,” he reasons. As if that’s the reason you’ve been trying to gently dissuade his attempts.

“It’s not that—” you begin, shifting. He’s standing too close, but you refuse to back yourself any deeper into this tiny space. The doorway is right there, he’s just taking up all of it.

“Then just say yes,” he chuckles. His tone is all smooth and easy, meant to be charming maybe? “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking.”

Except you’re not asking, you think with helpless frustration. The sharp words get trapped behind your teeth, cutting up the roof of your mouth. Your heart is beating so hard and loud you can barely hear his “romantic” overtures.

“I’m not really…” You’re not even sure what to say this time; you’ve already told him you’re not looking to date. He’d said some vaguely predatory line about changing your mind.

In the absence of a finished statement, Callahan takes the opportunity to continue cajoling.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, “I’m not letting you out of there until you say yes.”

You pry your jaw open, about to agree to it just for the sake of getting free. Deal with the fallout later.

There’s a rush of air and suddenly the doorway is empty. You briefly see Callahan against the opposite wall, face blank in unpleasant surprise. Then a big body blocks your view of him. Broad, bunched shoulders and thick thighs. A shock of brunet hair shaved close at the sides and long at the top. Your entire body locks up.

“You come near her again, they won’ stop findin’ pieces of ya, aye?” A growl, low and rough, Scottish accent thick. You shiver.

Callahan stutters something, a few garbled syllables through a strained and winded voice. You think you might hear “captain” in there somewhere. The bigger man shifts, you hear a muffled thump – Callahan hitting the wall again, you think. Then, with seemingly no effort, your savior tosses Callahan to the side like trash. He stumbles, catches himself.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid.”

Callahan flicks one last frightened glance your way then hurries off, proverbial tail tucked between his scrawny legs. You don’t even watch him go, eyes glued to the stranger’s muscular back. He rolls his wide shoulders, cracks his neck, and finally turns.

Familiar blue eyes pin you in place as he steps closer. The scent of cigar smoke and leather teases your nose.

A voice you’ve known for months rumbles in his chest. “Found you.”

Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ ONE MORE CHANCE? (IT WON'T BE THE LAST) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ you hate your ex, but nobody else can fuck you half as well — so maybe you'll give him one more chance.

contents: fem!reader. implied unprotected sex, dirty talk (?), lil' bit of praise, lil' bit of degradation, oral (fem. receiving), couch sex, gojo covers your mouth at one point, cursing, lil' bit of teasing/mocking (?). sorta toxic but whatevs we love a toxic king! 2000+ words.

author's note: got lazy in the middle of writing this loll

"he's just so fucking annoying," you groan, swirling the drink in your hand. the ice clinks against the side of the glass as you lift the cup to your lips, sipping the whiskey and wincing at the way it burns the back of your throat. you lean back in the plush couch in your friend's living room and sigh. "i don't know why i ever dated him."

your friend nods in agreement, eyes fixed on her phone for another second before she turns it towards you. "look what he posted on his instagram."

on your friend's screen is an instagram story, and the tag shows that it's from your ex-boyfriend — satoru gojo. tired of his insensitivity and annoying nature, you had dumped him two weeks ago, and god, you'd never had such a petty ex in your life.

after you broke up with him, he blocked you from all his socials and got all his friends to do the same. so, since he practically knew everyone, you lost a hundred followers.

and apparently, he's out fucking some other girl right now.

the story on your friend's phone is a picture of a smirking satoru with his arm wrapped around some girl with a red plastic cup in her hand. they're bathed in overhead red lights, and you can barely make out a familiar dark-haired boy in the back — another one of satoru's fuckboy friends.

"he's such a manwhore," your friend says with an eyeroll. "d'you want to stay the night?"

you shake your head, setting down the now-empty glass on a coaster. "it's alright, i wouldn't want to intrude," you say with a rueful smile.

your friend eyes you suspiciously for another second before leaning back in her own seat and closing her eyes. "stay safe, it's pretty late."

you nod and toss your things into your bag before stepping out the door, closing it gently behind you. as you get in your car and drive back to your house, thoughts of satoru fill your head. 

you don't recognize the girl under satoru's arm, but she's pretty — too pretty for him. sure, satoru was conventionally attractive, with his ocean-blue eyes and flawless physique, but still. 

satoru was a shitty boyfriend, and now he's an even shittier ex. when you two dated, his spoiled brattiness and constant sorry, i forgot's drove you insane. he couldn't even remember your birthday. it was a miracle that you tolerated him for that long — until your one-year anniversary, which obviously slipped his mind.

"you're so insensitive," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. satoru suppresses a sigh, blue eyes looking everywhere but at you. "and— satoru, are you even listening to me?"

you're quiet for three seconds before he responds, and naturally, it was with a "huh? yeah, what is it?"

every time. every single time.

"it's over," you mutter, shaking your head frustratedly. "we're over, satoru."

"fine," he responds after a moment. "i never really liked you anyways."

"fuck you."

if you didn't give a fuck about that white-haired bastard anymore, why did the memory of your breakup still sting?

you try to tell yourself that it doesn't matter. maybe it was for the best — he was out with some pretty girl, so why couldn't you go out and sleep with some hot guy? 

you make up your mind right as you step into your house, and thirty minutes later, you're in a tight dress and four-inch heels. and it's almost funny how easy it is to doll up when you don't have a horny boyfriend trying to fuck you every two seconds.

right before you step out the door, you eye yourself in the mirror and can't help but admire the way your dress hugs your waist, accentuating your curves. that smug manwhore didn't know what he was missing out on — so why not show him?

you pull out your phone and take a picture of yourself, snapping a couple before deciding on one and posting it on your story. you knew he'd see it — you intentionally let his burner stay unblocked, and coincidentally, he didn't block you either. 

just as you push open your door, you realize that your phone's on death's door — just over five percent remaining. so you plug it into your charger, kicking your feet impatiently as you wait for it to charge to a reasonable amount.

some part of you wants to chicken out, to stay home and spend the night watching a classic romcom. but the other part of you, the part that can't ignore the fact that you haven't had sex in two weeks, urges you to go out and get laid.

so twenty minutes later, when your phone finally hits forty percent, you practically throw open the door and rush out and find yourself face-to-face with the guy who's somewhere between belly conklin and andy bernard on your most-disliked list. satoru gojo.

"what the fuck are you doing here?" you snap, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cold night air touches your bare skin. satoru eyes you up and down, and suddenly, you're very aware of just how exposed you are. "satoru, answer the damn question."

"where are you going?" he asks, eyes narrowing when they settle on your dress's deep neckline. 

"none of your business," you reply shortly, biting the inside of your cheek. unfortunately, satoru looks good. just like in his instagram story, he has one button undone in his collar, and his hair is rumpled and perfect all at the same time. "answer the fuckin' question."

"saw your story," satoru replies, slipping his hands into his pocket. "you going out on a date or something?"

the question catches you off guard, and your irritated expression drops for a moment. strangely enough, satoru doesn't have his usual smug expression on his face — he looks conflicted. he never looks conflicted.

"doesn't matter," you respond, walking around him and relishing the way your heels clack on the concrete ground. without turning around, you ask, "so, what about my story made you come over?"

you're not sure why you're baiting him. maybe it's the slight chance that he would beg to get you back, maybe it's the tightness in your chest and pussy, or maybe you just want the satisfaction of seeing satoru squirm.

whatever it is, it lets satoru take you by the wrist and drag you back inside. you suppose that if you can get dick at home, then there's no point in going all the way to the club. and it's not like you're gonna get back together over one night — this would be purely physical. he wanted you, and you wouldn't mind him.

"fuck, right there, sweetheart," satoru groans, pushing your legs impossibly farther apart as his tongue laps at your pussy. the two of you barely made it to the couch in your living room before satoru pushed you down, a mischievous smile on his lips. one thing turned to another, and soon enough he was on his knees in front of you and eatung you out like a starving man.

"you're such a loser," you mutter, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue makes you see stars. he really was — who shows up to their ex's place after getting dumped? a laugh bubbles out of satoru's lips while his mouth is still on your pussy and it makes you shiver. satoru looks up at you, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"s' that so?" satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your inner thigh with a smirk. "then why'd you let me in, huh?"

"why would i go out when i can just get fucked at home?" you say dryly, a smile growing on your lips. "since you made the effort of coming all the way here."

"my pleasure," satoru scoffs sarcastically, getting up and joining you on the couch as he tugs you into his lap. "so i'm the pathetic loser here, yeah?"

you nod, letting satoru unzip the back of your dress with one hand. he laughs and shakes his head. "you're the one who let me in, baby."

"yeah, well, you showed up."

"you coulda slammed the door in my face."

"maybe i should've," you mutter, not liking the way he's grinning at you. "you gonna fuck me or what?"

"aw, you're desperate. how cute," he replies without missing a beat. it's been a while since you got to banter with satoru like this, and some part of you misses it. sure, he's disgustingly cocky, but at least he has the dick to back it up. and it's fun, too — you like the chase, and clearly, he does too.

"not really," you say with a shrug. that's a lie — the only reason you let him in was to get fucked, and contrary to the excuses falling from your mouth, you were getting impatient. not that he needed to know that.

"fine. have it your way, brat." satoru smiles cheekily and bounces his leg up and down, making you grit your teeth as you struggle to focus.

you make a face at satoru, crossing your arms. "what are you—"

"waiting."

"for what?"

"for you to beg."

your mouth falls open, and you glare at satoru, hating the way he's smugly grinning at you. this isn't the first time he's asked you to beg for him to fuck you — back when the two of you were dating, he had no problem edging you the whole night and practically making you cry for him.

"not this again," you groan, letting out a drawn-out sigh. "just fuck me already, satoru. or i'll go get someone else to."

satoru clicks his tongue, smiling lazily. "we both know you won't do that."

again, he's right, and god, you hate him for it. "just shut up and fuck me."

"alright, since you asked so nicely," satoru drawls, running his tongue over his teeth. he studies you intently, white hair falling into his eyes. before you can ask what he's looking at, he has you pinned against the couch cushions, face down and ass up. 

"good girl, stayin' nice and quiet for me," satoru groans, hand clasped over your mouth as he pounds into you from behind. "you always talked too much. never knew when to shut that damn mouth."

you moan against his hand, unable to think about anything else but satoru and his dick. that's the only reason the two of you stayed together for as long as you did — because the sex was irreplaceable. and after two weeks without getting fucked, you seriously consider throwing all pride out the window and begging for him back.

"shit, you're so fuckin' tight," satoru says with a rough laugh. "have you really not fucked with anyone else since you dumped me?" 

you shake your head, eyes pressed shut as satoru continues sloppily thrusting into you. there's a coil in your chest that's threatening to burst, and the whines slipping out of your lips increase in both pitch and volume.

at this point, you can hardly remember why you broke up with satoru — or maybe, he's just not giving you a chance to remember. his pace is relentless and mind-numbing, and shit, maybe it's for the best.

when he finally lets you cum, it's the best feeling you've had in what feels like forever. the edges of your vision go white, and satoru removes his hand from your mouth, letting out the lewd, muffled sounds that you've been suppressing all this time. not long after, satoru cums too, and it's sloppy, messy, and all over you. 

satoru collapses on top of your back, hot breaths slipping out of his mouth and brushing against your cheek. "took me so good, baby," he groans, pressing his lips to your neck and laughing breathily. "we should do this again sometime."

you shouldn't like this. you should be shoving him out your door, but his mischievous smile is irresistible. and even though you know this time probably won't end any different than the rest, you decide to give satoru one more chance.

"yeah, same time tomorrow?"

"anythin' for you."

[mononijikayu]

drunk tonight — ryomen sukuna.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations. His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, break up, fighting, crying, hurt, physical touch, sexual content, sadness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of toxic relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of fighting, depiction of sexual content, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of sexual context, mention of loneliness, toxic ex-boyfriend! sukuna, long suffering ex-girlfriend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9.4k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says "yes, we can." and "because i love you. and you love me."; i wrote this a while back but i was waiting for the poll to end. but if sukuna wins, then he definitely has his stuff posted first. somehow, sukuna always wins my polls 😆😆😆 anyway, i hope you love this one too!!! i love you all 🫶🫶🫶

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU DON’T WANT TO ANSWER THE PHONE. Late at night, your phone buzzes, its vibration cutting through the silence like a knife. You glance at the screen, feeling a chill run down your spine as you recognize the number. It’s a number you know all too well, one that you’ve tried to erase from your mind but could never quite forget, no matter how hard you tried.

A sigh escapes your lips, your heart sinking as Sukuna’s name flashes across the screen. It’s a name that once brought you comfort, excitement, even love. But now, it’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of the hurt and the scars that never fully healed.

You’ve blocked him on everything—social media, messaging apps, even email. You thought you had cut off every possible avenue for him to reach you, but he always remembered your phone number. 

He was always good at that—memorizing details, knowing exactly how to reach you when you least wanted him to. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, his ability to know you so well, to be so in tune with you. But now, it’s a curse, a reminder that no matter how far you try to run, he can always find you.

The text is a mess of jumbled letters and half-formed words, the kind of message that only makes sense to the sender. You can almost hear his deep, slurred voice in your head as you read it, the way he used to talk when he was too far gone, too deep into the bottle. He’s drunk, that much is obvious, and the thought makes your stomach churn.

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. There’s nothing worse than a drunk ex-text. It’s a toxic mix of emotions—regret, anger, longing—all wrapped up in a few poorly typed words. You know how this goes, how the night will unravel if you let it. 

He’ll keep texting, maybe even call, and each message will be more desperate, more incoherent than the last. He’ll say things he doesn’t mean, make promises he can’t keep, and you’ll be left holding the pieces of a conversation that never should have happened.

For a moment, you consider ignoring it, just turning off your phone and pretending you never saw it. But you know that won’t make it go away. You know that as long as Sukuna has your number, as long as he has a way to reach you, this cycle will keep repeating itself.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen. You could respond, tell him to stop, to leave you alone once and for all. But part of you knows that won’t work either. You’ve told him before, and yet here you are, staring at another late-night message from the man you once loved.

Your thumb hovers over the message, the words blurring in your tired eyes. You want to be strong, to resist the pull of old emotions and familiar patterns. But there’s a part of you that’s still connected to him, a part that wants to reach out, to understand why he can’t just let you go.

But you know better. You’ve been down this road too many times before. And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like tearing a piece of your heart out, you know what you have to do. With a sigh, you delete the message, your chest tightening as you do. You close your eyes, trying to block out the guilt, the sadness, the tiny voice in your head that says maybe this time will be different. But you know it won’t. It never is.

You can’t even muster the energy to be angry. It’s all too familiar, the cycle of hurt and regret that you both keep getting sucked into. You start typing back, your fingers trembling slightly with the weight of it all.

“Sukuna, stop. Wherever you are, just stop.” You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the screen. But you need to say this—you need to finally put it to rest. “This hurts, all of it. It’s a mess, and we’ve broken up. You need to stop chasing after me. We can’t go back.”

There’s a long pause. You wonder if he’ll leave it at that, but another text pings through.

“I can’t… I can’t live with this without trying. Please…”

You swallow hard, feeling the ache in your chest, but you’ve made up your mind. This is a wound that needs to heal, and reopening it will only make it worse.

“Sukuna, I’m done. You need to be, too.” You send the message, and this time, you turn off your phone. The silence that follows is almost deafening, but it’s the first step towards finally moving on.

You purse your lips, staring at the screen as his last message burns into your mind. You know he’s just too drunk tonight. He doesn’t really want you back—not the way he thinks he does. He’s just broken inside, sad and high, and you can feel the weight of his loneliness pressing through the words.

A lump forms in your throat as the urge to cry wells up again. It hurts because deep down, you know the truth. He doesn’t want you back. He’s just lonely, aching for something familiar to fill the void. You’ve been there before, reaching out in desperation, hoping for comfort in the arms of someone who used to mean everything. But that was then, and this is now.

You type slowly, forcing yourself to keep going, even though each word feels like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. "Sukuna, you’re not really after me. You’re just lonely and sad, and I get that. But this… us… it’s over. We ended things for a reason."

Your fingers hesitate over the next part, but you push through the pain. "We hurt each other too much. I didn’t want to be with you anymore because all we did was tear each other apart. And I don’t want that for either of us."

You take a shaky breath, knowing what you need to say, even if it feels like ripping off a bandage from a wound that hasn’t fully healed. "So put down the phone, Sukuna. It’s time to go home. You’re just drunk tonight.”

You hit send, and the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over. You’ve been strong for so long, but tonight, in the quiet of your room, you allow yourself to feel the full weight of everything you’ve lost and everything you’ve chosen to leave behind.

You ended things because you knew it was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And even though you’re telling him to move on, a part of you is whispering the same words to yourself. It’s time to let go, for real this time. It’s time to heal, even if that means facing the pain head-on and accepting that some things can never be fixed.

Your phone rings, and your heart sinks as you see his name flashing across the screen. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the decline button. You know you shouldn’t answer, know that nothing good can come from this. But some part of you—maybe out of concern, maybe out of habit—hits the green button.

“Sukuna, don’t—”

“I’m on my way.” he interrupts, his voice slurred but filled with a determination that chills you. “I need to see you. We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops, and a sense of dread washes over you. “No, Sukuna. Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a brief silence where you can hear him breathing heavily, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure. “I have to see you.” he repeats, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please. I…..I want to see you. I wanna…I wanna be with you.”

“Sukuna, please.” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re drunk, you’re not yourself. Turn around and go home. You’re only going to make this harder—for both of us.”

“I don’t care.” he snaps, and you can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. A desperation that’s never been there before. “I can’t keep living like this, pretending I don’t need you. I’ll be there soon.”

Panic starts to set in. You feel trapped, knowing that no amount of reasoning will get through to him tonight. “Sukuna, if you show up here, I won’t open the door. I mean it.”

There’s a harsh laugh on the other end. “You will. You always do.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they’re true, or at least they were. You can’t deny the history between you two, the countless times you’ve stood at the edge of this same precipice, teetering between resolve and surrender. 

How many times had you given in, opened the door, and let him back into your life, even when every fiber of your being screamed that you shouldn’t? You’ve lost count, the memories blurring together into a painful montage of late-night confessions, tearful apologies, and broken promises.

Each time, you told yourself it would be the last. You would stand firm, hold your ground, and finally cut the ties that bound you to him. But then he would show up—vulnerable, raw, and desperate—and the walls you had so carefully constructed would crumble in an instant. 

He knew exactly how to reach you, how to twist the knife just enough to remind you of what you once had, what you once were. And for a fleeting moment, you’d believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

But they never were. The darkness that surrounded him, that clung to your relationship like a shroud, always found a way to seep back in. It would start slowly—a harsh word here, a lingering silence there—but soon, it would consume you both, dragging you back into a toxic cycle of pain and regret. Each time you let him back in, you lost a little more of yourself, a little more of the light that once defined who you were.

But you can’t do that anymore. You can’t keep losing pieces of yourself to a love that no longer serves you, to a relationship that has long since become a shadow of what it once was. You’ve fought too hard to reclaim your life, to step out of the darkness and into the light of something better, something healthier. You’ve built yourself back up, brick by brick, and you can’t let him tear it all down again.

This time, it has to be different. This time, you can’t open the door, no matter how much he begs, no matter how much it hurts to turn him away. You can’t let him drag you back into the darkness that you fought so hard to escape. You deserve more—more than late-night texts filled with empty promises, more than a love that only thrives in the shadows. You deserve peace, stability, and a future that isn’t haunted by the ghosts of a past you can’t change.

So you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the familiar pull of his words, the seductive lure of what could have been. You remind yourself of the pain, the nights spent crying, the days filled with anxiety and doubt. You remind yourself that you’ve survived without him, that you’ve thrived in ways you never could have imagined when you were still caught in his web.

And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like a betrayal of everything you once held dear, you know that you have to let him go. You have to close the door, lock it, and walk away—this time for good. Because if you don’t, you’ll never truly be free. And freedom, you realize, is worth more than any fleeting moment of comfort he could offer. You can’t let him pull you back into the darkness. You’ve come too far, and it’s time to finally step into the light.

“No, I won’t.” you say, forcing steel into your voice. “Not this time. If you care about me at all, you’ll turn around and go home. You’ll stop this before it gets worse.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen. But then he speaks again, his voice rough and broken. “I’m almost there. Just… wait for me.”

Your heart is racing now, your mind scrambling for what to do. “Sukuna, if you come here, I’ll call the police. I’m serious.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then, finally, silence. You think he’s hung up, but then he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything. But I have to try.”

He hangs up before you can respond, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone with your heart pounding in your chest. You feel sick, torn between the history you share and the need to protect yourself from the man he’s become.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You don’t want to call the police, don’t want to escalate things that far, but you need to be ready. You need to stay strong, for your own sake.

With trembling hands, you lock your door, turn off the lights, and sit down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand. You wait, praying that he’ll turn around, that he’ll finally realize that what you had is gone, and it’s time to let it go. But deep down, you know this isn’t over—not tonight, not until he’s standing at your door, and you’re forced to make the hardest decision of your life.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one heavier than the last. You sit in the dark, your breath shallow and your nerves frayed, listening for any sound that might signal his arrival. Every car that passes by your window makes your heart jump, your mind conjuring images of him stumbling out, determined and reckless.

You think back to the times when things were good between you two, when his intensity was something you admired, even loved. But that intensity had turned into something else, something darker and more destructive, and you couldn’t let it consume you both any longer.

Your phone vibrates again, pulling you out of your thoughts. Another message from Sukuna:

“I’m here.”

You freeze, your blood running cold. He’s close, maybe right outside. You stand up slowly, moving toward the window with a mix of dread and resolve. Peering through the curtains, you see his figure in the dim light, leaning against a lamppost across the street, his silhouette unmistakable.

He looks up, and even from this distance, you can see the torment in his eyes, the way his shoulders sag with the weight of whatever he’s carrying. But you can’t let that sway you. You’ve made your choice, and you need to stand by it.

Your phone vibrates again, the familiar buzz sending a jolt through your already frayed nerves. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know it’s him. The notification hangs in the air like a weight, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

With a trembling hand, you unlock your phone, the brightness of the screen almost blinding in the darkness of your room. His message is there, short and desperate, the words filled with a plea that you’ve heard too many times before:

“Please, just open the door. We can talk, I swear. I won’t make a scene.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep the tears at bay. His voice echoes in your mind, the deep, gravelly tone that once brought you comfort now only serves to break you down. You can almost picture him on the other side of that door, his eyes wide with that familiar mix of anger and sadness, his posture tense with anticipation. He’s close, so close that you can feel his presence like a shadow creeping over your heart.

It would be so easy to give in, to let him in one more time, to listen to whatever promises he has prepared for tonight. After all, you’ve done it before—opened that door despite knowing it would lead to nothing but more heartache. But tonight feels different. Tonight, there’s a finality in the air, a sense that if you open that door now, it won’t just be another mistake; it will be the last one, the one that shatters whatever remnants of strength you’ve managed to hold onto.

You swallow hard, your throat tight with the urge to cry. You know him too well; you know he won’t leave unless you confront him, unless you face him head-on. He’s stubborn like that, relentless in his pursuit of what he wants, even when it’s something—or someone—that’s no longer his to claim. 

But you also know, deep in your bones, that opening that door is the last thing you should do. It’s a line you can’t cross, not this time. Because if you do, you’ll be dragged right back into the storm you’ve fought so hard to escape. You’ll be pulled into his orbit, where everything is chaotic and intense, where love and pain are intertwined so tightly that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

You take a shaky breath, your hand hovering over the door handle as your mind races. What could he possibly say that he hasn’t already said? What could he promise that he hasn’t already broken? The answers are clear, but the pull of the past is strong, and it tugs at you with a force that’s hard to resist.

But you have to resist. You have to stay strong, for your own sake. Because you know that once you open that door, once you let him back in, all the progress you’ve made, all the nights you’ve spent rebuilding yourself, will be undone. You’ll be right back where you started—lost, hurt, and wondering why you ever let him back into your life.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all, but you know what you have to do. You know that tonight, you have to choose yourself, even if it means walking away from someone you once loved with every part of your being. 

So you close your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain, to let it wash over you without letting it consume you. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fight back the urge to cry, to scream, to throw open that door and let everything unravel.

But you don’t. You stay where you are, standing firm in the decision you’ve made. Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you’re choosing to protect your heart instead of breaking it all over again.

You steady your breathing, forcing yourself to stay calm as the reality of the situation sinks in. Each vibration of your phone feels like a pulse of pain, a reminder of the emotional battleground you’re standing on. You know that answering the door would only open the floodgates, allowing the turmoil and chaos of the past to flood back into your life. You’ve fought so hard to reclaim your peace, and you refuse to let it slip away now.

With a deep breath, you take a moment to center yourself. You remind yourself of the reasons you’ve decided to cut ties, the countless times you’ve faced heartache, and the strength it took to rebuild your life. This decision, though painful, is a necessary step to ensure you don’t lose everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

You get up and move to your front door, standing just a few inches away. The cold, unyielding surface feels like a barrier between you and the chaos you’ve left behind. You listen for any sounds—footsteps, a knock—but the night is eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rumble of distant traffic. It’s as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make the choice that will define this moment.

Another message from Sukuna pings through, and you resist the urge to check it. Instead, you focus on the decision at hand, the choice you’ve already made. You know that the best way to move forward is to keep the past where it belongs—behind you.

You glance at your phone once more and see that Sukuna has called you again. Your heart races, but you refuse to answer. You let the call go to voicemail, the familiar chime sounding distant and detached. Each unanswered call is a step towards reclaiming your autonomy, towards making it clear that you will not be dragged back into the emotional mess that has defined your relationship.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s silence—no more texts, no more calls. You take a deep breath, letting the calm settle over you. You feel the weight of your decision settle into your bones, a mixture of relief and sorrow. You’ve chosen to protect yourself, to preserve the hard-earned peace you’ve fought for.

As you turn away from the door, you feel a mixture of sadness and strength. The pain of seeing Sukuna’s name, the torment of his pleas, is still fresh, but you’ve managed to hold firm. You’ve chosen not to open the door, not to let him back into your life. This choice, as difficult as it was, is a testament to your resolve, to your commitment to yourself.

You sit back down, wrapping yourself in a blanket of quiet determination. The tears you’ve fought so hard to keep at bay finally come, not as a sign of weakness but as a release of all the emotions you’ve been holding inside. They’re a reminder of your humanity, of the depth of your feelings, but they’re also a sign of your strength—strength you needed to make the right decision, no matter how hard it was.

You’ve done what you needed to do to protect your heart, and now, you allow yourself to grieve, to heal, and to move forward. You close your eyes, letting the tears flow, and in the silence of your room, you begin the process of letting go, knowing that you’ve taken a crucial step toward finding the peace and happiness you deserve.

You reach for your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you begin to type out a message. You need to be firm, clear, and compassionate, even if you’re struggling with your own emotions. You know that any form of communication right now will only complicate things, but you also want to make sure Sukuna understands the finality of your decision.

With a deep breath, you type:

“Sukuna, I can’t talk to you right now. Please, just go home. We can’t have this conversation tonight. I need some space, and I need you to respect that. Please understand and go home.”

You hit send, watching as the message is delivered. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope that this will be the end of it, that he’ll respect your wishes and leave you alone. You’ve made your boundaries clear, and now it’s up to him to honor them.

Minutes pass in tense silence, and your phone stays quiet. You sit back down, trying to calm your racing heart, focusing on the quiet around you instead of the anxiety that has taken root in your chest.

But then, a new message comes through. You don’t even need to look to know that it’s from Sukuna. With a heavy heart, you open it:

“I just need to see you. I’m sorry for everything, but I can’t let this end like this. Please.”

You can almost hear the desperation in his words, the anguish that comes from knowing he’s losing you. But you also know that this isn’t just about you and him anymore. It’s about your own well-being, your need to set boundaries and stick to them, even when it’s incredibly hard.

You type back:

“No, Sukuna. This is not the time. I’ve made my decision, and I need you to respect it. I can’t keep doing this. Please, just go home.”

You hit send, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily on your shoulders. You’re asking for something that feels almost impossible—to respect a boundary when emotions are high, when both of you are vulnerable. But it’s necessary. 

You put your phone aside and try to find a way to soothe the emotional storm inside you. You remind yourself of why you made this decision, of the personal growth you’ve achieved, and the need to maintain your peace. You try to focus on the positives of your life and the future you’re working toward, hoping that with time, the pain of this moment will fade and you’ll find a way to heal.

Hours tick by slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s a quiet relief in knowing that, at least for now, you’ve done all you can. You’ve set your boundaries and communicated your needs as clearly as possible.

You let yourself close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to wash over you. The road to recovery will be long and fraught with moments like this, but for tonight, you��ve taken a crucial step toward reclaiming your life. As you drift into a fitful sleep, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring clarity and a renewed sense of peace, allowing you to continue moving forward.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

IF THERE WAS A LOVE STORY WORTH MENTIONING, IT’S YOURS. Because in truth, it wasn’t a love story. It was a painful hurt instead. The romance between you and Sukuna was a tumultuous symphony of passion and pain, a story that oscillated between intense highs and devastating lows. It was a love that consumed everything in its path, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and shattered hearts. 

You, the good girl with a heart full of hope and idealism, and him, the quintessential troublemaker whose very presence seemed to stir chaos wherever he went. It was a match made in hell, an explosive combination of purity and defiance that sparked with an almost palpable intensity. 

From the beginning, there was an undeniable chemistry between you two, a magnetic pull that drew you into Sukuna’s orbit. You were drawn to his raw energy, the way he seemed to live on the edge of every emotion, pushing boundaries and challenging norms. His life was a whirlwind of excitement and unpredictability, and it was a stark contrast to the more controlled and orderly world you inhabited.

At first, the contrasts were thrilling. Your calm demeanor and responsible nature seemed to balance out his reckless tendencies, creating a dynamic that felt electric and invigorating. You believed that your love could be the force that tamed his wildness, that your stability could anchor him amidst his stormy existence.

But as time went on, the initial thrill gave way to a more complex and painful reality. Sukuna’s troublemaking ways began to seep into every aspect of your relationship, turning what was once exciting into something exhausting. His impulsiveness, once charming, became a source of constant stress and conflict. The very qualities that attracted you to him started to feel like burdens, and the harmony you sought began to slip through your fingers.

The highs were dizzying—moments of intense connection and fiery passion that made you feel alive and on top of the world. But the lows were equally devastating, each conflict leaving deeper wounds, each argument a reminder of how differently you saw the world. The love that had once seemed like a perfect escape from your own constraints now felt like a whirlwind of chaos that you couldn’t control.

Your attempts to bring order and stability to the relationship often clashed with Sukuna’s need for freedom and rebellion. The more you tried to ground him, the more he resisted, and the cycle of conflict and resolution became a relentless pattern. The love that once felt like a daring adventure turned into a series of battles, each one leaving both of you more scared than the last.

Ultimately, the contrast between your worlds proved too great. The boundaries you set were repeatedly crossed, the promises made were broken too many times. The passion that had once ignited your connection became the fuel for your destruction. What began as a match made in hell had devolved into a battlefield of emotional devastation.

You were left to pick up the pieces of a love that had burned too brightly, too destructively. The remnants of your time together were a stark reminder of the dangers of mixing such opposing forces. In the end, the love you shared was a powerful testament to the intense beauty and agony of a relationship that, despite its fiery start, was doomed from the beginning.

From the beginning, the relationship was marked by a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. Sukuna's charisma and intensity drew you in, his presence filling every space with an almost palpable energy. There was a fire in his eyes, a promise of something deeper and more profound, and you were captivated by the allure of his raw power and unfiltered emotions.

At first, it felt like a dream. His touch was electric, his words charged with a potent mix of desire and vulnerability. You would get lost in his gaze, swept away by the intensity of his kisses, believing that this was what true love was supposed to feel like. Every argument, every make-up, every moment of passion felt like a confirmation of the bond you shared.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, how tired you were. How truly full of it you were. how emotionally drained you’ve been. You found yourself face-to-face with Sukuna in the dimly lit living room. He stood close, his gaze intense and his voice almost a whisper, yet filled with an undeniable gravity.

"I'm sorry." Sukuna said, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness. "I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity mixed with a touch of desperation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"You say that now, but it feels like we’re always back here, fighting and making up," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought this was supposed to be different. I thought we were building something real."

Sukuna reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "It is real. What we have is intense, but it’s real. I know I mess up, but I need you to understand that I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re everything to me."

You looked at him, feeling the familiar mix of pain and passion. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Sukuna. Every time we fight, it feels like we’re tearing each other apart. Maybe this intensity isn’t what I thought it was.”

He stepped closer, his voice filled with an earnest plea. “Please, don’t say that. We can work through this. I know I’m not perfect, but we have something special. We just need to fight for it, not let it slip away because of a few mistakes.”

You shook your head, tears welling up. “It’s not just a few mistakes. It’s the pattern, the way things keep repeating. I want to believe in us, but it’s getting harder every day. We’re not just having moments of passion anymore; we’re living in a storm.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t want to be the storm in your life. I just want to be with you. Please, let me show you that we can be more than this.”

As his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold reality of your situation. You said nothing as you leaned into the warmth of his body. The intensity of his words and the fire in his eyes were a powerful reminder of his hold on you. You forgave him that night once again, as you always did. And once again, you were trapped.

But beneath the surface of this passionate connection lay a darker undercurrent, one that grew stronger with time. Sukuna's emotional volatility was not just a fleeting characteristic; it was a core part of who he was. His moods shifted with little warning, swinging from intense affection to cold detachment. What seemed like an endearing quirk quickly revealed itself as a source of profound instability.

Sukuna's massive hand moved to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands you had painstakingly did. You were ignoring him again after your recent fight. You just wanted peace of mind from him. And you knew that he hated being ignored. You know he hated being forgotten. You were the only person in his life that dealt with him, all his everything — and to not have you there shatters him. As much, you suppose, when he shatters you by loving you.

His other hand wrapped around your side, pulling you closer against him with a possessive strength. You felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, his touch both demanding and overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he started to kiss and nibble along your skin.

The kisses were intense, growing more fervent until he bit down, his teeth breaking through the delicate skin. A cry escaped your lips, a mix of pain and confusion. You could feel Sukuna speaking against your skin, his voice muffled and indistinct, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation and hurt.

The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck was unrelenting, anchoring you to him and heightening the intensity of the moment. It was only when his fingers pressed firmly against the nape of your neck that everything snapped into focus. The sharp reality of the situation cut through the fog, pulling you back to the present.

The biting pain, the tight grip, and the overwhelming closeness were all too much. You could see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes, the storm of feelings that often clouded his judgment. In that moment, you were starkly aware of the power dynamics at play, the fine line between passion and control, and the deep-seated turmoil that defined your relationship.

The kiss, now a blend of pain and longing, was a stark reminder of the complexity of your love—both fierce and destructive. The intimacy of the touch, the raw intensity, and the sharp bite were all part of the same emotional spectrum, where passion and pain were often intertwined in ways that left you feeling vulnerable and conflicted.

You could feel your skin growing moist, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body as you struggled to maintain your sanity against his relentless touch. Ryomen Sukuna had a way of overwhelming you, of winning you over even when you were trying to resist. His touch always managed to reach places you thought were well-guarded, stirring up sensations that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel your body betraying you, slick pooling between your legs, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside your mind.

With a swift movement, Sukuna pinned you against the wall, his body pressing hard against yours. His kisses grew even more rough and demanding, each press of his lips a reminder of the intensity and chaos that defined your relationship. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers pinching and teasing, heightening the mix of pleasure and pain.

"Sukuna, slow down. It hurts." you cried out, your voice wavering as you tried to make yourself heard over the roar of conflicting emotions. The rawness in your voice was a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to make him see the damage being done. "Sukuna, we... oh, we won't fix anything with this."

His grip faltered for a moment, but only just. He paused, his breath ragged and heavy against your skin, his eyes dark with a mixture of frustration and desire. There was a flicker of hesitation, a moment where he seemed to question the reality of the situation. But the tension in his body remained, the emotional storm far from over.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to maintain your composure, to hold onto a shred of clarity amidst the haze of his touch. The physical connection was undeniable, but it was the emotional wreckage that left you feeling most exposed. The passion that once felt exhilarating now seemed like a dangerous force that threatened to consume you both.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations.

His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

The declaration hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. You mewl softly, a sound of both surrender and confusion. His touch and words are a potent mix, stirring emotions that you’ve been trying to keep in check. 

In your turmoil, you find yourself grappling with the truth of his words. The love you shared is undeniable, and it’s clear he still feels it deeply. Yet, the intensity of him and the roughness of his touch make it hard to reconcile with the pain and frustration that have become a part of your relationship.

"Even if you love me….." you manage to say, your voice trembling. "We can’t fix everything like this. We’re hurting each other, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. The struggle between your emotions and his unyielding desire leaves you feeling torn, caught between the remnants of your past connection and the harsh reality of the present.

Sukuna’s grip remains firm, his dark red eyes not leaving yours. In this moment, the lines between love and pain blur — as it was with your relationship. The declaration of love feels both comforting and confounding, leaving you with the painful realization that while feelings might persist, the way you’re handling them is only adding to the emotional wreckage. You were in love with him as much as he was with you. But what was the point of this? Of this suffering?

But as he pleasured you, you never said anything. You just let him love you painfully, because that’s all he knew. It was a raw, visceral form of connection, a way he expressed what he felt, even if it was damaging. It was all he could give, the only way he knew how to bridge the gap between you.

As you felt him inside of you, there was a deep, painful connection that mingled with the physical sensations. It was a painful reminder of the way your love had always been—intense, consuming, and sometimes overwhelmingly conflicted. The pleasure was intertwined with the hurt, making it difficult to distinguish one from the other. 

You accepted it, allowing the moment to unfold as it did. In your mind, you grappled with the reality of your situation—recognizing that this was how Sukuna knew to express his love, even if it was fraught with pain. And so, in the midst of the storm of sensations, you let yourself be caught up in the complexity of your emotions, trying to find a semblance of understanding amidst the chaos.

Arguments became frequent, fueled by misunderstandings and a growing sense of frustration. The intensity that once seemed thrilling now felt suffocating. Sukuna's need for control and dominance clashed with your desire for independence, creating a constant struggle for power. What was once exhilarating now felt like an endless cycle of conflict and resolution, each cycle leaving deeper emotional scars you didn’t want.

The tension in the air was palpable. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched in frustration, while Sukuna stood across the room, his posture rigid with anger and jealousy. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze fierce and unrelenting, the result of a recent encounter with one of your friends who had been a bit too touchy for his liking.

"You’re always so quick to run off." Sukuna snapped, his voice sharp and laced with irritation. "Why can’t you just stay and deal with things like an adult? I’ve seen the way you look at others. Do you think I’m blind?"

You turned to face him, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. "It’s not about anyone else. It’s about us. You’re always so controlling. You want to dictate every part of my life. I need space, Sukuna. I need to be able to breathe."

His eyes flared with frustration as he stepped closer, the intensity of his emotions almost tangible. "Space? That’s what you call it? I saw the way you were with him tonight. It’s like you’re trying to push me away, like you’re looking for excuses to slip through my fingers."

You stood up, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. "It’s not about looking for excuses. I’m not trying to push you away. I just need to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance. This isn’t about him. It’s about the way you’re smothering me."

Sukuna’s frustration was evident in the way he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Smothering you? I’m just trying to hold onto what we have. If you’d stop running and actually listen, maybe we could work things out. But every time I turn around, it feels like you’re slipping further away."

"You’re not holding onto what we have, Sukuna." you said, your voice trembling. "You’re suffocating me. Every time we have an argument, you try to control me even more. I need space to figure out what I want without feeling like I’m being watched and judged every second."

Sukuna stopped pacing and looked at you with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I don’t want to control you. I want to be with you, but it feels like you’re constantly pushing me away. I just don’t know how to handle it when I see you getting close to others. It makes me feel like I’m losing you."

The room fell silent, the air thick with unresolved emotions. You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you. But you also felt the deep, suffocating grip of his jealousy and control. The love that once felt exciting now seemed like a battleground, and the constant cycle of arguments and attempts at resolution were leaving both of you emotionally drained.

"I don’t want us to keep going in circles like this, Sukuna." you said softly, your heart aching. "We need to find a way to be together without this constant struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained. "I don’t know how to change things if you won’t let me in, you know that." he said, his voice a mix of vulnerability and frustration. "I just want us to be okay, but it feels like we’re constantly fighting against each other."

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite the sting of his accusation. "That wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. And even if I was, what does it matter? You can’t keep trying to control me like this. We can’t keep doing this.”

He stepped closer, his anger palpable. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always so independent, always so self-righteous. I’m the one who’s always fighting to keep us together. And this is how you repay me? By pushing me away and seeking attention from others?"

His words cut deep, each one a painful reminder of the control he exerted over your life. "This isn’t about repaying you. It’s about being true to myself. I’m tired of feeling like I have to constantly prove my loyalty to you. I’m not your possession."

Sukuna’s face contorted with frustration, and he slammed his fist against the wall. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you slip away while I’m left here fighting to keep us from falling apart? I’m trying to hold onto something real, and you’re pushing me away."

The hurt in his voice was undeniable, a mix of jealousy and desperation. But you could see the cracks in his control, the way his need for dominance had become a cage that both of you were trapped in.

"I’m not trying to push you away." you said, your voice trembling. "I’m trying to find a way to be myself without feeling like I’m suffocating under your expectations. We’re stuck in this cycle of fighting and making up, and it’s tearing us apart."

Sukuna’s expression softened for a moment, the anger giving way to a look of vulnerability. "I just don’t want to lose you. I know I’m not perfect, but I need you to understand how much you mean to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "I know you care, but the way you show it is suffocating. We need to find a way to be together without this constant power struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

The room fell silent, the intensity of the argument leaving both of you exhausted. The love that once felt like a thrilling adventure now seemed like a battlefield, with each conflict leaving deeper scars. The vibrant energy that had once sparked between you was now overshadowed by an unrelenting cycle of discord and unresolved tension.

You wrapped your arms around your chest, as though trying to hug and comfort yourself amid the emotional wreckage. Your shoulders shook slightly with the effort to maintain composure, but even more tears were inevitable.

Sukuna’s posture was a reflection of his internal struggle, his anger giving way to a raw vulnerability. He took a hesitant step towards you, his voice trembling. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What can I do, to…to make you stay?”

The softness in his voice, the genuine plea for understanding, struck a deep chord. You could see the pain and desperation etched into his features, the realization of how precariously close he was to losing you. Yet, amidst the raw emotion, you felt overwhelmed and trapped.

“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice breaking as the tears began to fall freely. “I’m tired, Sukuna. I’m tired… of loving you and losing you all at once.”

His shoulders sagged as he absorbed your words, the weight of your exhaustion evident in his expression. The tears that prickled at his eyes now spilled over, reflecting the depth of his own despair. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet yours, the crushing reality of your relationship settling heavily between you.

The room was filled with a profound silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your sobs and his choked breaths. The love you shared, which had once been a source of exhilaration and passion, now felt like a relentless cycle of joy and pain that neither of you could escape.

Sukuna’s voice was barely audible as he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of helplessness. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make things right when everything feels so broken.”

You wiped at your tears, the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil leaving you feeling drained. “Neither do I.” you admitted softly. “I wish I had the answers. I wish I could find a way to make things work, but right now, it feels like we’re stuck in a never-ending loop of hurt and confusion.”

Sukuna’s silence was heavy with resignation, a poignant acknowledgment of the struggle that had become an inescapable part of your relationship. The love that had once been a source of strength and excitement now seemed overshadowed by a painful reality that neither of you knew how to navigate.

In that quiet moment, both of you were left grappling with the depth of your feelings, the complexity of your relationship, and the painful truth that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to overcome the barriers that keep you apart.

Sukuna's tears continued to fall, and he moved closer, his steps hesitant but deliberate. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both gentle and desperate.

“I never meant to make things so difficult,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought... I thought if I held on tight, if I tried harder, we could work through it. But now, I see how much I’ve pushed you away.”

You looked at him, your own tears blurring your vision. The sight of him, vulnerable and torn, added to the weight of your own sorrow. You wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the chasm between you felt insurmountable.

“I know you were trying,” you said, your voice cracking. “But the way you tried to control things... it pushed me away more than anything else. I felt like I was losing myself in trying to make things work.”

Sukuna’s hand tightened around your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Tell me what I can do to make things right, to fix this.”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words to express the depth of your exhaustion and the confusion that clouded your mind. “I don’t know if there’s anything that can fix this right now. I just feel... lost.”

His expression softened, the realization dawning that perhaps the damage was too great to repair immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle my own fears and insecurities.”

You nodded, the sadness overwhelming. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that we couldn’t find a way to make this work without hurting each other so much.”

The silence between you was heavy, filled with the echoes of what had been and what might never be again. The love that had once felt so alive now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the pain and the sense of inevitability.

Sukuna’s hand slowly fell away from your arm, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Maybe... maybe we both need some time apart to figure things out. To heal and find ourselves again.”

You looked at him, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. “Maybe you’re right. I need time to understand what I really want and to heal from all of this.”

Sukuna nodded, his face a mask of resignation and understanding. “I hope... I hope we can both find a way to be okay, even if it means being apart.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked towards the door, each step heavy with the weight of what was ending. As he left, the silence of the room seemed to deepen. You sat down on the edge of the bed once more, your emotions a tangled mess of sadness and relief. The path ahead was uncertain, but in the quiet that followed, you felt more alone than ever before. But free. Freed from your own ruin.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

YOU COULDN’T DO IT ANYMORE IN THE END. In the end, you did break up with him. The cycle of arguments and reconciliation had become a never-ending loop, a house of cards that seemed destined to collapse no matter how carefully it was built. You loved him deeply, that was undeniable. But you also realized that rekindling the relationship would only lead to more pain, more hurt that neither of you could bear.

As you stood by the window, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep across the sky, painting the world in soft hues of pink and gold. The sight was starkly beautiful, a contrast to the turmoil that had been raging inside you. This was what life should be like, you think. You shouldn’t settle for less. You shouldn’t settle for hurt.

Outside, you could see him—still there, lingering near your door, his figure slumped against the wall. He had a cigarette against the burrow of his lips, smoke filling his face. The remnants of a wild night clung to him; he was drunk and high, his posture wavering as he waited for you. The sight of him, lost and desperate, broke your heart in a way that felt both familiar and foreign.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision settle heavily upon you. You knew that as much as you loved him, returning to him now would only mean opening the door to a love that had become toxic, a love that had already left you shattered too many times.

“I can’t go through this again.” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. The realization was painful, but clear. The cycle of breaking up and making up had drained you emotionally, leaving you with scars that were too deep to ignore. “Not again.”

As the sun continued to rise, its light growing stronger, you turned away from the window, feeling a sense of finality. The decision to end things was not made lightly, and the pain of walking away was immense. But you knew it was necessary for your own well-being, for the chance to heal and find a path forward that wasn’t mired in the constant heartbreak that your relationship had become.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you reached for your phone. With a heavy heart, you composed a message, knowing it was the last thing you needed to say to him. Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you typed:

"Sukuna, this is the last time I’m reaching out. I can see you waiting outside, and I need you to understand that this is over. I love you, but we’ve reached a point where continuing this relationship will only lead to more hurt. The cycle of breaking up and making up has left us both wounded, and I can’t keep going through it. I need to move on and find healing for myself. Please respect my decision and let this be the end. I wish you well, but I can’t be with you anymore. Goodbye."

You stared at the message for a moment, feeling a mix of sadness and relief. With a final press of the send button, you put your phone down and took a deep breath. It was done. The words were out there, and now it was time to let go and start the process of healing. You took a deep sigh and pursed your lips into a flat line.

As the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the room, you felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. The end of this chapter was painful, but it was also a step towards a future where you could rebuild, where you could heal. It was a chance to find peace and to rediscover yourself, away from the shadows of a love that had become more damaging than fulfilling.

With a final, lingering glance at the window, you steeled yourself for the difficult road ahead. The love you had for  Ryomen Sukuna was real, but the decision to move forward was the right one. As the sun rose higher in the sky, you began to prepare for a new day, one that would be marked by both the pain of goodbye and the promise of new beginnings. You hope the best for him, as much as you hoped the best for you. 

[planete777]

I WANT YOU BAD・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n (and a good joint) is lando's best distraction. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, drug use (as per), unprotected p in v, riding, lordddd they are filty, dirty talk, squirting, high hotness pt 345345, lando is in love with the reader (as per pt. 2), guys it's just filth filth filth

NOTE. yoohoooo im soo back!!! first fic release after like 3 months haha.... but it's high!lando so, forgive me plz 😔🙏 anyways, i'm slowly getting back into the groove of writing (i only wrote a tad bit during my break smh) and im sorry if im a bit rusty. hopefully, its only up from here. enjoy my dearest readers, and feedback is always welcomed <3

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc for lando 🤍

there's a gentle, warm thrum that bubbles beneath lando's skin, like a premise of excitement, tendrils of smoke tearing and stitching sentience with sluggish countenance. doesn't see a thing beyond a feet before him, and can't feel anything (yet feels everything) sauf the familiar radiation of body heat from the girl pressed limply into him.

two things for the price of one, it barely gets better than this. he feels like a magic act, cartoonish smears of smoke coalescing, then dimming as he inhales and exhales and inhales again. every taut stress from the day slowly flakes off his muscles, and succeeding another drag of the joint, he lets a gentle sigh huff out of him.

"better now?"

y/n's voice sounds like soft lace in his ears, and she snuggles closer into his shoulder, hand splayed, and weighty, upon his chest. she feels completely dead, always getting too high too fast, but never lets the warnings rid her of the euphoria. lando knows that, and can't blame her either; there's something unequivocally beautiful about getting high and losing the ability to connect one thought to another.

he shifts- he thinks he does so- rolling the spliff between his fingers before curling his lips to push out the smoke that began to scratch striations into his throat.

"yeah," he drawls out, "never go wrong with a good spliff."

y/n just barely giggles, palm rubbing up and down lando's chest. he swears he's on fucking fire, neurones charging and buzzing and crackling at every heightened numbness, and all he can do is take another drag.

there's a blanket of silence, comfortable and observing, before lando feels her, wantonly, drag her hand over his crotch then squeezes; and, jesus fucking christ, the moan that's punched out of him is ungodly.

"y/n- fucking hell," he leaves it at that, slowly swivelling his head towards her. she's smiling, largely and so gorgeously that lando feels like he's levitating. why is she looking at him like that?

"wanna fuck you, lan'," she whispers, redundant because it's already so damningly filthy, "make you lose your shit."

lando is struck speechless and completely horny, blood swelling his cock to where it edges pain, but god, does it feel so fucking good that all he can do is moan and tighten his grip on y/n's thigh sprawled across his body.

she smirks, sitting upright and slides to straddle lando, hips grinding heavily into his and the pressure is glorious.

"you like that, huh?" she bites her lower lip and presses harder, lando's head lolling to the backrest of the armchair. he could cum right into his pants if his motive wasn't to do it deep into y/n's cunt instead.

"you know i do, baby," he takes another drag, doesn't know how he musters the effort to, "you riding me is a sight."

she giggles, "just staring at my tits as i'm doing so, you fucker."

lando shakes his head, "nah, i meant all of you, baby. so beautiful," then he's smiling and pulling her into a kiss that's just tongue and want, lando gripping a hand around her nape. he can die like this, he thinks, encompassed in the feeling of a throbbing dick and a sloppy, wet mouth— all of it.

y/n curls her fingers around the hem of his joggers, lifting her hips- their lips still attached- and sliding them down his thighs. cool air caresses his cock, pulsating, weeping and redder than she's ever seen it before, lando moaning at the relief as it slaps against his abdomen.

"oh lan' look at you," she whispers, wrapping her hand around his cock (the way he squirms at that is indescribable), "you need my pussy that bad?"

it's all faux concern, but it does the trick, lando nodding and on the verge of sobbing when she clenches her fist.

"come on- fuck me, y/n," he's whining and squirming, hands grabbing at her shorts to tug it off after wedging the joint between his lips. she stands up, lando's hands trailing away as she goes to slide them off, crumpling at her feet. and all lando thinks is mylovemylovemylove. his skin burns like he's being dipped in lava, yanking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

the girl wastes no time crawling back into his lap, hovering over his erect cock as she takes both hands, spreads her cheeks and sheaths him in.

"y/n- ohh fuckkk-"

the slide— it's so so good, lando's losing his mind, he wants to ask 'no prep?' but fuck, she's taking him so well that he just shuts off. he pants roughly, eyes squeezing shut as she whines and bottoms out, feeling deeper than he has ever been. he's tingling everywhere, a shaking a hand plucking his spliff out of his mouth and unto the couch, feeling y/n's tight, hot pussy grip him with every inch of its life. and just when he thinks it's nearly too much, she starts to move.

y/n grinds and bounces like a fucking pornstar, shirt and bra she had on a few minutes ago strewn somewhere in the room, tits jumping and nipples swollen. oh, it's such a view and as much as lando wants to keep watching, a spark of pleasure causes his eyes to hurl to the back of his head, body flushed deeply and mouth slackened as it leaks a thick moan.

"your cock, lan'- shit, i'm gonna cum so hard," y/n's voice sounds so ruined and lando is obsessed with it, eyes opening as he gives her a small smirk. hands run all over her body- her legs, her breasts- before settling on her ass and languidly dragging it up and down his cock. y/n's reaction is immediate, trembling and crying out a high pitched moan that almost has lando cumming right there.

"i want you to cum so hard, baby. this is your cock," he huffs, hips thrusting upwards and slapping against y/n's ass. the sounds make his mind go static; it's so filthily good, skin hitting skin.

y/n smashes her lips against lando's as she works her hips harder, feeling the cold metal of his chain bind to chest. they can barely kiss, panting into each other's mouth- then lando's cock stabs her g spot, hard, and she's screaming and cumming, liquid running between her thighs and cunt squeezing lando so damn tight, he's pushing her hips into his, yelping, and spurting cum, thick and warm, into y/n.

"fuck fuck fuck- oh god baby, just like that," lando speaks into her skin, "just like that."

he rolls his hips to ride out their highs, pleasure setting deep in his veins before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her towards him, leaning back.

"fuck, i love you," lando whispers, pressing kisses into her shoulder.

"even when i squirt all over you?"

lando smirks, placing a kiss on her lips, "especially when you squirt, baby.

[laiiaaa]

THANK YOU VERY MUCH — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary You pay Carmen a visit after a busy night to give your thanks...with a little extra love.

length 3.1k

contents MINORS DNI, smut, lots of kissing, some heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving), semi-public sex sorry Richie, soooooo much praise, teasing, a glimpse of subby Carm make brain go brrrrrr, fluffy ending bc he’s a cutie pie, imma be fr...he splooges in your mouth…in his office…after hours…don’t look at me ik it’s FILTHY!!!…apologies to the church it’s not my fault he’s a SLUT

Carmen’s sitting hunched over his desk in a mess of paperwork when Richie barges in.

“Your girl’s here,” he almost sighs, holding the door open as you walk in, all smiles and a Thanks, Richie slipping past your lips before he nods, shooting Carmen a look emphasized with a pointed finger: “No funny business back here, alright? ‘Cause I’ll fuckin’ know.”

When he walks away, you shut the door and lock it. Stupid fuckin’ lock, Carmen thinks, knowing that it’s mostly for show. He can’t remember the last time it actually worked. But he smiles back at you, turning his chair around when you peek over your shoulder after the fact anyway, his skin tingling with anticipation of feeling you in his arms again.

You carefully drop your bag on the floor and leave your jacket on the desk as you walk over to him, standing between his spread legs as he sits up. Your fingers tangle in his hair, voice syrupy sweet when his hands wrap around your thighs just below the hem of your skirt. “Hi, Bear.”

He looks up at you with his chin resting below your navel. An after hours haze comes over him, muscles sore and eyes heavy, and he swears you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Hey, baby,” he drawls, letting you play with his hair a moment longer before bringing one hand to gently lift your top just a few inches, pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin, trailing right to your waistband to leave heated butterflies frenzied in your stomach. “Missed you a lot today…”

“Yeah?” You tug at his strands to get his attention again and lower yourself to straddle his hips. “Stressful day?”

His palms slide from your waist to your hips, pawing at your ass while he presses kisses to your jaw. “Yeah, just busy…‘n T was in a mood, so…” He trails off, too occupied with soaking in your perfume, your heavy breaths when he drags his teeth against your pulse.

“Carm?” you start, massaging his shoulders and moving to squeeze at his biceps—fuck, his arms, you just wanna…mm. You pry a groan from his throat and it only makes you want him more. “Lemme help you unwind, hm?…” 

One hand urges him to lift his gaze before you take his lips in a kiss, his hands making their way beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel skin to skin. It’s sweet, and it’s sultry, the way you kiss him, like you want him to unravel between your fingertips as you thumb at the knots in his shoulders. He’s not so sure he’d mind, what with the way you’re already turning his brain to mush with just a few cants of your hips against his. 

“Baby,” he breathes, “You don’t—you don’t have to…”

“I want to, though…” You’re nearly whining into his mouth. “You do so much for me, Carmy…”

“I, uh—” he laughs sheepishly, neck and face flushed and breath turning shallow— “I dunno ‘bout that—”

“C’mon, Bear—” you quiet your voice, leaning down close by his ear while a hand cups the opposite side of his face— “You cook for me all the time…” His fingers tease at the hem of your top again, and you peck his jaw. “You never let me lift a finger, and you always hold me…”

He sighs when your nails scratch at the tuft of hair behind his ear, head lolling into the back of the chair, eyes shut as his hands wander up your shirt dangerously close to your breasts. 

“And you make me feel so—” you drag your teeth along the shell of his ear, and put more weight against his hips, and he’s barely keeping himself calm— “so good—”

“Shhhhit—” he squeezes you tight to keep you from grinding against him again— “Richie’s just outside, baby, gotta be careful…”

“I don’t care…” Putting him in a trance, you carefully remove your top and let it fall to the floor, a pleased breath escaping when he grabs at you. “I’ve been missing you all day, y’know?”

“Yeah?” His chest is already heaving in anticipation, and it’s like he’s a virgin, cock half hard and throbbing just at the sight of bare skin he craves to kiss. “Me too, baby…”

You snake a hand down his stomach to palm him through his jeans while smiling like a minx. “And I miss your cock, Carmy—”

“Shhhhit—” he plants his hand on your mouth, and it’s painfully hard to ignore how he just twitched in his jeans— “The fuck’re you doin’?” 

You pout when he hesitantly uncovers your mouth. Feeling up his arms again, biting at your lip, you sigh. “Just showin’ my appreciation…”

He huffs, runs a hand through his hair with his eyes closed. “O-Okay, fuck…” 

How is he supposed to say no when you’re sat all pretty and topless in his lap? That wouldn’t be fair, now, would it? 

“Fuck, okay—” he looks you in the eye, brows furrowed and desperate for you like you always know he is— “We gotta be quiet, though, baby, alright?” A sweet kiss, slow and with his hands holding your face. “Gotta be quiet.”

You giggle into one last smooch. “Fine by me.” You shrug and shuffle out of his lap, sat on your heels in front of spread knees, mouth watering and eyes blown with lust as you brush your hands along his thighs.

He watches you carefully as you undress him: unbuttoning his jeans, opening his fly, looking up at him all sweet when you need him to lift his hips. By the time the denim pools around his ankles his cock is weeping pre and soaking through his briefs. 

“Oh, Carm,” you coo, kissing up and along his inner thighs past a tattoo of your name, leaving him reeling, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re so worked up?” You trail your fingers beneath the hem while lending hot kisses over the fabric, and he groans a little too loud for someone who was just worried about being caught. “I would’ve helped you.”

“F-Fuck you,” he laughs, leaning back into the chair with an arm cast over his forehead to try and calm himself the best he can when you’re breathing on his cock and peeling sticky briefs down his legs.

His dick is throbbing by the time you free it, threatening to stain his white tee, and you’re practically drooling into his lap as you wrap your hand around the base of it. It’s thick, it has your thighs pressing together and tongue going slick, and you can hardly connect your middle finger and thumb.

A breath hisses through his teeth and you hum to yourself. “Mmmm, you’re so big, Carmy.” But you notice he’s not looking at you, and you pause. “C’mon, you gotta watch.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. 

“If you want me to suck it—” wet, slobbery kisses trail from his base up toward his cherry red tip as you pump him slowww, spreading pre down his shaft— “You could at least open your eyes a little, hm?”

And oh, what a sight he is when he obliges: cheeks flushed, brows drawn tight together, golden brown curls made a mess, bottom lip barred behind teeth, preening over the look of your lips glossy with spit. He thinks he could come in record time. 

You smile up at him sweetly. “There he is…” And before he can blink you’re taking him into your mouth, down far enough to touch your lips to your hand, down far enough to have him groaning. 

“Holy shit, baby—” he moans, a sound that makes you dizzy, “Oh, fuck…” His head lolls back again, exposing a bobbing Adam’s apple as he gulps down a breath, a hand of his brushing low and past dark thick curls before squeezing the fabric of his tee and revealing his happy trail. 

You pull your mouth up on his cock and swirl your tongue around his tip to hear him whimper—whimper, all drawn out and whiny like he can’t get enough—before you let go completely, holding him by the base and watching a trail of spit and pre connect his slit to your tongue. 

“Jesus fuck—…” He bites into his fist, a pained look on his face but with lust-blown eyes. What’d he do to deserve you? “So fuckin’ sexy, baby…”

You smile and kiss his tip. “ ‘Cause I love having you in my mouth…”

A heady breath accompanies another rush of blood beneath your hands. “Yeah?”

“Mmmmm ‘f course, Carmy…” You drag your lips back down to his base and flatten your tongue to lick a stripe to the top, prodding his tip past your plush lips before smooching it again. “You have the prettiest cock…” You gather a glob of spit and Carmen can’t peel his eyes off of it as it drips…down from your glossy lips…down onto the beating head…before the words “Thank you for letting me suck it…” fall breathlessly off your tongue.

That makes his hips buck up and a moan slip past stifled by a hand over his mouth. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me come—”

You squeeze the soaked base of him, taunting with a feigned frown. “But I just got started…”

“Y-Yeah,” he heaves, “That’s the problem…”

You pump his cock slow with a tight fist how he likes it, grinning as your free hand snakes up his thigh; his breath hitches, and he starts to think he’s dreaming when you grab for the hand by his navel and bring it atop your head. He smooths it over your hair a few times as he releases choppy breaths, makes a face to ask Are you sure? He doesn’t expect you to hum against his tip, sending a vibration down his cock to make him choke on nothing before you murmur, “Do whatever you want…” kissing and licking along his shaft as your hand twists around his tip, “Wanna make you feel good…”

“You are, baby…” He tugs gently on your hair and guides your mouth back to where he needs you. “Like a—” you wrap your lips around him again, and even with his hands in your hair his head rears back— “Fuck, yeah, just like that—like a fuckin’ angel—”

It’s filthy, and it’s messy and wet and dirty, the way you let him fuck into your mouth, his feet planted on the ground and pushing the back of the chair against the desk, your hands pressing into the sinew of his thighs to keep steady. “God, you’re so fuckin’ good—so fuckin’ good for me, baby—”

And you’re practically dripping in your panties, doing as best you can to relieve some of that pulse between your thighs by grinding your cunt into your heels, too caught up in Carmen’s moans to think too much about the fact you’re in his office choking on his dick because it feels so good, and he looks beautifully euphoric, eyes squeezing shut every few seconds, neck flushed crimson above a gasping chest. 

You hollow your cheeks around him and he thrusts only halfway, the added suction too much to take all the way down to your throat. “Shhhit, suckin’ me so nice—so fuckin’ gorgeous—makin’ me wanna—” but you push away from his dick, drool-smeared lips curling into a smile. He wets his lips as his chest rises and falls at the loss of release. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen like this, all messy and covered in spit and pre with tears marring the makeup around your eyes. “Fuck me,” he groans, exasperated as he leans back into the chair and brings his hands up to his forehead. 

You sit up a bit and put more weight into your knees. You keep one hand languidly stroking his cock while the other grips his tee and pulls him forward, crashing into your lips so he can taste himself. His hands quickly take up your jaw, holding you firm against his lips to let him dip his tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss. Your neck is craned, and his back is hunched over, but with the way you keep your hand away from his throbbing tip has him groaning for more. 

“You gotta be quiet, Carm,” you murmur before he just kisses you again anyway. 

“Can’t—” you squeeze his dick when you near his head at that— “hah, fuck—can’t be quiet when your mouth ‘s on me like that—”

You push against his sternum to send him leaning back into the chair, and his head starts spinning with want. “Figure it out then—” another kiss to his weeping cock, just as sexy as the last ten times as you thumb at his slit— “or I’m not gonna fuck you when we get home.”

“Shit,” he hisses to himself, lifting his hips to move them closer to your mouth. He likes this side of you, knowing what you want and a little demanding, a smirk poking at the corners of your mouth when you command things of him you’ll make sure he can’t fulfill. Maybe he should fuck you in the office more often. 

He doesn’t get to ponder it too long, though, because you’ve already taken him into your mouth again, both hands now gripping at the base while your tongue laps at his slit like you’re begging for him to spill into your mouth. His knuckles turn white as he grips the arm rests of the chair, and he bites down hard into his bottom lip to stifle a moan loud enough to be heard all the way at the front door. 

“I needa come, baby—” you leave your hands on his thighs as you take him all the way in, his tip prodding at the back of your throat— “Fuck—!” He thrusts up into your mouth and realizes too late how fucking loud he is—how loud all of it is, what with you gagging and moaning as you try to get some sense of release while milking his dick for all he’s worth, the sighs of pleasure that slip off his tongue no matter how hard he tries, the wet sounds from your mouth every time he bucks his hips out of the chair. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he groans, a hand coming to the top of your head again to slow you so as not to let him finish too quick. “Baby—ah, fuckmmmmfuck baby, please—” He feels it churning in his gut all the way to his cock: that band stretching and stretching and threatening to snap, growing tighter and tighter every time your lips smooth over his head and your tongue laps at the frenulum. “Baby lemme—shit, lemme come down your throat please, baby—”

As soon as he begs it of you you’re moaning an affirmation, locking eyes with him for a split second before they shut again with ecstasy. He snaps with a stuttered thrust into your mouth, palms pressed hard into the arm rests as he chokes out your name as hushed as he can manage. “Fuck, pretty—” his release, bitter and salty, shoots into your mouth with a groan so guttural you feel it in your cunt.

The shift of his hips slows from a thrust to a meager cant, overstimulation crawling up his spine as you continue milking him. “Shit,” he huffs, arms going limp and jaw going slack. “Slow down, baby…needa—needa calm down…f-fffuck…” He watches as you slowly drag your lips up to the tip of his cock to clean him of his cum, another groan easing by at the sight. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby—” You’re giggling and pressing soft kisses to his thighs, and all he can do is tilt his head back and shut his eyes to try and recover. 

You wait less than a minute before you’re hounding on him again, thrumming with success and the thought of him fucking you when he brings you home. “How was it?” You ask the question sheepishly, smiling up at him and wiping spit from your lips like you don’t know how much you’ve just wrecked him.

He wills himself to sit back up again. “How was it?” He smiles back, heart warm. “Baby—” he cups your face all sweet how he is after sex, muscles pliant and brain dizzy with aftershocks of pleasure— “You’re fuckin’ incredible, y’know that right?”

You shrug despite your daze. “Obviously. You came in my mouth like a virgin.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, lips perking up into a reluctant smile. His thumbs brush along your cheekbones with adoration. “Your fault for bein’ so sexy.”

A precious kiss to your forehead, one that has your eyes slipping closed before his nose nudges past yours and he seizes your mouth in a searing kiss, one that’s built on passion and lust and appreciation and awe. Your palms sit beneath his elbows and he smiles into it, flushing when he tastes himself on your tongue but kissing you that much deeper when he does. 

There’s one last sweet peck before he says, “You’re perfect. Thank you.” Another between your brows and to each cheek before he grabs your shirt, crumpled beside the chair, and hands it to you. He lets you dress yourself while he fits his half-hard dick back into his briefs and stands to pull his jeans over his hips, wiping tacky hands down on the denim. It’ll do. 

He helps you get back up and ease your sore knees back into working condition before the door knob rattles. Both of you freeze. 

“Cousin!” A hand bangs hard on the door.

You and Carmen lock eyes. “Shit,” he hisses, looking down and fumbling with his fly. You panic only half-heartedly, the other half laughing at Carmen’s struggle. 

“Cousin!” Richie calls again, shaking the door, “You fuckers better not’ve been doin’ what—” 

Just like Carmen should’ve seen coming, the lock stops working and the door swings open as he’s buttoning his pants. 

Richie catches him and his expression drops. “Oh, you son ‘f a—” he seems to catch your smudged mascara and lip gloss— “Oh, God—” He grimaces and steps away from the doorway with his hands on his head. “In the fuckin’ office, Cousin? Are you kiddin’ me?”

Carmen figures you don’t care enough to bother with the complaints, because you’re shooting him a smile and tugging on his arm to lead him right past Richie. And he’s more than happy to follow behind, a stupidly lovedrunk smile on his face. What he’s got in mind for you when you get home—perhaps a polite thank you of his own—will be worth the headache tomorrow morning.

[323cutie]

your skin is against my body. | jyh

pairing ୨୧ yunho x afab reader

word count ୨୧ 650

genre ୨୧ smut asf!!!!!!

warnings ୨୧ sexual content, swearing <3 smut warnings below the cut

author's note ୨୧ i have had a bad week (it is wednesday morning). So yes i need yunho to comfort me. anyways i finished this last night but was too tired to post it LMFAO

18+ mdni!!

smut warnings ୨୧ fingering, dirty talk, a bit of banter i think, choking but its pretty light, mentions of like actual sex but we don't get there sawrry, teasing yunho, a little bit of begging, you guys know that live where yunho said he liked when ppl whined his name. Yeah

You’ve had a bad day.

You made it obvious to all of your coworkers, yelled at just about every other car on the way home, considered killing your roommate because they took your apartment’s reserved parking spot when it was your turn to have it, and were curt with the boba cafe worker you’re usually more than friendly with.

You’re not proud of yourself. But you are tired. And sick of dealing with it all. So when you get to Yunho’s and he almost immediately offers to cheer you up, you agree with zero hesitation.

It’s probably (definitely) how you ended up with his hand between your legs.

Maybe you should have seen it coming. You don’t really care, either way. Yunho’s fingers feel like heaven inside of you, pumping and curling and twisting in all the most delicious ways. You sigh when he curls them up, head lolling back and to the side, landing on his shoulder from where he lies down next to you.

“When you said you’d make me, hmm, feel better,” you start, letting him nudge your head to the other side with his nose. He presses open mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Wasn’t expecting – fuck – this.”

Yunho hums, lips tracing the shell of your ear. “Oh?” He says, speeding up the pace of his fingers. You moan and practically feel him grin. “I can stop, if that’s what you want.”

He starts to slow down to an almost stop and you grab at his wrist, trying to guide his hand back to the pace it was before. “Don’t you dare,” you say, glaring at him. He laughs, kisses your temple soothingly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, picking up his pace again. His other hand wraps loosely around your neck, just enough pressure to make you keen. “Gotta make my baby feel good, hm?”

You nod eagerly and Yunho laughs, fond, obeying to your silent pleas and gliding his thumb over your clit. You gasp, melt into his arms, spread your legs wider so he has all the room in the world to do whatever he wants to you. 

“Look so pretty when you’re spread open for me like this,” Yunho murmurs, adding more pressure to the way he circles your clit. “Had such a bad day, just need it fucked out of you, right? Just need to be taken care of?” 

You don't know what sounds come out of your mouth, but you’re almost certain they’re not words. Yunho curls his fingers up inside of you, hitting a spot only he can reach, and you feel your whole body react. Pliant in his hold, moldable however he sees fit. The hand around your neck squeezes a warning. “Use your words, pretty.”

Oh, right. You can’t even think. “Y-Yeah,” you say, voice strained, breathless. “Need you to fuck me.”

You hear him hum and look up at him, hoping your already fucked out eyes will add a little something extra to your plea. “Yunho,” you whine, canting your hips up to meet his fingers. “Please.”

You see his breath physically hitch, watch as something swirls in his eyes as he looks at you. His cheeks and nose are red and you want to run your fingers through his hair, want to peel every article of clothing off just so you can see all of him.

Maybe you’ll get to soon. Yunho presses forward and kisses you hard, tongue delving into your mouth and tasting your own. You moan onto his lips and he practically mirrors it, letting his own noises out. His fingers move faster, thumb circling tighter, and you squeal.

“I’ll fuck you so good you’ll only remember my name,” he murmurs lowly. He curls against that spot again and you feel like you’re falling apart. “But you’re gonna cum on my fingers first.”

[rinsoap]

SONGS THEY LOVE TO MAKE OUT TO!

✿²˖ ࣪ ➣ includes : suna rintaro. iwaizumi hajime. atsumu miya.

note : me after incorporating my music hyperfixation into all my works. also can u tell im so obsessed with all of these men's arms n hands.

SUNA RINTARO: REDBONE BY CHILDISH GAMBINO

makeouts with suna are always distracting you. this night was no different except for the fact that you're on the floor. well, you're sittting on the rug beside his bed that's pushed up to the wall. he's sitting against it, and you're in his lap facing him. you're on your phone, not paying attention to the boy directly in front of you, too busy trying to instruct one of your project partners on how to use microsoft. suna is not usually jealous. who cares if someone's into you? it's not like they have a chance. you never entertain them anyways. he just misses you. he was out of the city for a week for an away game, and he's hardly kissed you since he left. he's had awaken, my love! by childish gambino playing for a while now, head lolling back on the bed, bored out of his mind. "babyyyy" he hums in complaint after you giggle at your phone. "hold on rin, i'm almost done... god these people are so stupid, i swear i'm literally carrying this project" you roll your eyes as your fingers fly across the screen, the tapping filling the silence until your boyfriend groans and brings his head up to look at your pretty face. the intro of redbone kicks in, and his mind starts racing, thinking about all the times he's kissed your lips to this song. his hand snakes around your waist, and you feel his thumb start tracing hearts into your skin. "you're too pretty to be worrying about school," suna pouts, "you should pay attention to... other things..." his suspicious trail off causing your eyes to flick to his face, but before you could find his eye contact, he was planting kisses onto your neck. "rin," you whine, winding up to tell him off, but he makes his way up to your jaw, grinning against your cheek when you catch his eye. "rin i can't..." you sigh, incredibly receptive to his touch despite your words, dropping your phone still open on your messages to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "you just look so beautiful, can’t stop myself," he mumbles before pressing his lips against yours, hands making their way to hold the dip between your jaw and neck. you lean into his desperate kiss, and when your fingers carress the nape of his neck, you feel him smile. "missed you so much baby"

IWAIZUMI HAJIME: NIGHTS BY FRANK OCEAN

makeouts with iwaizumi always start out polite. it's always just one kiss, something casual, until he starts getting needier. you had dragged your boyfriend into another late afternoon nap, him shirtless, and you wearing one of his faded graphic t-shirts. you're woken by the sunlight beaming through iwaizumi's ineffective blinds. his arm is lazily holding you and he's laying on his stomach, you're on your back. you place your hand on his forearm and hum along to the end of hold on by the internet. you had forgotten you put on a playlist. you hear iwaizumi grunt and you giggle. "you awake finally?" he teases, turning on his side to face you and you do the same. "take a guess, genius" you quip back and he tsks. he doesn't say anything though, chest to chest and noses touching, he just stares into your eyes. sometimes he wakes up with you next to him and he is baffled at how he managed to pull someone as gorgeous as you. his eyes only break from yours to flick to your lips, and you can tell he's trying to be discreet by the way they immediately dart back. the song changes, and you both smile at each other knowingly. you were about to exclaim that he should just kiss you, but he interrupts that thought to oblige, and your face goes hot. his kisses still gave you butterflies despite being with him for so long. you kiss him back, matching the way he deepens it, hands over your hips as he pulls you onto him. you gasp at the sudden nature of it, and he grins against your mouth. you break free and move your hands from the sides of his face to his bare chest, but he pulls you closer to kiss up your shoulder and your collarbones and ultimately brings you back to kiss him. as the beat switches, his strong arms hold you tighter, closing whatever distance the two of you might have had before. he groans in your mouth when your hands tangle in his hair, tugging on it slightly when he quietly mumbles, "i love you". he could kiss you all day if he could, and he acts like it.

MIYA ATSUMU: ONE NIGHT ONLY BY SONDER

makeouts with atsumu are intense and frequent. he loves pda, he's the type of guy to use any excuse to show off his girl, and is that such a crime?! he needs to stop kissing you at parties though, i fear you've become that couple. you were both a little tipsy, and when atsumu drinks, he can't take his hands off of you. so when he started kissing on your neck, you rushed him to the bathroom to avert everyone's eyes from the pda. you shut the door behind you, and atsumu quickly takes the opportunity to close the distance between you two until he had you pressed against the door. "oh, hey," you say with a sarcastic smirk that he matches. "hi baby," he bites his lip, looking you up and down and then back to your eyes, "you look so fucking good... i couldn't stop looking at ya, princess" he knows he's not subtle. your heart beats to the bass of the song playing through the door as he cups your cheeks in his big hands. he leans in to kiss you fervently, leaving you breathless and almost as needy as him. his hands thread through your hair and yours do the same as he nips at your lips playfully. you giggle and he pulls back just enough to speak, resting his forehead on yours. "you're so perfect" is all he says before he starts peppering you face and neck with soft kisses, working his way up back to your lips to capture you in a kiss much more intense comparatively. his hands roam your back, and you melt into his touch as the two of you intertwine. the world fades away, it's just you and him and the song. "hey are y'all done in there or what?" osamu knocks irritably, gladly interrupting you much to both of your displeasure. you laugh, and atsumu rolls his eyes. "yeah yeah whatever," he calls out, planting one last kiss on your cheek before you drag him out of the bathroom, "this will be continued later, promise you baby" he's so corny

[yuwuta]

PEOPLE TOLD ME ABOUT THE FLAMES, I COULDN’T SEE THROUGH THE SMOKE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

cw some kind of college au/boarding school au? this used to be for rodeo station and now just... exists on its own, friends to lovers, megumi has toji and satoru as father figures so are we surprised that he’s a bully and doesn’t really grow out of that phase… anyway, apologies to muta and miwa, 1.3k words

Nobara makes a poor effort to stifle her laughter as Kokichi stomps up to stand in front of you, hair and clothes drenched in chocolate milk, shoes sloshing with each step, and the bandage on the side of his cheek peeling from the wetness.

When you look up at him, you’re unimpressed, and unsurprised, so you resume annotating your lecture notes as if you weren’t interrupted. If Kokichi wanted to stand in a puddle of dripping milk, then so be it—you should have finished your notes yesterday, and you couldn’t get through your other tasks without catching up first.

“Look, I already said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bothering you for your number when you’d already said no,” Kokichi starts, wiping dripping milk from his chin, “Now, will you please call off your guard dog.”

You don’t reply immediately, focused on finishing the last paragraph of the page, much to Kokichi’s dismay, and Nobara’s amusement. He huffs at your silence, frustrated and humiliated, but there’s nothing for him to say or do until you respond. Maybe that’s something he should have considered when he kept trying to talk to you in class. Still, even now, you’re not ignoring Kokichi to embarrass him or string him along; you just want to finish your godforsaken anthropology homework.

“You seem to be under the impression that I can make Megumi start or stop doing anything,” you sigh, put your highlighter down, and tiredly look up at Kokichi, “But I regret to inform you that you’re wrong.”

Kokichi’s nose scrunches in disbelief, an angered hand coming to wave in front of his face, but his dripping clothes result in splashes to his face—and further laughter from Nobara. He sighs out of frustration, trying to put away his pride, but Nobara’s giggling and your nonchalant attitude are really making it difficult for him to take this in stride.

“Okay, you’re fucking with me—and I deserve it, alright? But, Todo already gave me a fucking lecture, Mai won’t look at me, and Megumi is going to rip and stain every single shirt I own at this point.” 

“That sounds like your problem,” Nobara snickers, rolling her eyes when Kokichi gives her a glare. 

“I'd love to help, Muta, but this is out of my control,” you loll, capping your marker, “Maybe try apologizing to Megumi instead of dripping chocolate milk over notes and shoes.”

“Eh? The hell am I apologizing to him for?” 

“You’re the one who pissed him off—how should I know?” you sigh, sliding your pens and markers into your bag, and closing your folder. 

Nobara pipes in to taunt, “You’d better figure it out soon, though. I hear they’re serving spaghetti tomorrow, and that definitely stains.” 

You swear you hear Kokichi growl, but it only makes Nobara laugh harder. The two of them together is a bad combination—Kokichi is easily aggravated, and Nobara easily aggravates. You’re certain that if Megumi weren’t already on his ass, Nobara would have stepped in to bully him just for the fun of it.

Still, you’d rather not have to testify on either of their behalf, so you bid Kokichi a goodbye, offering him your best advice about cleaning milk stains out of white shirts, and drag Nobara by the arm before she can make another quick quip to finally make him snap. 

She’s still laughing at Kokichi’s expense all the way back to your dorm, “As much as I like seeing Megumi pummel Muta, he’s definitely gonna get written up, at the very least, if he keeps it up. Just tell him you’re not mad about it anymore, and he’ll piss off.” 

You stuff your hands into your pockets, “I don’t control megumi. I didn’t tell him to egg Muta’s car, and pour milk all over him. ” 

“Like hell you don’t,” Nobara scoffs, “Kokichi was right about one thing—Megumi’s a doberman on a leash and you’re his owner.” 

“I didn’t even tell him that Kokichi kept asking for my number. I’m pretty sure Todo told Yuuji, and Yuuji told Megumi.”

“Yeah, that’s almost worse,” Nobara huffs, “He’s just moved to protect you out of undying loyalty—it must be nice to have a knight in shining armor. Does he call you ‘my liege,’ when you’re alone? He might as well bow down and kiss your shoes with the way he worships the ground you walk on.”

You know Nobara is teasing. The rhetoric that you have influence on Megumi isn’t new to you, but it’s always confusing for you to hear. You’ve known Megumi since grade school, and one thing you’re certain of is that he does things of his own conviction, and when he’s decided something, there’s little anybody can do to convince him otherwise. He’s the true definition of steadfast, and sometimes you wonder if his beliefs have inadvertently made him gain masochistic tendencies, because you’ve seen Megumi suffer in pain just to prove a point. 

“Megumi’s his own person, and he’s not easily influenced,” you chuckle, “If anything, he’s more of an attack dog—he bites whenever he sees something he doesn’t like.”

“In any case, he’s your dog,” Nobara shrugs. She pauses for a moment, skipping to catch up to you with a scrunch to her face, “I change my mind though, he’s definitely not scary enough to be a doberman. What are the puffy ones—the really small ones that yap a bunch?” 

“Pomeranians?”

She lights up—“Yeah, that’s way more fitting! Plus, he’s got spiky hair like those little mutts, a really bratty, spoiled one too. Gojo probably kept him in his Birkin as a kid.” 

You giggle as Nobara searches for an image to compare to one of Megumi. She goes as far as to make a collage and send it in your group chat for approval, instantly getting a rave reaction from Yuuji, and predictably, no response from Megumi.

Nobara walks you back halfway to your dorm, leaving you on your own to head to the gym to meet up with Yuuji. When you get back to your room, you’re not surprised to already see Megumi inside, sitting snugly on your worn-in couch with a book in hand. It’s Wednesday, so he only had morning classes, and prefers to spend his afternoon studying in solace, usually taking advantage of your larger, empty room to get his work done. He gives you a small wave, enraptured in his reading, and you know better than to try and disturb him, so you take your place on the opposite side of the couch with the remainder of your notes in hand, finally having the peace and quiet to finish your annotations. 

Megumi finishes his chapter before you’re done, but he waits for you, quietly scrolling on his phone so as not to interrupt you. You don’t face him when you speak, keeping your eyes on your notes, and simply stating, “Kokichi apologized.”

You hear him hum. you know he’s looking at you, but you don’t meet his gaze, and do your best to bite back a smile before he asks, “You forgive him?”

You finish your annotations with a final asterisk at the bottom of your page, so you cap the marker, and finally turn to face Megumi. He doesn’t ask a second time, even as you silently observe him, even if your smile is confusing to him.

“I wasn’t ever really upset,” you explain, “It was annoying, but he wasn’t harassing me or anything.” 

He hums again, but it’s not agreeing. “Tsumiki is gonna get mad if you get suspended.” 

Megumi calls your bluff with his hum this time, and you sigh. Tsumiki won’t get mad, because Megumi would never get suspended, not as long as Gojo is around as headmaster.

Megumi turns his body inward, raising an arm to rest his elbow against the cushion of the couch. He lolls his head to rest against his palm, cheek squished, and almost mischievous glimmer in his eye. In this light, you see Nobara’s argument—with sleep-tousled hair and expectant eyes, Megumi looks an awful lot like a puppy waiting for a command. 

It’s cute, until you realize that Megumi is awaiting your command. Is he?—why would he, he’s never been known to listen, and yet, you’re tempted to see if you truly do have him on some proverbial leash, like everyone else seems to believe.

“Megumi,” you call, softly, “He’s learned his lesson, and I’m fine, alright? Leave him alone.”  

Megumi blinks slowly. His features soften, only for a moment, before he’s turned away from you to pick up his book again. He doesn’t respond verbally, doesn’t touch on the topic for the rest of the evening that you both spend studying in your room, but the following day, you walk past Kokichi and Miwa heading into their chemistry lab, and notice a distinct lack of milk or food residue on his clothing or in his hair, so there isn’t anything more to be said.

Megumi is waiting outside of your lecture hall after your last class of the day, offering you a carton of strawberry milk—unopened, and un-thrown. You accept it, reaching up to ruffle his hair as a thank you, and you’re surprised when you feel him move into your touch. He dips his head down a bit further, gently knocking it against yours before straightening up with a sly smile. He nods his head, wordlessly, and turns towards your dorm, ready to walk you back. 

You follow, dazed, as you stab the straw into your milk. You’re a half-step behind Megumi, head clouded with confusing new daydreams about the boy in front of you, and now you can’t help but to wonder if you’re the one left to follow Megumi’s whim, or if he’s just pulling you by his own leash. 

[keeps-ache]

gonna keep it shmoovin man

[moonstruckme]

Hey! Unsure what happened but I copy+pasted a request into my doc and now it's gone :( Anyway to whoever sent this, thank you!

Request: can i request hurt/comofort with high!reader x buzzed!sirius (or poly!mar whatever you’d like) where reader smokes a little more then she can handle and he takes care of her but he’s like still a little high himself, if that makes sense TT just nice and lovey and dovey!!!!

cw: weed, greening out, mention of vomit/nausea

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Sirius is trying to be comforting, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of your back underneath his hand. The muscles of your shoulders are tight, your breathing stilted and your skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Sirius can’t stop thinking about how he’d like to rest his face in between your shoulder blades and kiss an adoring line down your spine. He worries it wouldn’t be very helpful. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quieter than breath, a soft sigh drooping your shoulders as you let your head loll forward. 

Your body starts to list forward with it. Sirius weaves his arm under yours, settling down more comfortably on the bathroom floor and pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I should have warned you about this. I need to remember to be careful with you.” 

Caution isn’t really in Sirius’ nature, but however unwisely, you put a lot of trust in him. The weed you’d smoked tonight was a different strain than the one he’s shared with you before, but he’d forgotten to clue you in. You’d matched him hit for hit, and with your lower tolerance it hadn’t ended well. You’ve been sick more than once. 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper. Your voice sounds tight. Sirius’ chest contracts, worrying you’re starting to get teary. “You don’t have to take care of me, but you are. You’re so, so nice.” Definitely teary now. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night.” 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your face with something akin to desperation. He already feels like his heart is going to spill right out of his ribcage, and your upset makes it about ten times worse. “You’re not ruining anything. Of course I have to take care of you, you’re my girl, you know? I want to.” 

He peers around you, trying to see your face. You’ve got that same, slightly spaced-out look you’ve had for the past hour, a sad little line between your brows. Sirius reaches up to smooth it out with his finger, and you turn toward him like you’d forgotten he was there. He wonders if this much affection can actually crush his bones to dust. It feels plausible.

“I love you,” he says. 

You sigh, fitting your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It’s not a happy sound, but he knows it’s not meant for him. “You, too.” 

You take his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines in his skin. Your touch is so light it tickles. He has a small scar from a failed attempt at cooking with James when he first moved out, and when you get to it you raise his palm to your lips, resting them there purposefully. 

“Can I have a hug?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Fuck yeah, always.” 

Sirius does the work of turning you around, your own coordination not spectacular at the moment, and your arms curl under his arms, wrists crossing between his shoulder blades. He thinks your hands might be making fists. For his part, he rubs up and down your spine slowly, squeezing intermittently, unsure how much you want. Sirius has always been shit at comfort. He’ll keep trying as long as you let him.

“I don’t like this,” you admit. Your face feels warm where it’s pressing into his shoulder, and Sirius realizes you might be crying again. He hugs you harder. “I can’t think.” 

He feels, very acutely, his heart fracturing. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s awful.” 

“I’m scared,” you whimper. 

“I know, sweet girl.” He may well be crushing you now. If your ribs are breaking, you don’t seem inclined to say anything about it. “You’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve got you. Just try to relax, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?” You don’t respond, sniffling. Sirius rubs your back again. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick any more, darling?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Alright, my lovely. Let’s go to bed, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.” 

You hug him tighter. “Thank you for being so nice to me.” 

“Wrong again,” he says, tucking a kiss into your hair. “I’m not nice to you, I just love you too much.”