#the more i think about it the more perfect it is

[renard-dartigue]

Actually, He's exactly what Trump hates.

Wonder if Trump is going to call him a cat eater lol.

[sinkuna]

Thinking about Gojo Satoru using you as gym equipment ♡

୨୧ — "Need something heavier than plates," Gojo muses in the training room, those blue eyes sparkling with mischief as they land on you. Before you can protest, he's already scooped you up.

"Satoru!" you squeal as he positions himself on the exercise mat, settling you to straddle his hips while he lies back. "This is not what I meant when I said l'd help you workout," you giggle. His hands grip your thighs firmly as he starts his "workout."

"But you make such perfect resistance training," he pouts, flexing his abs as he starts thrusting his hips upward, lifting you effortlessly.

Each movement has you bouncing on his pelvis, your core clenching involuntarily... "the perfect weight-" he grins, powerful hips driving up to lift you again, "Though maybe I should add some resistance..."

His fingers slip beneath your workout shorts, finding you already slick, "Oh~?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you, "Someone's enjoying being used as gym equipment~"

You bite your lip as he starts timing his thrusts with teasing circles against your clit. "N' t-this isn't... proper exercise form..."

"No?" His hips snap up sharply, making you gasp, "Seems like excellent muscle engagement to me. Plus..." he slides two fingers inside you while maintaining his rhythmic thrusts, "my fingers are getting some bonus cardio."

Your hands brace on his chest as he continues his "workout," each upward drive of his hips pushing his fingers deeper, "Satoooru... some-someone could come in... this is hah~ a public g-gym..." you bite your lip to stifle a deep moan.

"Better hold on tight then," he groans, increasing not only his hips pace, but his fingers as well, "Got about fifty reps to go... unless you tap out first~"

You whimper as he curls his fingers, knowing full well you won't last nearly that long... and that's exactly what he's counting on.

"Besides," he smirks up at you, "this is much more fun than regular weights. They don't make such pretty noises."

"Satoru!" you moan as he hits a sensitive spot, your nails biting into him.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his movements growing more intense. "Help me work up a sweat."

[starmapz]

what you know - ch16: sleepless nights || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 17.6k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

Slipping through the door on Tuesday morning to the lecture hall mere seconds before the professor shuts it, you mutter an apology as you jog up to your seat beside Kento. The blonde’s lips downturn at the sight of your rushed movements as you pull your laptop out, your chest heaving after having run through campus.

“May I ask what has you so rushed?” He questions in a hushed tone as the professor prepares for his lecture.

Letting out a breath, you shake your head. “I had a little bit of an existential crisis this morning, but everything’s good now,” you breathe, forcing a smile.

Kento’s brow raises. “Would this have anything to do with Sukuna?”

“No. Well-” you pause, hesitating as your fingers pause on your keyboard. “Kinda, I guess.”

Kento’s observant eyes flicker between your rushed movements and your expression. He scrutinizes the minute tremor in your fingers and the way you chew on your lip. Unfortunately for you, he’s entirely too observant, and more than willing to call you out for it.

“Have you been crying?”

Like a deer in the headlights, your head whips towards him, wide-eyed. Caught.

The blonde frowns. “Do you have a moment after class before your internship?”

You nod, sighing as you give in, frazzled nerves dissolving. You’re not sure why you bother trying to hide when it comes to him. He’s known you too long, and he’s always been perceptive.

As the professor begins the lecture, you dial in, doing what you can to give your full attention to the subject. You can’t afford another day of catch-up, not when you’re still behind.

When the professor dismisses the lecture hall, you lean back in your seat, dropping the back of your head onto the plastic backrest. With a yawn, you run your hands through your hair, before dropping them to hang at your sides.

Kento’s presence beside you remains steady as he allows you a moment to sort out your thoughts. Your gaze trails across the ceiling, resting on a water stain. You recall thinking those were coffee stains when you were a kid. In hindsight, that doesn’t make much sense.

When you remain unmoving for a minute too long, Kento finally gives you a push. “Care to start with the elephant in the room?”

Shutting your eyes, your brows knit together. “Sukuna?”

“In a sense. What happened with the trial? I didn’t get the chance to ask when I saw you on Friday.”

Shrugging in place, you shake your head. “His step-mom had the whole thing rigged. I don’t think it would have mattered what he did.”

“I see.”

“The kids were devastated,” you murmur, blinking your eyes open as your gaze finds more deformities in the otherwise uninteresting ceiling, “and really scared.”

Kento’s expression remains aloof as he hums in understanding. “And Sukuna?”

You finally tilt your head towards the blonde. You’re in a frazzled enough mood to question whether or not he truly cares about Sukuna’s well-being, but you have no right to be rude when your friend has only ever shown compassion for you. Sighing, you stare back at the ceiling, clasping your hands in your lap.

Hesitating, your lips purse. You’re in no position to be telling Kento the details of Sukuna’s life, but you’re also desperately in need of some support yourself. As much as you appreciate Toji and Uraume, what you really need is a girls’ night (featuring Kento), but you’re not sure whether you have the time to spare for that.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean- I know he’s doing bad. He didn’t sleep between the trial and the hand-off of the kids.” As your neck starts to get sore, you sit up, staring at your fiddling thumbs in your lap. “I haven’t heard from him since before the hand-off, though.”

“And you’re worried?” He confirms.

Nodding, you sigh softly. “I tried texting and calling.”

“Well, surely you’ll see him at work today,” Kento offers, though you’ve already considered that.

“Hopefully. I don’t know,” you admit. You have half a mind to think he might take some time off, or just not show up at all.

“And you?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as Kento turns in his seat to better see you. “I’m so behind,” you murmur. The dark circles underlining your eyes feel heavy with the admission. You’d only missed a couple of days, but the truth is that you’ve spent so much time concerning yourself with Sukuna’s affairs that even your time spent studying was wasted on zoning out.

Kento’s sharp auburn eyes flicker between yours. “I meant how are you handling what’s going on with Sukuna, but something tells me the tears weren’t shed over him. Would that be right?”

Your chest slowly rises in a long, exasperated inhalation. “Not this time,” you sigh. “I got some wires crossed and forgot to submit a paper last night. I thought it was due on Wednesday.”

Kento frowns. “I assume it was for your Copy Editing class?”

You nod.

“What was it worth?”

“Thirty percent,” you murmur, blinking your eyes rapidly as you feel tears of stress welling in your eyes. “I don’t know how I was so stupid, I usually have everything right in my calendar, and double-check and-”

“Hold on,” Kento interrupts before you can spiral as you begin to ramble and blame yourself. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Have you had the opportunity to speak with your professor about it yet?”

“Well- no, but he’s pretty strict, and I’m a scholarship student,” you mumble doubtfully, finding yourself picking at your nails.

The very best is expected out of you, you’ve had no issue upholding that until this semester.

“Strict or not, life happens,” Kento points out, not hesitating to wrap his fingers around your wrist and tug your hands apart to prevent you from picking at your nails. He pulls his hands back to his lap with a pointed stare, scolding you with only a look. “I think he would be willing to consider your perspective if you simply explain.”

“I can’t just tell him what’s going on with Sukuna.”

“You can’t allow yourself to fail to spare his feelings, either,” Kento points out evenly, crossing his legs.

Your gaze falls to your lap. “I guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I’ll try to talk to my prof tomorrow.”

Nodding in satisfaction, your friend nods at your side. “And your internship?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait- What time is it? I think I need to leave.”

Pulling his wrist up, Kento calmly recites the time from his wristwatch. “Ten.”

“I’m gonna be late.” You move in a rush to shove your textbook and laptop into your bag, pulling on your coat with one hand at the same time.

You pause for the briefest of moments as Kento catches your attention with your name. “What is it?” You ask, returning to packing up as you zip up your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

“You’ll be alright if you’re a couple of minutes late.”

“I-” you hesitate as you get to your feet. “- I really want to make a good impression.”

Getting to his feet, Kento pushes his belongings into his bag at a much more reasonable pace. “I can sympathize with that, but you also need to take care of yourself,” he points out.

Squeezing your bag strap on your shoulder, your brows draw together. You know all-too-well that you’ve been neglecting some much needed self-care time and relaxation, but life isn’t about to slow down and wait for you. You can catch up later.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

Nodding, you follow after him as he leads to way down the stairs of the lecture hall and out into the spring air.

The sun is peeking through the clouds, but a glum feeling still seems to cling to the air. Or maybe you’re just projecting your stress into the clouds, you can’t be sure. Either way, the chirping of birds and buzzing of the returning insects doesn’t carry the same welcoming feeling of spring that you’re accustomed to.

Falling into step with you, Kento takes the opportunity to gently pat your shoulder. “Breathe,” he soothes, remaining as a steady presence from your childhood. If there’s one thing Kento excels in, it’s his ability to assess a situation and act accordingly to find the best outcome, one of the many benefits of having a psychiatrist as a mother. He watches as you suck in a breath, taking a moment to slow down. “How are the rest of your classes going?”

“I- um-” you hesitate, stumbling over your foot and barely managing to catch yourself in the process. Attempting to walk off the embarrassment of tripping, you brush your coat off and stand straight once more. “Um-”

Kento moves to stand in front of you and stops, forcing you to slow down for a moment, to catch your breath and your spiraling thoughts. Tilting your chin up to look at him, you find his brow furrowed, the first signs of disquiet written across his features. “Take a breath,” he encourages you again.

Taking a deep breath, you force the thought of being late for work out of your mind for now, blowing air from your pursed lips in a sigh.

“Good. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

Chewing on your lip, you avoid Kento’s gaze. “I’m kinda worried about my scholarship,” you admit quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The blonde frowns. “Are you that far behind? How many classes did you miss?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shrug. “Not that many,” you shake your head. “But my Public Relations and Marketing class had a presentation that I didn’t know about from a publishing house and I don’t know how I’m supposed to catch up on that and I’m worried-”

“Hey.” Kento interrupts as you begin to spiral. “It’s okay. Have you had the chance to speak with that professor?”

“Well, no-”

“Then take a breath,” he urges. “One step at a time.”

You nod slowly, taking his advice.

“Has the Financial Aid Office or an Academic Advisor reached out?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you’ll be okay.” Kento smiles reassuringly, his cool and calm demeanor soothing your frayed nerves a bit. “I’ll help you work through it, how does that sound?”

Your shoulders fall in defeat as you nod, accepting his help. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks Ken. Are you sure you won’t fall behind?”

A chuckle rumbles within his chest. “I’m ahead,” he admits, not as a boast but to reassure you. “Besides, not everyone has a…” he searches for words, “dear friend in need of help quite as you do. I know you’re often busy.” His tone takes on a chiding edge, a certain knowing gleam in his eyes.

As your nerves begin to settle, you hide your face at his teasing, pushing past him to continue on your way to your car. “Don’t say it like that,” you groan, earning a chuckle from Kento. As aloof and stoic as he is, the man can be far too much of a smartass for his own good.

“No? Am I wrong?”

There it is.

“I- No- I mean-” You stammer over your words, giving him a shove.

He chuckles once more, his calm demeanor never faltering. “I see your feelings haven’t changed.”

You continue to avoid his gaze, walking a bit faster.

“I don’t dislike him, you know.”

You pause, turning to face Kento again. “Even after the whole-” you make a motion in the air, flailing your hands around pointlessly.

“Yes, even after the fight.”

You blink, eyes narrowing just a smidge as you wait for him to elaborate.

He continues walking as he replies. “Sukuna is many things. Dense, egotistical, and often careless, to name a few.” He casts a glance in your direction. “I do dislike how he treated you,” he states plainly. “However, I’m willing to look past that and let bygones be bygones if that’s what you wish. I know you care for him, and I trust your judgement. If you’re willing to give him another chance, then I’m not one to hold my personal thoughts against him.” Kento rolls his shoulders back. “I can certainly respect what he’s going through, and I’m willing to bet that a lot of his prior behavior can be attributed to unfortunate circumstances.”

You’re silent for a moment as you contemplate his words. There’s something incredibly heartwarming about the way your friend has the ability to cast aside his judgement in favor of your well-being. Hell, you aren’t even sure there are words to really put into perspective just how emotionally intelligent and mature he truly is.

His support is almost too much.

If you weren’t so busy processing the very genuine care behind his words, you might have teased him for sounding like his mother… Maybe another day.

For now, you’ll just bask in the warmth that his friendship brings, unable to help a genuine smile.

“I… Appreciate that, Nanamin.”

He winces slightly at the childhood nickname, though he chooses not to comment. “Of course. Which reminds me, how exactly are you handling the loss of his brothers?”

As your car comes into sight, you shrug, brushing off the question. “They’re not my brothers.”

Before you can get close enough to escape into your car, Kento grips your forearm to stop you. “Perhaps not, but it’s not that simple, is it?” He inquires, the deep auburn of his eyes flickering around your face as though he can read every little twitch of your features. “You see him as family, do you not?”

You avoid his gaze, staring at the ground as you attempt to put your thoughts into words. “Sukuna doesn’t feel that way about me, I don’t have any right-”

Dropping your forearm now that he has your attention, Kento shakes his head. “I’m stopping you there. I have my own thoughts about Sukuna’s feelings towards you, but you have every right to see his brothers as family. Would you not consider him one of your closest friends?”

Tilting your head at the way Kento mentions Sukuna’s feelings towards you, your lips purse. “Wait, what do you mean? What do you think about Sukuna’s feelings for me?”

Your friend takes a pause, weighing exactly how much or how little he wants to say in the case that he could be wrong. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so take this with a grain of salt,” he warns, “but he seems happy around you.” It’s not exactly the admission you were expecting, you know that much to be true. Still, he continues. “I think for someone handling as much as Sukuna is, the fact that he seeks not just your support in his time of need, but your attention outside of that, is worth a lot more than you realize.”

Your heart palpitates at the mere thought of Kento’s words being true. So much for a grain of salt. You’re practically clinging to the words like a lifeline.

You can’t even begin to count how many nights you’ve spent staring at the ceiling wondering if things have changed. Wondering if maybe the reason he so adamantly seeks your touch and company is because things have changed, but every time you’re reminded of one thing.

He rejected you.

And if you’re being honest with yourself, second-guessing his feelings now is easier on your heart than facing another rejection, no matter how much more resilient you’ve gotten over the months.

Kento brushes the words aside as though they don’t carry the weight of the world. “Now, wouldn’t you consider him one of your closest friends?”

You nod, not trusting your voice as Kento finally leads the way along the final stretch of campus between you and your car.

“Then, I think it’s reasonable to see them as family. You have every right to be upset.” He stops as he reaches your car. Robotically, you search for your keys in the front pocket of your bag, chewing mindlessly on your lip, lost in thought. “Hey.”

You whip your head around to face him, blinking as you return to the present.

“Get out of your thoughts. I told you to take what I said with a grain of salt,” he teases lightly, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that it’s okay to be going through a tough time, yourself.”

Willing yourself to stay in the present, here with Kento, you sigh. “You’re right.” Climbing into the driver’s seat of your car, you start the engine. “This helped a lot. Thanks, Ken.”

“Of course,” he nods. “Let me know when you have some time, I’ll help you study.”

“You’re the best,” you pout up at him. “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, though his hand remains on the door so that you can’t close it. “That reminds me, Satoru organized a dinner at the bar across from his place on Friday. You missed the discussion at lunch last week, but you’re invited. You should come, I think it would be good for you.”

Inhaling a long, deep breath, you nod. “You’re probably right. Yeah, I’ll try to make it.”

“Bring Sukuna.”

“What?” Your brow furrows as you regard your friend from where he leans over your car door. “But Shoko’s still mad, and Satoru doesn’t like-”

“They’ll live. I think it would be good for you to spend some time with your friends, and I know he’s a part of that for you.”

“Are you sure?”

The blonde hums affirmatively. “I’m sure he could use a distraction.”

Staring out your windshield at the row of cars parked ahead of you, you find yourself nodding. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Drive safe.”

“I will.” Before shutting the door as your friend stands upright, you shoot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Kento.”

He simply smiles as you make your way home to change before work.

–

You’re exactly eighteen minutes late when you barrel through the door of your office, earning a few stares as you pant when you collapse into your chair in Yuki’s office. She raises a brow at you, glancing at the time.

“Girl, how many times do I need to tell you that you can be late?”

Your chest heaves dramatically as you shake your head. “I need to make a good impression,” you breathe between heavy pants.

“No one’s counting twenty minutes against you,” she quips with a smirk, tapping the edge of her screen where her clock would be with her pen. “You’re still in school, anyway. Everyone knows you’ve got shit going on,” she shrugs, resting her elbow on the table as she leans on the ball of her palm.

Do you ever.

“I know, but-” you pause, unable to find a truly good reason behind your rush to get to work.

“Relax. Maya’s not here right now and I’m your boss, so-” she cuts herself off with a carefree shrug, picking up her coffee. 

Your eyes trail to the corner of your desk where, for the past month or so, your café order has been waiting for you, courtesy of Sukuna. The spot is empty, and usually on the days where it is, Sukuna wouldn’t be far behind, with the beverage in-hand or an invite to join him at the café.

Today is the second day since he began at the publishing house where that hasn’t been the case. The only other day was last Thursday, when he couldn’t be at work and chose to spend the day with his brothers.

Your lips purse at the thought and you twist in your seat to peek out the door. His office is shut, the window that offers a peek into his little nook of the office has blinds shuttered, with no way to tell whether he’s inside or not.

Yuki raises a brow as you turn your attention back to your desk. “No coffee today, huh? You two back to being ex-friends?” She teases, the reasoning behind Sukuna’s absence last week unbeknownst to her.

Your face falls as you open your laptop, sighing as you catch a glance at the clock. It’s not even eleven and it feels as though you’ve had a full day’s worth of stress already.

Though, maybe starting out the day with the realization that you missed a deadline and crying over it should have been the first sign that today would be a bad day.

“No, we’re good,” you assure Yuki. “It’s just been a tough few days,” you admit, omitting any further information.

Sensing your earnestness, Yuki sits upright, her expression morphing to one of sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you smile, grateful when she lets you put your focus into your work. It serves as a valuable distraction from everything on your mind. Between your missed deadline, your less-than-ideal pace of catching up in your classes, and Kento’s words echoing in the recesses of your mind like some sort of mantra you can’t escape, the moment of genuine focus doesn’t come without difficulty.

Still, you’re able to finish up some edits on your current work and send it along for review to Yuki, who pouts dramatically at you, before deciding to head to the lunch room.

Your heels click on the floor as you make your way out of the office, a bag filled with your lunch held within your palms as you find yourself pausing just outside of your destination. No one is in the lunch room just yet, and your eyes trail to the right where Sukuna’s office lies.

No sound comes from within, and you figure he likely isn’t there, but your curiosity gets the better of you. Twisting on your heel, you find yourself gingerly knocking at the door, hoping, praying, that your friend is within. Any opportunity to check on him that might ease even an ounce of your worries would go a long way for your mental well-being.

When there’s no answer, you chew on your lip as you stare down at the handle, testing whether the room is unlocked as you pull it down. The door clicks as it unlatches, creaking open with a squeak of its hinges.

You peer through the gap, blinking at just how dark it is within the office. The blinds are pulled shut not just in the windows that he shares with the interior of the publishing house, but the windows to the outside as well. The only hint of light is what peeks through the blinds, slivers of the outside world cascading over the surfaces within. The stillness of the air within offers a small corner away from the clacking of keys and scribbling of pens, but what you don’t expect are the soft snores accompanying it.

Pushing into the office, your eyes widen at the state it’s in, and who’s at the center of it all.

Paper is scattered across the floor, along with a couple of pens and some paper clips, but hunched over the desk fast asleep in the heart of the room is your friend. His soft snores penetrate the air, his head resting on his forearms, crossed beneath his face, a thin sheen of sweat slick on his exposed skin. His hair is disheveled and his shirt is wrinkled and pleated more than usual. He’s surrounded by a multitude of paper cups, enough to say he should probably be awake right now with the amount of caffeine he’d pumped into his system.

Your heart pangs at the sight. You honestly hadn’t expected him to be here at all, you’d figured that he would stay home and take some time to himself, maybe focus on his meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, but that isn’t the case at all. He must have attempted to bury himself in his work, unable to slow down for even a moment.

You shut the door behind you, careful not to make a sound as you set your lunch on the edge of his desk and lean down to pluck the paperwork off of the floor. You can just barely make out Sukuna’s writing scrawled across some of the pages, mostly detailing edits he wants to make on his own work, but one in particular catches your eye.

One of the pages is crumpled, it looks as though Sukuna must have had the intention of tossing it out, before he flattened it to use as a notepad. Lazily scrawled across the page is a variety of equations and calculations, with titles beside each total.

Groceries. Rent. Internet. Phone Bill. Lawyer.

The calculations beside the scrawl of ‘Lawyer’ are crossed out a number of times, each number higher than the last. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach as even the final number is scratched out. You can’t make out exactly how much it is, but it’s well in the tens of thousands at this point based on the amount of digits he’s scratched out.

Frowning, you tuck the page within the rest of the paperwork, uneasiness settling in your chest as you get back to your feet. Delicately setting the paper on the edge of the desk, you chew on your lip as you begin popping lids off of each of the empty cups of coffee, stacking the paper cups within one another and tossing them all out.

Gathering the pens and paper clips on the floor, you set those where they belong in a small cup on his desk as well while you contemplate whether you should wake him. On one hand, you want him to sleep, but on the other hand…

His poor back. And neck. He should be home if things are this bad.

Your throat tightens as you make your decision, slowly approaching the man’s desk. Setting your hand gently on his bicep, you shake him softly.

Sukuna groans, his face immediately twisting into a deeply grumpy scowl as he swats you away. You pull your hand back, grimacing as he shuffles and turns his head away from you. “Fuck off,” he mutters.

Good thing you found him and not your boss.

“You should go home and get some rest,” you try to encourage the mostly-asleep man, praying your voice may rouse him from his fatigued state somewhat.

He groans, letting out a breath as he peeks an eye open to see you standing over him. He squints hard as you pull him from his slumber and you swear there’s an almost cartoon-ish bubble popping over his head as his sleep is interrupted.

He pushes up into a seated position, leaning heavily on his forearms. The remnants of sleep remain indented in his cheek as the outline of the fabric of his shirt dimples his skin. Yawning, the man leans back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before pushing his long hair from his vision.

“What do you want?” He grumbles from behind his hands as he rubs them over his drained features in an attempt to wake up. He’s clearly bone-tired and very grumpy now that you’ve awoken him, you can’t imagine he’s intentionally throwing an attitude around with you.

“I came to check on you,” you express, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to get a better look at him in the low lighting. “I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning forward as he rests his forehead on his knuckles, propped up by his elbow. His gaze is trained on the wood grain of his desk. “What time is it?” He mutters out the question, casting your concerns aside.

“Almost noon.”

“Noon,” he repeats, unmoving. “Tuesday?”

“Um- Yeah,” you affirm, your brow furrowing at his reaction.

He lets out an exasperated huff. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Dazed, he raises his head, finally getting a look around his office as he begins to come to, though he’s still squinting, even in the low light. You can just barely make out tears on his lash line as he yawns.

Your lips purse as realization passes over you. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep here,” you mumble.

“You cleaned up,” he mutters, ignoring you.

“I- Yeah. Sukuna, you didn’t sleep here, did you?” You push again, taking a step towards his desk.

“It was just s’posed to be a nap,” he grumbles, tapping on the screen of his iPad and squinting harder as the time flashes up at him. “Christ.”

Blinking at him in shock, you can’t help but go back to the subject that he keeps on frustratingly brushing off.

“You didn’t go home last night?”

Finally processing your concern, he stares you down. “No.”

“Why not?”

Sighing heavily, he massages his temples, fighting off an oncoming headache. “Had deadlines to meet n’ needed money to meet with the lawyer tomorrow,” he mumbles out an explanation.

Blinking in horror at the immediate repercussions of losing his brothers, you feel your worries twist in your stomach and lurch up to your throat. Sukuna can play off as much as he wants that he’s just trying to catch up, but you can see within the crimson of his irises that he’s lost. Trying to find some sort of purpose, something to do.

And you get it.

It happened to you when the two of you fought. When you had to relearn your own hobbies and allow yourself to enjoy your spare time once again, but this is beyond that. This isn’t a few months’ worth of friendship and constant time spent together, this is a man who’s spent years with no spare time, skipping out on sleep in favor of providing for his brothers. This is a man who taught himself to thrive under pressure for the sheer sake of survival.

Now, the pressure remains, but his time is tenfold. How is anyone meant to unlearn a work ethic so ingrained into their system at the snap of a finger?

When you’re busy with life’s obligations, it’s easy to be willing to lose sleep to find time for yourself and your passions, but when that life is ripped from the fabric of your being, it feels downright wrong to spend any spare time indulging in oneself.

And for someone like Sukuna, someone who feels he’s failed everyone around him, that feeling only increases tenfold. It exists on the outer edges of his psyche, sticking to him like glue and threatening to pull him under. It’s a painfully suffocating way to live.

Swiping your tongue across your lower lip, your gaze falls to the blinds. “Can I open those?” You ask, pointing behind him.

He grunts, the barest of shrugs following it.

Moving past him, you pull the blinds open on his window, letting the overcast light pour into the room. Sukuna rubs his eyes behind you, squinting to adjust to the light.

Standing behind him, you frown. “Why don’t you go home?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?” You push, your brow furrowing with how painfully stubborn this man is.

“Missed almost a week. Gotta make up for it,” he replies almost robotically, rolling his neck. It pops as he picks up his iPad, not sparing a moment as he gets back to it.

Making your way back around to the front of his desk, you worriedly take in his features as daylight streams in, illuminating the surfaces of his office. The thin sheen of sweat remains on his skin, clinging to his forehead in a way that makes him look sickly. Paired with a gaunt and empty expression and dark circles under his eyes that resemble bruises, you can only imagine the pain he’s going through.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sukuna’s gaze rises slowly, before trailing to the side as he considers your question. Sighing, he rubs his forehead. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Dunno, princess. I had a protein bar at some point last night.”

Your gut twists in further horror at the revelation. “You’re gonna make yourself sick,” you mumble.

He lowers his hand from his forehead, staring blankly at you as he remains silent. His eyes flicker across your features as you stand your ground. When you don’t receive a response, you move to the edge of his desk, digging into the bag you’d left on the surface when you entered the room. Pulling out your lunch, you set it on the desk and slide it across to him.

“I’m not eating your lunch,” he gruffs, staring at the tupperware.

“You’re not. I packed it for you.”

Anyone else might present such a fact as defiance, but Sukuna knows you too well. It’s done out of the kindness of your heart, because you hate that he never brings lunch. Since the day you first shared your lunch with him, of course he’s taken notice that you always seem to conveniently have too much food, it’s only now that you’re acknowledging it not as too much food, but as a purposeful decision to bring extra for him.

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stares down at the tupperware. You plop yourself down in a chair in front of his desk, leaning back as you begin eating your leftover pasta salad, forcing Sukuna to sigh. Languidly, he frowns as he takes a hold of the tupperware, popping it open to leftover pizza. The smell alone is enough to make his stomach grumble, and he allows himself to give in, leaning back in his chair.

The room is silent aside from the sound of your fork against plastic as you eat. As hungry as his stomach made him sound, Sukuna struggles to find an appetite, eating in slow motion. You finish far before him, snacking on some fruit you’d packed alongside the two meals. You offer him some, but he shakes his head.

Between bites, you find yourself watching the uncharacteristic way that Sukuna moves. It doesn’t seem like he’s given up. He wouldn’t be working so hard even now if he had, but everything from the way he carries himself to the empty look in his eyes is worse than anything you’ve seen from him over the course of the past few months.

This isn’t distance, or being lost in his own head, this goes beyond that. It’s as though defeat is battering him down and even if he refuses to fall, his body and mind are still taking the brunt of the damage.

“How did yesterday morning go?”

Sukuna stops dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over another slice of pizza. He bites down on his lip as the memory of Yuji screaming out for him is enough to make him shudder. He sucks in a shaky breath, feigning nonchalance as he grabs the slice.

“Fine,” he gruffs, staring blankly at the desk in front of him.

You blink, taking in how tense his jaw is as he forces another bite of food into his mouth. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see through his lies. Either way, he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so you move on to your next concern. “Are you okay, Kuna?”

His chewing pauses as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He blinks, his gaze still trained blankly on his desk as memories flood his mind of the meaning behind the nickname so dear to his brothers, and now to you.

He grits his teeth, grinding them together hard as his expression hardens. He doesn't spare you a glance as his anger simmers just beneath the surface. As the pain and fear both caused by his loss clash within his mind, his grip on the pizza tightens.

His morphing expression and sudden frozen stance cause you to tilt your head at him. “Kuna?”

He knows it’s not intentional. God damn it, he knows.

But fuck if the continued use of his nickname doesn't poke and prod at that growing fear of losing his own identity. But if he doesn't let you call him that stupid nickname he used to hate (maybe even still does), then who is he, really?

Swallowing, he slowly returns to his meal, though his gaze never once moves from the desk. Trained emptily on the deep wooden grain beneath his forearms. He flexes his jaw, the tight muscles aching from the pressure he put them under. “I’m fine.”

The words almost sound as though they choke him. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you search for anything you can do to find answers, to find a reaction, to find any signs of life within him.

Your stare brings Sukuna’s crimson irises up from the table, his vision catching on the way you chew on your lower lip. He doesn't have the mental fortitude right now to consider the way his gaze hangs on the movement, or the way he has to forcibly tear his gaze away.

He grabs the last piece of pizza as silence continues to permeate the air. It’s not the usual comfortable one, either. It hangs as heavy and thick as the fog in his brain, clinging to you both with the weight of Sukuna’s situation.

There's more to it, though. You’re tense too, more so than usual, now that Sukuna can get a better look at you. Whatever it is that hangs over you, it goes beyond concern regarding his thinly veiled lie of how he’s doing. His brow furrows as his thoughts seem to stall.

He actually considers slamming his head against the desk in an effort to clear his thoughts, but even with the fog of weariness clouding his brain, he knows that’s stupid. 

Clearing his throat, he rests his arm against his desk, the remainder of the pizza you brought him held between his fingers. “You alright?”

“Hm?” Your brow raises, his words taking a moment to register when he pulls you from your thoughts. “Oh- yeah, I’m good!” You shoot him a reassuring smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you feign your own well-being. You don’t need to give Sukuna any reason to worry.

His eye twitches, but he drops the subject. Whether he believes you, or he’s too tired to argue, you can’t be sure.

FInishing up your fruit in silence, you cast a glance at the time, packing your lunch back up into the tupperware and tossing it into the tote bag you brought it in. “I should get back to work, but I’ll be back at five sharp because I’m taking you home,” you tell him in the most authoritative voice you can muster. He opens his mouth to retort, but you interrupt before he can get a word in. “See you in a bit.”

With that, you slip out the door before he can argue with you, leaving him in his office in silence.

On the walk back to your desk, you fall into step with Yuki, who happens to be returning from lunch at the same time.

“Hey, where’d you disappear to?” She inquires with a tilt of her head. Her blonde hair cascades to the side as she curiously regards you.

“I was having lunch with Sukuna,” you explain, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. “I went to check on him, he slept here overnight,” you grimace.

“You’re kidding.” Yuki casts a glance back at his office, the door slightly ajar from how you’d left it. “Was he really behind, or something?”

You shrug. “He didn’t give me much of an explanation, he just mentioned deadlines.”

Yuki shakes her head. “Poor guy. He didn’t even take that much time off.”

“Yeah… I’m gonna take the bus home with him.” You nod to yourself. “At least then I can make sure he gets some sleep in a bed.”

“Wait, does he at least have a couch in his office to sleep on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh my god, I can feel his back pain from here,” she winces in horror, rubbing her shoulder at the thought.

You chuckle quietly to yourself. “It’s not like he’d fit on a couch anyway.”

“You have a point,” she agrees, chuckling alongside you as you settle into your desk to work for the afternoon.

It passes quickly, even with a multitude of distractions, courtesy of your brain’s ability to cling to every concern like you owe it money. The amount of times you find yourself re-reading some of the paragraphs in an effort to actually understand the text laid out for you says a lot about your own well-being. It’s not exactly easy to edit when your mind keeps jumping back between Sukuna’s exhausted expression and the paper you missed the deadline for.

Still, you manage to make it through the day without falling behind, which is a relief because you’re not sure if you could handle falling behind on work as well as school.

Packing your laptop into your bag and shutting off your monitor, you wish Yuki a good night as you cross the office to get Sukuna.

When you push his door open, you find him hunched over his iPad with a concentrated expression and a multitude of printed pages and pencil sketches spread across the table. You tilt your head to get a better look at some of them as Sukuna works away, not even acknowledging you.

None of the art strewn across his desk is in a style you’re used to seeing from him. Most of his art for the covers that you’ve seen tends to be in one of two different styles. Either a character with rounded features and bold lines, similar to how he draws for his brothers to color, or in a painterly style reminiscent of old children’s novels. What lays across his desk, however, is a variety of different styles.

“Trying out something new?” You query, finally gaining his attention as his eyes flicker up to you, before he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen.

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles out in reply. “Gimme a moment.”

You nod, peering over his desk curiously to catch a glimpse of his current piece. You can’t decipher what project the cover is for based on what he’s done so far, but it’s also a far stretch from his usual art. Bold lines and equally bold colors come together to make a heavily stylized car on a stretch of road with cacti dotted along the background.

It’s gorgeous, but unusual.

“Nosy,” Sukuna mutters, meant to be a playful dig at your curiosity, though it lacks any lilt that could be seen as teasing, coming across more like an irritated grunt.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back.

“I’m kidding, princess. I don’t care if you look,” he sighs, shutting his iPad off and tucking it in his bag.

“Oh,” you frown, having a tough time reading him as he stands up to pull his jacket on. Raking his fingers through his hair, he pushes it back to the best of his ability, though it still lays in a disheveled manner on his head.

Without another word, Sukuna comes up behind you, nudging you along to lead the way to the bus stop. He remains close behind you as you reach the stop in silence, hands in his pockets as he stares at nothing in particular on the horizon while you take a seat on a bench as you await transit.

“What’s got you trying so many different styles?” You query, peering up at the nearly seven-foot-tall man.

He scratches at the stubble dotting his chin, shrugging. “Just felt like time, I guess.”

You catch the distant glaze that shimmers in his eyes, the way his pupils shrink as they flicker aimlessly from side to side, taking in the buildings across the road. There’s more to this, more to his weary expressions and empty replies, but he’s made it clear you aren’t getting anything out of him.

He’s strangely put-together in comparison to the state you had expected to find him in.

Sure, he’s not all there and unwilling to talk, but you had honestly expected mania. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for monumental anxiety and anger, converging into one horribly pissed off man.

But he just seems exhausted. You can sympathize with that, but you have yet to decide whether this version of Sukuna is more or less worrisome than the man who hides his emotions behind anger.

Moving along, you continue to try to create conversation. “Hey, do you want to go out on Friday? A group of us are going to the bar, you should come.”

“Nah, I’ll just-”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” You attempt to encourage him. “I got sent the details earlier today. Toji, Uraume, and Atsuya will be there.”

“I’m good,” he declines again.

“Please, Kuna,” you plead as you get to your feet at the sight of the bus in the distance.

He spares you a glance, his chest rising and falling as he silently sighs. “Your friends won’t want me there.”

“Kento invited you.”

His brow twitches as he eyes you, boarding the bus and heading to the back where there are two available seats across from one another. Sukuna leans against the bus window, inadvertently tangling his legs with yours as you take a seat in the tight space across from him.

“Since when does he want me around?”

You understand Sukuna’s uncertainty regarding Kento’s motives given that you’d shared the same question. “He wants you there since you’re my friend. It’d be nice for you to get to know one another.”

His chest slowly rises before he puffs out a breath. The window gains a layer of fog for a moment, clearing when Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side. He stares out the window silently as he weighs his options. Giving your knee a nudge with his own, he gives in with a huff. “Fine. Text me the details.”

It doesn’t matter how shitty he’s feeling, or how little he really wants to go, the way your expression relaxes and your eyes light up helps to ease his pain. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but his lip quirks up into a hint of a smirk before his temple hits the window as he turns his attention back to the blur of trees, concrete, and passing vehicles.

Sukuna’s never been particularly enthusiastic or energetic- but it’s rare that he simply won’t entertain any conversation. You know it’s been an exhausting few weeks, especially as the world keeps on moving- with or without you both- but it’s equally clear that Sukuna needs a break.

Hell, maybe you both do.

Chewing on your lip, you find yourself watching the passing vehicles, as well. You can’t help but wonder what’s going through Sukuna’s mind, what he’s thinking about, how he’s feeling- you want to ask, but the only type of communication he seems even the slightest bit responsive to is touch.

Your gaze trails down to the space between you, where your legs are leaning against one another. Moving your foot closer to him, your calf brushes his. His gaze doesn’t move from the window, but he does pull his leg back to tangle it around your extended foot.

Maybe he’s at wit’s end, but it brings you solace to know that he still finds comfort within you.

The silence grows comfortable as you find your place within his world, watching passing cars. As your stop approaches, Sukuna lazily lifts his arm to hit the alarm for your stop.

You tilt your head at him. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.” It’s more of a statement than an offer, catching Sukuna’s attention as he sits upright across from you, his gaze trailing your expression.

“Cute,” he hums lowly, “but you should go home.”

Apprehensively, you search for the words to convince him otherwise, but his mind’s made up. As the bus slows when your stop approaches, he lifts your bag from under your seat, setting it on your lap.

“Go home, princess.” He encourages hollowly as he unravels his leg from yours.

As the bus halts and the doors open, you can only frown as he gives you a nudge, practically shooing you out the door. “See you Thursday?” You ask hopefully, pausing just before you hop onto the concrete outside.

He grunts.

–

Time seems to pass… differently.

You can’t say for sure what it is that gives you that feeling, but you swear everything is either long and drawn out with no signs of speeding up, or everything passes in the blink of an eye. Classes drag on, but honestly you find yourself thankful for it given that you’re actually grasping some of the material now. No longer do they pass before you can really focus with only thoughts of Sukuna, Yuji, and Choso to fill your time, but in place of those thoughts come a dozen other worries.

You hadn’t found the empathy you were hoping for in your professor, who deemed that you would simply need to take a zero on your delinquent paper for what he claimed was your own doing. It meant pouring more time into Copy Editing, on top of what you already had missed.

Your days are long, your nights longer as you study and attempt to make up for lost time with your scholarship potentially at risk.

Work is equally stressful between having another thing to manage and the fact that every time you enter Sukuna’s office, you’re pretty sure one or two more empty coffee cups have miraculously appeared out of thin air. He was going home every night now at the very least, though if you’re being honest with yourself you don’t think that’s because he feels the need to.

After the meeting with his lawyer, he’d grown infinitely quieter. It doesn’t matter how hard you push, it’s damn near radio silence from your friend. He’s not receptive in the slightest to any attempts to appeal to him. You can see it taking a toll on him. You know him well enough to know that each empty cup of coffee is another worry thrown to the wall and another wound he’s forcibly bandaging. It shows in the way his demeanor dulls every time you see him.

If this is what it takes for him to cope, then you suppose it’s better than a world where he’s alone on the washroom floor. If you’re honest with yourself, that image keeps you up at night. You wonder if his nights alone are spent that way now, but he simply refuses to reach out, too caught up in the hollow feeling that surrounds him.

You thank whoever above will listen that he doesn’t bail on your Friday night plans, even if you find yourself feeling as though you should bail. As much as you’re worried about Sukuna, you’re drowning in your own worries now too, which is why Friday night manages to take you by surprise.

Your nose is buried in a textbook when your phone goes off.

5:38 PM Kuna || you taking the bus to the bar

5:38 PM Kuna || ?

It takes a moment for the time to settle in. Shit. You should be leaving right now and you’re sitting in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie with books stacked to your shoulders piled on your desk.

Pushing up from your desk to run and get ready, you type out a quick response.

5:40 PM You || That's the plan!

In a rush to be at least somewhat on time, you miss the message he leaves you that he’s planning on taking the bus with you and that he’ll be there in a few minutes. So, when he texts you that he’s at your place while you’re in the middle of doing your makeup, you’re running to the door with mascara done on one eye.

Swinging it open, you find Sukuna staring down at you with his signature frown, his expression stoic as ever. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, a silver chain laying across his collar bones. If it weren’t for the fact that his demeanor screams exhaustion and his hair is fairly windswept, you’d almost take him for being at ease. Those who don’t know him well may even assume he is.

He raises a brow, his gaze flickering between your eyes.

“Think you missed a spot,” he comments dryly, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as though he can’t see the mascara in your hand.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you step aside to let him in. “Sorry, I missed your text. I’m running a bit behind.”

Sukuna quietly shrugs, crimson irises trailing after you as he watches you head back to finish your makeup. His gaze never falters as he watches you lean over the sink to get a better look in the mirror. Slowly, his vision drops, following the arch of your back until he’s openly staring at your ass.

Catching himself before he can think too much of it, he blinks, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, I’m almost done!” You call out at the sound. He grunts, though he doesn’t mind waiting.

You’re ready only a few moments later after changing into a skirt and a small, red sleeveless collared shirt, moving in a flurry as you gather your phone and belongings, tucking everything into place before leading the way out the door.

Taking the bus together finds you in a familiar position across from Sukuna, who naturally- or maybe even subconsciously- tangles your legs together.

It may be him who usually finds comfort in you, but you find your shoulders relaxing as you smile down at your intertwined legs. For once, you let yourself enjoy his presence too. With everything Sukuna’s going through, you can’t bring yourself to wallow in your own worries around him, but even if he’s unaware, his company does wonders to ease your stress.

Relaxing into the seat, you smile softly at the hardened man whose attention hasn’t left you since you barely made it to the bus in time.

He clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he mutters, “you look good.”

Your cheeks warm, heat rising to the tips of your ears as you tilt your head with a sweet smile. “Thanks, Kuna.”

His brow twitches, but he remains otherwise aloof as ever.

“You look good, too,” you return his compliment as butterflies burst within your stomach. In the moments that follow sweet interactions with Sukuna, there’s usually a wistful feeling that accompanies your longing. One that you know all-too-well as the telltale reminder that he doesn’t return your feelings, but as your heart pounds a little bit faster in your chest, you’re met with something different.

Uncertainty. Maybe even a little bit of hope, no matter how delusional the thought may be as you cling to Kento’s words from earlier in the week. You know better than to cling to what could be nothing more than a dream, though.

“Who’s gonna be at the bar?” Sukuna mumbles across from you, although you’re already only a couple of stops away.

“Shoko and Kento for sure, Satoru organized it, so Suguru and probably Toji will be there-”

“Toji? What does he have to do with Satoru?” Sukuna hums, confusion written across his features.

“Oh-! They’re really close now.”

He snorts. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head, continuing to list attendees as some sort of pang thrums in Sukuna’s chest. He scowls down at his lap, something akin to hurt, or maybe even jealousy at the thought that Toji’s found someone to take Sukuna’s place. But who is he to judge who Toji spends his time with? It’s not like Sukuna’s been around in almost four years, there’s no one else to blame but himself.

He inhales a long, deep breath, grateful when the bus lurches to a stop a couple of blocks away from the bar and your train of thought comes to a close before you can ask for Sukuna’s thoughts on whatever you’d been talking about. It’d be a lost cause, he had stopped listening after hearing Toji’s name.

The bar is a couple of blocks away from Satoru’s frat house, Sukuna recognizes the neighborhood. Last time he was in the area was the night that the two of you headed to Strip Joint (the chicken place, of course), after leaving the party.

It feels like years ago, yet he thinks that may be the moment when it really sank in just how fucked Sukuna really was. Not just with the weight of the lawsuit and responsibility, but with you, too.

You lead the way to a sports bar, the neon sign shining brightly over the pavement below your feet, illuminating the lot in a red and blue glow. Sukuna holds the door open for you, revealing a bustling bar with the latest pop hits playing from the overhead speakers, while a number of TVs line the walls. Each one is playing whatever games are on, though it seems as though most of the focus is on some football game.

If you had to guess, this was probably Toji’s choice. It’s not as nice as Satoru’s usual choices,  but that just means your wallet gets a break for once.

Bottles of various liquors from around the world line an array of glass shelves across the back of the establishment, a pale and worn counter spread in front of the bartenders. They push drinks across to various patrons, each bottle replaced with a clink as it hits the glass shelf.

Tucked in the corner is a large ‘U’ shaped table with a larger group than you had originally expected.

Suguru, Satoru, Toji, a man you don’t recognize, Uraume, Atsuya, Yu, Kento, Shoko’s friend Iori, Shoko, and finally space for you and Sukuna, last to arrive thanks to your inability to tell time. Your tattooed friend signals for you to slide in first beside Shoko and across from Satoru and Toji. It’s a tight squeeze, leaving your thighs and shoulders brushing.

As you greet your friends, Sukuna silently evaluates the table. He knew his friends began to merge with yours at some point, but even then he hadn’t realized to what extent, as Uraume and Suguru happily converse from across the table as though Toji, Satoru, and one of the business students Sukuna scarcely recognizes as Shiu aren’t sitting between them having a conversation of their own. That feeling from earlier twists within his stomach again as Toji barks a laugh at something the business student says.

Shoving the feeling down, he picks up a menu, scanning it for the cheapest drink with the highest alcohol content.

While most of the table share surprised glances at the sight of Sukuna, Satoru doesn’t hesitate to make his feelings known, much to your dismay.

“I don’t remember sending an invite out to you,” the frat boy pointedly glares across the table, challenging Sukuna’s presence.

It doesn’t matter how many pieces of Sukuna have vanished. It doesn’t matter how many are scattered across the floor, bent, broken, and not worthy of fixing.

Sukuna doesn’t back down from a challenge.

“You gonna cry about it?” His words don’t even have venom, there’s no real ill intent behind them. He’s not having fun rising to the challenge of a fellow student like he would have so many months ago. His words are meant only to keep up the reputation that even at his lowest, he refuses to tarnish.

Satoru, on the other hand, takes the bait. He wants the challenge. You’re pretty sure to some extent they enjoy egging one another on, but there’s no gleam in Sukuna’s eyes this time. He leans back, slumping in the seat with crossed arms as Satoru scoffs.

Ignoring Sukuna’s hollow taunt, he continues. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you think you get to treat everyone like shit and still show up unannounced.” His voice rises enough that it pulls the rest of the table from their conversations, all eyes on a charged up Satoru and drained Sukuna.

Red irises flicker down to the menu once more as Sukuna prays the waiter arrives soon. He needs a drink to handle Satoru on a good day, but now?

He’s not even angry with the man across the table from him for putting him on the spot in front of everyone. He’s completely devoid of any real opinion over whatever Satoru has to throw at him, because Sukuna knows.

He knows he treated you like shit. He knows he treated Toji like shit. Satoru’s reminder doesn’t open that wound any further, it’s already bleeding at the sight of Toji replacing him (rightfully so).

But Sukuna can’t let Satoru know just how low he’s gotten. He’s too prideful for that, still. “Yeah, lucky me,” he neutrally replies.

Satoru’s brow twitches into a furrow. Sukuna’s replies, although exactly what Satoru was fishing for, aren’t filled with the bravado he’s come to expect. Unfortunately, the frat boy just never knows when to drop something.

“That’s it? Lucky you?”

“Satoru-” Suguru attempts to interrupt, with a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he’s shrugged off as the white-haired man continues.

“No, fuck that. You think you get to parade around and piss everyone off, then drop out and we’ll all just- what? Forget about it?”

Sukuna’s eyes zero in on Satoru again, a nerve struck at the mention of dropping out. His lip curls into a snarl as he replies. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“You made it my fucking business when I had to start placing bets on whether or not she’d be crying every day at lunch!” Satoru snaps back, bringing the table to a deathly silence as he points in your direction.

You shrink in on yourself as Sukuna pushes up from the end of the table. “I should go,” he mutters under his breath. Anything else, god, anything else and he might have a retort, but with you sitting beside him as proof of his errors, he doesn’t have it in him to disappoint you by fighting with your friend anymore.

“Satoru, that’s enough,” Kento’s authoritative voice rings out across the table. He fixes the frat boy with a glare, locking eyes with Sukuna who’s one turn of his heel away from leaving. “Sukuna, I invited you. You’re welcome here.”

“What the hell, Kento-”

“Shut up, man,” Toji grunts beside Satoru, nudging him. Fire rages behind his eyes as he watches Sukuna’s gaze round the table, before landing on you. The table’s attention shifts, all pairs of eyes watching a silent exchange.

You stare up at him with a pretty pout. Regardless of Satoru’s (somewhat) good intention to protect you from Sukuna, he’d still called attention to something that you can’t deny. Sukuna had hurt you. Regardless, there’s a plea behind your eyes.

“Stay.”

Sukuna’s never been particularly good at denying you. His gaze flickers to Kento, who gives him a minute nod, and Sukuna takes a seat once more, ignoring Satoru’s glower.

The table returns to chatter after a moment as both men quiet down. You reassuringly nudge your friend beside you, but his attention is given in full to the menu beneath his fingertips as he leans over the table, his forehead on the ball of his palm.

As a waitress pops by to take orders, everyone gets a variety of different cocktails and beer. You order a Moscow Mule, while Sukuna just shrugs and says he’ll have the same. Before the waitress can leave, he stops her and requests Everclear in place of whatever smoother Vodka they may have used.

You may not drink often, but you recognize the name well enough to know what the intention of Everclear is. It tastes like shit, at the cost of being just about one of the most alcoholic drinks you can get in a restaurant.

You blink in surprise at his request, lips parting. “Are you okay?” You whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel your breath fanning his collar.

“Peachy,” he grumbles, clearly still frustrated over the debacle with Satoru.

Shoko, likeminded, leans over to ask you whether he’s okay as well, keeping her voice low as she mutters the question in your ear.

You shrug, sharing her worried glance.

It doesn’t matter that Shoko still isn’t thrilled with Sukuna, ordering Everclear at a friendly get-together after getting into it with Satoru is enough to make anyone’s warning bells sound. “How’s he been lately, anyway?”

Casting a glance at Sukuna, who’s turned towards the TV behind the bar, away from the table, you hesitate. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, you know. I don’t think he’s slept in a week, I watched him break down multiple times, and- oh! How could I forget? He lost custody of his only family’.

That’ll go over well.

Turning back to Shoko, you lean in close enough to keep yourself out of earshot of the rest of the table. “If you mean towards me, he’s been…” you pause, searching for the right word, “sweet.” You’re not sure if it’s exactly the descriptor that’s the most fitting, but as far as Sukuna goes, he’s been sweet to you.

“And in general?”

It’s a dumb question and she knows it as she sees his Moscow Mule get set on the table, watching in horror as he downs at least half of it without so much as blinking. It could be water for all you know based on his reaction, or lack thereof.

“Scratch that. What the hell happened?” She changes her question as Sukuna leans back against the table, his eyes trained on the football game.

“What didn’t?” You groan as Sukuna drowns his shortcomings in alcohol.

“That bad?”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse.”

Shoko raises a brow. “Well, shit.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, contemplating his well-being. Setting a hand on your forearm, she turns her attention to you. “How are you doing? I feel like you’ve been dodging my texts to hang out.”

Groaning, you lift your gaze to the ceiling as your voice returns to a normal volume. “I’m so sorry about that. I missed a deadline on a paper and I’m super behind.”

“Shit,” she hums thoughtfully, pulling an olive from her drink and popping it in her mouth. The toothpick it was skewered with rests between her lips as she continues. “How behind are we talking?”

“Enough,” you chuckle dryly. “The prof won’t let me make up the paper I missed, so I basically need an eighty-five or higher on the final if I don’t wanna hear from an Academic Advisor about withholding my degree or making me pay for the semester for violating the scholarship’s terms.”

“Asshole,” she scoffs in reference to your professor. “Eighty five, huh? Guess it could be worse.”

You nod. “At least this is my last semester.”

“Lucky,” she quips with a wry smile. “Doesn’t your scholarship help with job placement, too?”

“Mhm. The company that sponsors it has a lot of connections, it’s probably how I got my internship in the first place.”

“I thought you just applied there normally.”

“I did,” you affirm, taking a sip of your drink. “But my applications mentioned that I have a Kamo Corporation scholarship, so they probably just chose me because of that,” you shrug.

“That’s a bleak way of looking at it,” she mutters, shrugging as she downs the first half of her drink. “Do you like it there?”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you grin. “It’s great, wait- I need to catch you up on the office drama,” you excitedly tell her, launching into conversation.

The table begins to mellow as alcohol flows through the blood of everyone at the table after the first round of drinks. With the first sip of his second drink of what may as well be disinfectant, even Sukuna loosens up somewhat as you find him leaning a bit closer, his demeanor calm as listens in to your explanation of your shitty coworker Reggie and his antics. He even chimes in every so often to offer a detail about the office, earning the occasional laugh from Shoko and Iori, who joins the conversation as well.

Midway through his second drink, Sukuna even finds himself feeling okay for the first time this week. The haze of liquor enshrouds his mind and blocks out shitty memories, bringing with it a comfortable buzz that allows him to relax. The pain dulls, sedating the voice at the back of his head screaming that he’s a failure, until it’s nearly mute, and with each sip he finds himself chasing the quiet that it brings him.

It’s funny, that in the far corner of a noisy sports bar with some top forties hit blaring over the speakers, he finds a slice of tranquility. By his third drink, he’s even comfortable.

As the conversation shifts to Shoko’s odd classmates and Kento and Yu end up chiming in, you turn to Sukuna.

“How are you feeling?”

Hazy eyes shift towards you as his chin remains leaning on his palm. “Okay,” he replies simply, though it’s the first time he’s sounded convincing in a while.

You inspect his features, but there’s no crease between his brow, no slight downturn of his lips, and no anger hidden within his eyes. He looks at ease. Whether or not that’s something to be happy about, you have yet to decide. Of course you want him to be able to relax and you had figured a night out would do his mental health good, but something tickles at the back of your mind.

Like an itch you can’t scratch, the reminder that he’s casually sipping on Everclear remains there no matter how hard you try to shake it. It’s not exactly something you can ignore, not when he orders his third drink. You eye his glass, uncertainty and concern brimming in your chest.

That’s the equivalent of, what? Six normal drinks? Seven, maybe even eight? All within the span of an hour, and you’re barely halfway through your second.

“Are you sure?”

Sensing your unease, he swirls his cup momentarily, sitting up and nudging you with his thigh. “Positive, princess.”

You can’t help but feel as though he’s chasing answers at the bottom of a bottle. Either that, or he’s searching for a way to cope that doesn’t leave him hollow.

Though, looking at the way his eyes don’t leave you for a moment, you wonder if there’s something deeper to it. Like he’s not just searching for a way to cope without leaving him hollow, but also way to cope without stretching you to your limit. Like he’s trying to spare you from being pulled under by his ocean of problems.

You’ve watched him tear himself apart and offer pieces to those around him until he has nothing left to give, is this the culmination of it all? A man who seeks sedation in order to hide from the fact that there are no pieces of himself to pick up at the end of this all? Because the man who used to only know how to take has given so much that there’s nothing left?

You and Toji hold the last two pieces left of himself. You protect whatever is left of the Sukuna you’ve grown to love, and his connection to Toji remains tense, at the end of the day.

Worst of all, he won’t allow you to give it back, like it’s easier to simply observe what happens around him while he slowly fades away.

Trauma shaped him into a man who reacted with anger out of fear in order to protect himself. At the end of the day, it never mattered how tired he was, he would fight to protect the care and joy he still carried within. When you came along, you provided respite, allowed him the chance to take a breath and relax.

But new trauma tore that away, and as it tears and rips at the shreds of him that remain, you can only watch as the man filled with joy and care disappears, leaving only the anger, the anxiety, and worse still, complete and utter lack of- well- anything at all.

You should be happy to see him relaxed. Hell, you are. It was your first thought upon seeing the tension in his shoulders dissolve, but somehow, this is worse.

Chewing on your lip, you set your hand on his wrist, sliding your fingers beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket. He’s warm, even more so than usual, his eyes sliding down to the feeling of your hand on his skin, smoothing along his tattooed skin. His pupils are so blown his eyes are almost completely void of the familiar crimson.

You know he won’t talk to you about what happened when he lost the kids. No matter how hard you push, he’s locked that memory away and refuses to bring it to light, as though if he dares to let it out, it might hurt him again. But there has to be something going on that you aren’t privy to, because you don’t know how to navigate a world where Sukuna still seeks your comfort, but you don’t know how to provide it.

“How are things going with Ms. Harte?” You query, brow drawn together in concern for your friend as you try to pull answers from him.

Foggy eyes meet yours, flickering down to your lips that are drawn into a frown. Tearing his eyes from your lips by force, he casts a glance around the table to make sure no one is listening. Still, his answer doesn’t give you much to work with.

“Fine.”

It sucks. Everything about his completely numb responses sucks. There’s no bigger, wiser word to be used.

It fucking sucks.

How many times has he brushed you off, this week alone? You can’t say for sure, you lost count the day you found him asleep in his office. But even then, he gave you more to work with than this.

So, what really happened with his lawyer?

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, causing his drunken numbness to falter. A crease forms between his brows as he evaluates your expression, filled with concern.

His jaw clenches before he takes another sip of his drink. Whatever he’s wrestling with mentally, it dissolves as Everclear numbs him. “Things… don’ look good,” he admits, his words slurring as he stares straight through you. He’s clearly even more drunk than you realized.

“What happened?” You push.

He checks again that no one is listening in. “‘S hard t’ guarantee a fair trial,” he shrugs. “We got three weeks t’ submit a retrial ‘r whatever, but-” he cuts himself off, shrugging again. “Not like we got any new evidence.”

Keeping your voice low, you lean closer to Sukuna. “Are you okay? Like, really.”

He tilts his head to the side, his judgement clouded by enough alcohol to sedate a bear. His eyes take no time in locking onto your lips. “‘M fine.”

Fine. Fine. Always fine.

“God, Sukuna,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat and breaking him from his stupor. “You’re so frustrating. I just wish you’d talk to me.”

His expression doesn’t change as he watches you. You wonder how much of this he can even make sense of in such a state, a slight sway to his movements as he rolls his wrist over the table to motion to you.

“‘M talkin’ to you now.”

Your brow raises at his- well- stupidity, for lack of a better word.

Sighing, you shake your head. You figured his lips would be a bit more loose given how drunk he is, that maybe he might let some sort of detail spill, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

He’s completely and utterly plastered, and- oh. Oh, great. He’s waving the waitress over to order another.

What would that put him at? The equivalent of ten shots within an hour?

This is dangerous, even for a man of his stature, and it;s clear he’s not thinking straight.

“Sukuna, stop-” you tug on his bicep before he can get the words out, shaking your head at her. “Water, please. He’d like water.”

“What? No, I-”

“Water coming right up,” the server nods, catching your drift.

“What th’ hell?” Sukuna growls, turning to face you with a frustrated scowl.

Grabbing a hold of his forearm, you cling to the leather of his jacket. “Sukuna, please. Just have some water in between,” you plead.

Whether it’s the look of concern on your face, or the way he’s completely and utterly distracted by your lips again, he backs down.

You’re not a fool either, you’ve noticed. You’ve noticed each and every time, and your heart stutters and jumps and your hands shake as you try to convince yourself that he’s just drunk. Some part of you, deep down, no matter how much you try to bury it, knows that he thinks you’re attractive. That’s why he kissed you in the first place last year. But that’s not what you want, and you’re not about to let yourself get caught up in those thoughts.

You can’t cling to Kento’s assumptions about Sukuna’s feelings.

Especially not when he’s this drunk.

Begrudgingly, Sukuna sips on the water placed in front of him, finding himself staring at the table as conversation continues on around him. Half of the table is discussing future plans, which he has no desire to contribute to, while the other half is discussing how Satoru is about to become a godfather.

He has even less of a desire to discuss kids, mostly tuning out everyone around him.

“You? Excited to be a godfather?” Suguru quips, amused. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s not like I’m having my own kid, I’m not ready for that!” He retorts, chuckling behind a glass of something that looks outside of your budget. “But I’d be a good dad,” he nods assuredly.

Toji snorts, amused. “You’re a fuckin’ frat boy,” he points out.

“I mean, yeah, I said I’m not ready yet,” he agrees with a shrug, “but I’ll be a great dad. Better than you,” he teases snidely.

Toji, unaffected, just shrugs. “Yeah, probably.”

It’s not your business, but you’ve seen glimpses of what Toji could be like, and you actually disagree. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.

“I think we can all agree Yu would make a great parent,” Shoko pipes up, directing attention to the blushing man who’s waving his hands dismissively through the air.

“Yeah, and this asshole would be the worst,” Satoru sneers, directing attention towards Sukuna.

The tone of the table drops very suddenly as Sukuna lifts his head from where it rests against the ball of his palm, fixing Satoru with a deathly stare. Half of the table knows. Half of the table is completely unaware.

And the half that knows have eyes wider than a chasm, horror plastered across their features.

“The hell’s that s’posed t’ mean?” Sukuna growls lowly, a newfound venom returning to him, like even alcohol can’t numb him from Satoru’s offensive words.

“C’mon, you’d be the worst here by a-”

Satoru is cut off with a cough as Toji hits him in the chest hard enough to make the frat boy reel back, bewildered. “Toji, what-”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Toji warns, deathly serious.

Satoru, confused, rubs the spot where Toji smacked him.

“Nah, let ‘im continue,” Sukuna hisses, only leaving Satoru further disoriented.

Unfortunately for the table, the frat boy’s a lightweight, and he’s already had too much to think clearly. Rather than heeding Toji’s warning, he take’s Sukuna’s bait. “It’s not that deep, he’s just an asshole and he’d be just as bad of a dad as he is a friend,” Satoru affronts, having no clue what exactly he’s walked into, even as Toji and Uraume both warn him to stop. But this is Satoru, when does he ever listen?

“You don’ know th’ first thing about me, you prick,” Sukuna barks, his words horribly slurred under layers of inebriation. The table shakes as he stands suddenly. “‘Nd you don’t know th’ first thing ‘bout being a father,” he adds, earning more eyes on your table as he raises his voice enough to garner the attention of other bar patrons.

Suddenly, the football game doesn’t seem nearly as interesting to the onlookers as the giant tattooed man about to square off with the overly cocky and confident Satoru Gojo.

“Sukuna, it’s okay, let’s just-” You ignore the pounding of your heart as you rise to your feet and earn a number of stares yourself, but Sukuna’s burning in his own rage.

The implication behind Sukuna’s words goes right over Satoru’s head as he rolls his eyes. “Oh, and you do? Puh-lease,” Satoru dramatically groans in an effort to get a rise out of Sukuna. “You couldn’t even finish college, how are you supposed to provide for a-”

“Satoru!” You call across the table, placing a hand on Sukuna’s chest to prevent him from lunging across the table and strangling your arrogant friend. “Stop, please.”

For once, Satoru actually listens, if only because he’s somewhat stunned that it’s you stopping him.

“Nah, he’s right,” Sukuna growls, a twisted smirk crossing his lips. He presses against your palm as he leans in, his skin burning with warmth through the thin material of his shirt. You can’t be sure whether it’s from the alcohol or the flames that dance behind his eyes. “Say what y’re thinkin’ since you’re so much better,” he pushes, eyes narrowing. “‘M a womanizer, got fuckin’ daddy issues, can’t stay ‘n school, strapped f’r cash, right?”

Satoru’s lips part, the fun in pushing Sukuna’s buttons dissolving as things become a little bit too real. His gaze slides between the brute and you, searching for answers.

“Kuna, come on,” you plead, pressing harder against his chest, but he either doesn’t feel it or simply doesn’t care in his furious state.

“That’s what y’think, isn’t it?” He hisses, completely ignoring you, blinded by rage. The patrons that surround you have gone deathly silent as even the ambient clinking of glasses and laughter dies from the air. “‘Nd maybe y’re right,” he tacks on, relieving the pressure on your hand as he stands up straight, some form of disdain crossing his face. “I’d be a shit dad.”

Bewildered, Satoru can only stare, his eyes whipping wildly between everyone at the table as though he might be the only one who missed the memo, but there’s a variety of confused stares tucked within your group of friends. Uraume, Toji, Shoko, and Kento all share horrified expressions, but no one else is privy to the turmoil raging within your friend.

Hell, even Shoko doesn’t know the full extent, though you’re sure three shots of Everclear was enough to tip her off to something going on.

“I, uh-” Satoru pauses, shocked into uncertainty. “I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spits with the most clarity you’ve heard in his speech all night, turning on his heel as he fishes for a cigarette in his pocket and slams the bar door open like it owes him money.

Your jaw hangs ajar, heat searing the skin of your cheeks as you flip around to face the table. You’re met with an equal amount of concern and confusion, but Toji seems to be the only one accustomed enough to Sukuna’s outbursts to bring some sense to the table.

“Way to fuckin’ go, asshole,” he grunts, smacking Satoru on the arm.

“What the hell?” The frat boy recoils, his shoulder knocking into Suguru, who seems to come to.

“What just happened?” Suguru voices what everyone is thinking.

Chewing absently on your lip, you cast a glance back at Sukuna, who you can barely make out against the dark background of the night sky outside the door. “I, um-” you stammer, turning back to the table.

“Go after him,” Uraume urges. They give you a reassuring nod when you hesitate. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Nodding gratefully, you grab your jacket, shrugging it over your shoulders before jogging out the door.

Your friend doesn’t bother to cast you a glance as he leans against the outside of the bar, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. The embers sputter out on the concrete below as he takes another long drag, exhaling deeply into the air overhead.

“Are you okay?”

Another drag of his cigarette. Another “fine”.

“Don’t give me that. You’re clearly not,” you push, an air of exasperation to your tone. You can’t help it anymore, of course you would get frustrated when he just won’t talk to you.

His eyes flicker down to you now, hazy with the effects of liquor.

“I know things are hard right now, but how many times do I need to tell you that I’m here for you before you listen?”

His gaze shifts down slightly, settling on your lips. When your words begin to sink in, his vision rises again. He takes another drag of his cigarette, holding his breath as the nicotine soothes his frustrations. Between the nicotine and Everclear, he finds himself oddly at ease, unbothered by the events that went down mere minutes ago.

The wounds are already bleeding, Satoru can’t push the knife that much deeper.

He just shrugs, brushing you off. “I feel fine, princess,” he mutters.

“Yeah I bet,” you scoff, staring out at the parking lot. “You’re just drunk.”

His brow furrows, too inebriated to make sense of this whole ordeal. Shouldn’t you be happy that he’s okay? That even after his blow-up with Satoru, he’s calm? So, why the hell are you so upset?

If he was in his right mind, he might get it. He might see just how frustrating he’s being.

But all he finds when he searches for answers is a sea of confusion.

“‘S that so bad?” He grunts. “Y’wanted me here, didn’t you?”

Turning back towards him, you rub at your temples in an effort to calm down. “I did. I do! but I thought…” you trail off, chewing on your lip as you compose yourself, straightening as you face him. “I thought it would be good for you- for both of us- to spend time with friends and have some drinks-”

“That not what’s goin’ on?” He interrupts, smoke coming out in puffs from his lips with each word.

You stop yourself in your tracks, blinking. Last time you saw him drunk, he’d still seemed in tune with his surroundings. His drinks were likely spread out over the course of multiple hours, watered down by a reasonable amount of soda. You’d be willing to guess he hadn’t had the equivalent of eight or so shots that night, though. He’d probably paced himself. Tonight, though, the liquor hit him hard and fast.

“You’ve had like three times as many drinks as the rest of us,” you point out, hoping he’ll read between the lines of your statement.

“So?”

But he’s far too drunk to be expected to do that. “So, you’re gonna black out if you don’t slow down!”

He’s undeniably very drunk, but even in his current state, he knows better than to say what he wants to say.

Which, in case you’re wondering, is another ‘so?’ but he holds his tongue.

Pushing himself up off the wall, he wobbles slightly as he drops his cigarette on the pavement, stomping it out beneath his boot. Like clockwork, he moves to his pocket to light another one, but your nimble fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him before he can get the cylinder out of his jacket. He stares you down now, his expression unreadable behind droopy lids and the slight flush to his skin.

Your grip on his wrist tightens as you examine his features. He’s so painfully calm now that you find yourself questioning if you imagined his fight with Satoru. Could this even be the same Sukuna?

Day-to-day, you find yourself wondering how different Sukuna will be lately.

Hell, maybe even moment-to-moment.

You know he’s struggling to find himself amidst the maze of his complicated relationship with failure, but it’s like he’s fallen apart and in an effort to put the pieces back together, he’s been left with gaps.

Whatever version of him it is that stands before you now, he’s bitter and detached. Chewing hard on your lip, you smooth your thumb over his tattooed wrist. His muscles tense for an instant before relaxing under your soothing touch, as though he needs it more than he could even know, himself.

Even if it’s barely a sign, you see him then. Somewhere beneath the facade of indifference and haze of liquor, is your friend, terrified to his core over something that he can’t bring himself to talk about.

“What happened back there?” You ask, your entire demeanor softening.

His mind is stuck in a slog, slowed by his inebriation. It takes a moment for your words to settle in his mind.

“He just…” he trails off, his gaze never leaving your face. “Pissed me off.”

You can understand that, you know those two get under each other’s skin. But there’s more to it, and you know that.

“He didn’t know, Sukuna,” you point out. “He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Again, a pause as he thinks. “Yuji called-” he trips over his words, running his tongue over his lower lip as he steadies his mind. “- called me ‘dad’ when ‘e left.”

The air stills. The stars don’t twinkle overhead. The rumbling of distant engines comes to an unsettling halt as Sukuna’s muscles tense beneath your fingers. His hand balls into a fist, but whatever mix of anger, fear, and devastation it is that he feels is fleeting. He has nothing left to give. No tears to cry, no anger to let loose.

He’s tired.

Your lips part as horror shakes you to your core. Your grip on his wrist tightens, the air hanging heavy with his confession as it settles in just how much Satoru had accidentally gotten under Sukuna’s skin. Of course, he’s always struggled separating his duties as a brother with his duties as a guardian, but Satoru hadn’t just gotten under his skin.

He’d accidentally pushed the knife deeper.

That’s why Sukuna had blown up, even in his currently indifferent state.

“Kuna…” You breathe, giving him a small tug towards you until you can wrap your arms around his broad frame. He doesn’t move for a moment, blankly staring at you as his mind catches up. That extra moment allows your warmth to envelop him and his shoulders fall as he melts into your embrace, his eyes flickering shut as he holds you tightly.

Time stills around you as Sukuna shifts, his arms snaking tightly around your waist as he leans down to your level. His breath fans your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a long breath. Heat blooms at the base of your neck where his breath tickles you, rising to the tips of your ears. 

You’re sure he can feel, maybe even hear the way your heart races, but he’s too drunk to make heads or tails of it.

“I’m sorry, Kuna.”

He stiffens slightly as he hears his brothers’ voices in the back of his mind, calling out for him. Calling for Kuna. “‘S fine.”

“It’s not,” you pull back and his hands fall to your waist, resting as if they belong there. It certainly doesn’t do your heart any favors to have him holding you so tightly and painfully intimately. Worse still is the way his gaze holds heat that you’d recognize a mile away, but it’s also twisted with confusion. He’s staring at you with brows drawn together as though you’re a puzzle to figure out, but clings to you like you’re all that keeps him from the abyss he’s trapped in.

Feeling nothing is better than feeling everything at once. The intensity of his own emotions drove him to order Everclear in the first place as he struggled to keep up the mask of being okay. While he’ll take the haze it offers over the tumultuous water he’s been treading all week without help, you offer an escape from both.

It’s subconscious, the way he leans in closer, the way his eyes flicker to your lips as his body tells him what he wants so badly, but hasn’t had the guts to do.

And how can you not pick up on the signs? His lips part, his fingers curling into the plush of your skin as he yearns for nothing more than to let his eyes flutter shut and capture your lips with his own.

All these months, and your taste never left his tongue. He always pushed the thought away, figuring it was a figment of his imagination, but his yearning is real. Painfully so.

What is it that they say about these sorts of emotions? Drunken words are sober thoughts? Does it apply to actions, too?

But even at the brink of being blackout drunk, he can't.

Why is it that he's frozen, inches away from what he wants so badly?

Your eyes widen slightly at the close proximity, instinctively taking a step back when you feel the warmth of his chest against your own.

He’s just drunk, he’s just drunk, he’s just drunk-

The thought repeats itself in your mind like clockwork and you hesitantly place your hands on his chest, using enough pressure against the muscles to keep some breathing room between you.

His lips twitch downwards slightly at the pressure, trying to figure you out.

One moment he swears you’re in love with him still, and the next, he’s wondering if he’s read every sign wrong and Uraume led him astray. Maybe this isn’t what you want at all, and he can’t bear to step into another mistake he can’t come back from.

Fuck, he’s too drunk for this. So, he lets you press against his chest and put space between the both of you before anything can happen.

“Sukuna?” You barely whisper his name, a slight tremor to your hands against his broad chest.

His adam’s apple bobs, his tongue swiping across his lower lip as his mind races to catch up to his flurry of thoughts, but before he has a chance to reply, the door to your side swings open to reveal Uraume.

Their lips form an ‘O’ as they pause at the door, which swings shut behind them. Their gaze sweeps the position they’ve found you both in, before taking in Sukuna’s confused and hazy-eyed scowl and your shocked and confused blinking.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, you’re good!” You squeak, stepping out of Sukuna’s grasp with little resistance. You exchange a glance with him, but can’t deduce much from his expression under the influence of entirely too much liquor.

They nod slowly, taking a step out towards the both of you.

“What happened back there, Sukuna?”

Frustrated as the same question is thrown at him again, he drags his hands down his face. His answer is largely the same to them as it was to you. “He pissed me off.”

“I gathered that,” Uraume replies sarcastically at his half-assed response, taking a step forward to stand at your side. “Are you alright?” They address you.

You nod, shooting them a smile.

Their attention returns to Sukuna again. “I know you’re upset with the loss of your brothers, but you mentioned a meeting with your lawyer. Things should be alright, no?”

Sukuna huffs dramatically, shaking his head before throwing his arms uselessly through the air. “‘T doesn’ fuckin’ matter anymore,” he mutters, instinctively reaching for another cigarette. Your skin itches to stop him, but you fear it’ll only make things worse if you do.

The chemicals pounding through his bloodstream keep him comfortably numb in the cool night air. The temperature is nearly freezing, preparing to leave behind a layer of early spring frost on the grass overnight, but none of you notice thanks to the blanket of warmth the shots you’ve all downed provides.

“Got no cash left,” he shrugs with one shoulder. “Doesn’ matter anyway. Lawyer thinks ‘s useless,” he tacks on with a puff of smoke.

Thinking back to his office on Tuesday morning, you think a part of you already knew he was broke. You’d seen the signs, but you’re sure the money can be scrounged up somehow. You’re more worried about the latter half of his statement as you finally get some answers out of him.

“What? What did she say?” You push, your own anxiety clawing at your chest as your breathing wavers.

Flicking ash to the ground, Sukuna exhales loudly, wracking his clouded mind for some semblance of the legal explanation she gave. “Courts c’n deny appeals, so she-” he pauses, narrowing his eyes as he recalls the conversation, “- she’s worried wi’out new evidence ‘r proof of some sort o’ bullshit in the trial, they might toss th’ case.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette, staring out at the parking lot blankly. The way he’s emotionlessly rattling off words makes you think that he might just be reciting what he heard in his own words, barely considering how either of you might react.

Your blood runs cold at the thought of the boys being alone with a mother they don’t know, without their anchor. The same goes for Sukuna, clearly adrift at sea without his own anchors as he slides headfirst into poor coping mechanisms.

“You need to fight, Sukuna,” you push, frantically glancing between him and Uraume. They may both remain calm, but you see through their silence. Sukuna is at wit’s end and Uraume simply knows how to keep a straight face.

Sukuna puffs smoke above him, languidly watching it swirl above him.

Your throat tightens as tears gather at your lash line. You attempt to blink them away, wrapping your arms around yourself at Sukuna’s signs of defeat. Your voice breaks when you push again. “You can’t give up, Kuna. They need you.”

“What d’ya want fr’m me?” He growls, exasperated as he turns to face you. “I tried!” He insists, throwing his hand through the air as smoke spirals around him with the action.

You chew on your lip, a warm tear spilling down your cheek as you stare at your feet. Sukuna backs down, turning towards the parking lot again as he takes another desperate drag of nicotine.

He just wants to forget. Forget about everything. The trial, his brothers, this moment. He wants it all gone. It’s easier.

Just once, he wants to take the easy way out.

“Have you looked through your files again for more evidence?” Uraume presses, remaining a beacon of calm as they set a hand on your trembling shoulder in reassurance.

“No point,” he huffs.

“Why not?”

Sukuna bristles, the constant questions getting under his skin. Is it too much to ask for a single day where he can let himself forget the bullshit? “‘Cause I did!” He barks, finally turning to face the both of you. “I fuckin’ did ‘lready!” He lets out a dry laugh. “I can’t- not again.” He grows quiet, jaw clenching as anguish seeps through his impassivity. “‘M tired,” he admits, barely audible over muffled laughter from within the bar.

You ache to reach out to him, but Uraume knows you both better than you seem to know yourselves.

“You don’t need to go through the documents alone.”

Sukuna’s empty gaze meets Uraume’s, before his eyes slide back to the parking lot.

“Go inside,” they urge you quietly, squeezing your shoulder. “We’ll be in soon.” You open your mouth to protest, but they cut you off. “Please. I’d like a moment.”

Solemnly, you finally find it in yourself to nod, wiping your tears as you turn towards the door with an uncertain glance at Sukuna. As the door shuts behind you, Uraume takes a moment to take in just how far gone any semblance of the Sukuna they know is.

“Why didn’t you say anything after your meeting?”

He grits his teeth, his grip on the cigarette between his fingers tightening. Three shots of Everclear had him thinking he’d escaped this strangled nightmare, yet here he still is, still floating adrift at sea.

When his head simply hangs as he remains silent, Uraume continues pushing. “Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“B’cause ‘m done!” He barks, whipping around to face them with only half as much fury as he musters on a bad day. He shrugs dramatically, his arms making a plop! sound as the leather of his sleeves makes contact with the sides of the jacket. “Jus’ leave me-” he swallows suddenly, forcing the lump in his throat down as nausea rocks him a step forward. “Christ,” he moans as the urge to vomit comes over him.

He can’t pinpoint the cause in this state, but he doesn’t want to feel the Everclear coming back up.

He can keep a straight face as it burns his throat on the way down, but he doesn’t want to think about that taste coming back up.

“What happened to the man that wouldn’t give up for his brothers?” Uraume pushes.

Holding his head, Sukuna groans again. “Dunno,” he replies simply, not taking any real time to consider their words.

Uraume frowns, crossing their arms over their chest. “I’m taking you home.”

“‘M fine, fuck off.”

Ignoring him, they turn back towards the door. “Wait here. I’ll go pay for our drinks.” The ambient laughter and clinking spills out into the open night air as Uraume holds the door for a moment, pausing before they head back inside. “By the way, figure your feelings out for her,” they jut their chin out in the direction of the table where you’re seated with your friends once again. “Don’t mess with her just because you’re drunk.”

With that, they leave Sukuna outside to mull over their words, knowing fully well nothing will sit well with him in his current state.

The table is in a general state of confusion still when Uraume reappears as Satoru attempts to make sense of what the hell he’d just unraveled. His array of questions are met with an overall frustrating silence as those who’re aware of Sukuna’s situation struggle not to give out too many details. Tough, when the cat’s now out of the bag. It doesn’t take a lot to figure out that Sukuna, to some extent, has kids.

Uraume’s reappearance brings all eyes to them.

“How is ‘e?” Toji queries.

“I’m taking him home. I don’t think he should be alone, I plan on staying the night,” they explain, digging through their wallet to pull out some cash and set it in front of you. “That should cover him and I.”

You nod, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ as you wipe your tears. They shoot you a sympathetic smile.

Sniffling, you do what you can to ignore your own devastation. No matter how much you love his brothers like family, you don’t get to call the shots. You can’t fight for them, and you can’t force Sukuna to fight.

It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

The idea of Yuji losing the only person he knows as his guardian forms a lump in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. As silently as possible, you sharply inhale a shaky breath.

It hurts. It hurts and you’re helpless, unable to do anything but cry, which feels painfully like defeat.

Even if he gives up, you’re not ready to give up. But what are you supposed to do? You can’t pull new evidence out of thin air. You can’t find evidence of an unfair trial when Kaori made sure her arguments were airtight.

You’re lost, too. In your own way.

You take another deep breath, steadying yourself as best as you can, even as anguish pushes the knife deeper and deeper, with no plans on leaving your heart unscathed.

Sukuna’s going through more, you remind yourself. You can’t let yourself break when he clearly needs you. No matter how thin you spread yourself, you need to remain strong for him. Because no matter how lost you feel, you can only imagine he feels worse.

Maybe it’s the wrong way of looking at things, but you want to be his rock. You’ll figure out your classes, your paper, your exams. You’ll figure it all out while you’re still there for him. He needs a hand, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, and you’ll be there with your hand out when he’s ready to accept that.

Even if he isn’t ready to accept it.

So you steel yourself, unwilling to fall to your own issues. His are greater, you can’t allow yourself to crumble under less.

“Let us know when you get to his place,” Atsuya chips in, chewing on a toothpick.

Uraume nods solemnly. “Got it. I’ll text you.”

Your heart drops as they turn to walk away, concern twisting your puffy features. Shoko’s arm wraps around your shoulders as she pulls you into a side hug. “Have some drinks. Have fun. He’ll be okay. You deserve to have fun tonight.”

You want to believe her, you really do.

But you just find yourself wondering how long Sukuna can last like this, lost in a battle with his own demons.

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❦ a/n ; everyone is struggling :')

i know i say it a lot, but thank you all so much for all the support, from the bottom of my heart <33 it really does mean the world and all of your kind words constantly have me itching to keep writing.

i'm really, really looking forward to working on and sharing the next chapter too, we'll get a lot more insight into sukuna's life before reader and just how much kaori absolutely sucks (as if you all didn't already know that LOL)

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[callsign-swan]

Cover up

The Thunderbolts* are onto him, but Bob has the perfect little cover up.

Part 2 to sneaking around (can be read as a standalone)

"She's cute."

Bob stopped, the elevator doors sliding shut behind him. For a good moment, everybody else had the vision of him being dragged to the floor, the back of his sweater caught.

But that didn't happen.

Bob swallowed as he looked at Yelena. The woman that had become his best friend since he'd learnt to enjoy life again, since he found somewhere he belonged.

It didn't feel right to lie.

"She? Who's she?" John asked, unintentionally saving Bob's ass. Giving him the time he needed to think of a good lie.

Well, it would have been a good lie, if he didn't look so damn panicked.

"I was at the shelter!" Bob said quickly. "Gonna adopt a cat."

"We don't need another cat," Bucky said from the sofa, his flesh arm against his forehead as he laid there. On his chest, Alpine seemed to purr louder.

But Bob doubled down. "This would be my cat," he explained, his forehead beginning to sweat. "Company while you guys are saving the world."

"Bob's a cat guy," John muttered as he walked away. "Who knew?"

But Yelena wasn't buying it. Of course she wasn't; she was the one that had witnessed Bob out on a date. She was the one who had seen him buy flowers, seen him kiss her forehead and hold her hand.

So, she once more followed Bob. "Buying a cat my ass!" She called after him as they walked the corridors of the watch tower. "You were on a date!"

"It wasn't a date!" Bob insisted, his hands doing most of the talking. "We're just... friends."

"Friends don't treat each other like that, Bob," she insisted. "Friends don't buy bouquets of flowers that nice for each other. Friends don't kiss each others foreheads and hold hands."

For a moment, Bob stared at her. She was right, he was more than friends with that girl, but Yelena was dead wrong. He made a mental note to get her some flowers. Maybe not kiss her forehead, not if he wanted to keep breathing.

"Just..." he sucked in a breath. "I'm not ready to tell the others yet. Can we keep this between us?"

Lips pursed, arms folded over her chest, she was the image of a stern mother. But then she dropped her arms. "We can keep this between us," he said and patted his shoulder.

Bob let himself smile before he disappeared into his room.

***

"Stop squirming," he whispered to the little bundle in his arms. The elevator carried them both up and Garfield wouldn't stop.

Garfield. She wasn't even an orange cat. She wasn't even a male. Nothing about her said Garfield, but that was her name.

The absurdity of the entire situation hadn't yet hit Bob.

Maybe it was because she was at the shelter with him, playing with the dogs (he couldn't handle having a dog) and cuddling with the cats. She had been the one to pick Garfield.

"It's bad luck to change her name," she told him as she carried the pet carrier, Bob's hand on her back.

"Trust me," Bob said, stopping outside of her apartment. "I don't need anymore bad luck."

So the grey cat with the sweet pink nose was Garfield.

Her story wasn't a tragedy. A home with kids and she didn't like kids. Bob could work with that. Bob could give her a good life.

"Oh my god he really did it," Yelena muttered, looking up from her game of cards.

Garfield raised her head from the crook of Bob's elbow (he'd taken her out of the carrier as soon as they were inside).

"Everybody, this is Garfield," he said, placing her carrier down to scratch the top of her head. "This is definitely who Yelena was talking about the other week."

All eyes were on him. "Garfield?" At least three people asked.

"Like, the 'I hate mondays' guy?" John asked.

"He's not Garfield coloured," Ava finished.

"She," Bob corrected.

The New Avengers stared at him, unblinking. "She?" Bucky asked. "She's called Garfield?"

"Bob-" John stopped himself from adding two more letters, from turning it into a name full of bad memories. "Bob, you gotta change her name."

"I can't," he answered. "Bad luck."

John's eyebrows raised. "Bad luck?"

"'S bad luck to change a cats name once you've adopted it." Plus, she loved the name, but the New Avengers didn't need to know that.

When Garfield yawned, the room seemed to soften. Earth's new mightiest heroes gave a collective 'aww' and moved closer.

While they all stared at her, pet her grey fur and let her sniff their hands with her pink nose, Yelena looked at Bob. One point to him, she guessed. Plus, Garfield really was the cutest little cover up.

[ohtobeleah]

Chameleon // Jack Abbot

Summary: When Jack Abbot sees the love of his life has changed her hair colour…it doesn’t go as well as he, or the rest of the ER, would have hoped.

Warnings: Separated Reader x Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot x F!reader. OBGYN Reader. Marriage problems. Mental health issues. Mentioning of divorce. Age gap relationship. Younger female x older male.

Word Count: 2k

Author Note: I’ve used this scene before in a series. But for this one-shot, it was perfect inspiration. I had to revamp and create this little one-shot for my Friday afternoon serotonin boost.

“You know, soon enough you’ll have to sit down and have a genuine discussion about the state of your marriage, brother,” Robby walked with Jack down the bustling ED corridor. The two were getting ready for handover, as they did every morning and night, like yin and yang. “Personally, I think the two of you can work through whatever this is, together. I don’t think a divorce is necessary.” 

There it was…that goddamn word that carried the weight of the world. ‘Divorce’, Jack Abbot hated that word. He always had. But he’d never hated it more than when it became relevant to his own marriage. 

“Besides, I hardly recognise you, all you do is work and go home and listen to that scanner. Then, come back as soon as the sun goes down.” Robby wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest bit. But Jack still didn't appreciate it. 

“Who said anything about a divorce?” Jack growled as he caught the back of someone by the nurse’s station he couldn’t recognise. “Look, it’s complicated,” Jack paused his steps. Robby mimicked his friend's stance as the two continued to talk, all the while Jack never let the blonde in pink scrubs out of his sight. “I love Y/n, and I know she still loves me, because if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess trying to fix what I broke.” 

It’s an inevitable part of depression. The part where you tend to push people away. The part where self-isolation becomes a form of therapy. Jack knew the solace of being alone far too well. He knew it so well that he forgot that he was married…

And that broke your heart. Enough that the love you had for Jack couldn’t outweigh the pain of his behaviour and lack of affection. Attention. Understanding and empathy. He forgot you even existed. So…You left him. But not before you gave him everything you could. And not without explaining in great detail, why you were leaving. 

Jack needed time and space to better himself. You wanted him to come back to you when he was ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved. You wanted him to realise what he’d done to drive you away. PTSD, untreated depression. It all became too much. 

“You need help, Jack!” He can still hear your words echoing in his mind. “You save people all day and yet you can’t seem to understand that you’re slowly killing yourself with this fucking bullshit!” He knew you were right, you had been from the start. But at the time? Jack wasn't ready to listen. So he watched you walk out of his life instead. “I can’t keep waiting for you to jump off a building because you don't give a shit who you hurt as long as your pain ends, I can't watch you die because you won't let me help you.” 

It's a haunting reminder of his biggest mistake. Letting you go. But a reminder Jack won't ever forget. 

“Who’s the blonde from OB?” Jack followed up his statement with a question that hung heavy in the air. “There’s no blondes in OB? Did we get a new resident?” 

Robby doesn’t answer right away. He simply studies the way Jack's eyes examine every inch of the woman standing over by the nurse’s station. He has to know, right? It’s the woman Robby had only just seen in the elevator ten minutes ago. The woman who had just been sobbing on his shoulder about how much guilt she felt for separating from Jack. 

He needed it, though. Even Robby agreed that Jack had been teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode. Your separation was the best thing for him. He needed to realise that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered most if he didn’t get a grip on reality. 

“Uhh—“ Robby knew it was you, the blonde that was. You’d told him about your crash-out. The one that ended with a bottle of hair bleach and some not-so-professional measurements. You’d explained how you’d been missing Jack like crazy, but maybe it was time to think about divorce. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change. To help himself get back to a point where he could love you just as much as you loved him. It killed you every day that passed, but you knew if you went back now, Jack would only revert to his old ways. 

And he’d slowly, but surely, been making progress. Robby had mentioned to you that Jack had been seeing a therapist. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he had mentioned it. That gave you a little hope, and eventually stopped the tears from flowing before you had to get out of the elevator. 

“I’m not sure, but let’s—“ Before Robby could think of any excuse to remove himself, and Jack from your trajectory…the normally brooding attending was excusing himself with a smirk only reserved for mischief. 

“Excuse me.” Jack looked at his best friend with the intent to cause trouble before he walked off in the direction where you stood. Not knowing it was you. 

“Oh, well, now I recognise you,” Robby chuckled as he watched Jack saunter off. “This isn’t going to end well—” He groaned through mumbles as he looked anywhere but at the car crash about to happen right in front of him. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets with fear. 

“Hey—!” Jack started as he approached the nurse’s station. “Are you down here for a consultation? I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m-“ It was worse than a car crash… it was like a double homicide. But not a soul could take their eyes off the scene before them. 

Emergency Room attending physician. Dr. Jack Abbot verves obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Y/n Abbot. Separated spouses, who can barely work in the same hospital right now, let alone have a conversation face-to-face. 

As you turned around, Jack swore his heart fell out of his stomach. His heart raced inside his chest. You were stunning. He’d never seen you like this before. In all your years, you’d never been blonde. It looked…you looked beautiful. 

“Ahh!” Jack stepped back a little, fear was evident in the lines on his face. Holy shit, what was he supposed to do now? “What did you do to your hair?” Nope…That wasn’t what he should have said. But it was a question with many layers. 

Much like Jack Abbot himself. 

“I—I-I changed it.” You stumbled over your words as your husband, uh, ex? Husband? Separated spouse? asked with a tone you couldn’t tell was good or bad. Self-doubt immediately bubbled to the surface. “I uh, I coloured it.” You reach up and ran your hand through your blonde hair, not usually the standard issue colour. “I just—“ Then, as you stopped your mind from running off with the idea of shaving your head entirely, you caught onto what was happening... 

“Wait, you thought I was someone else?” Your heart sank. Jack didn’t even know it was you, yet here he was.

Jack immediately turned to look back at where he’d left Robby. Much to Jack's dismay…Robby had vanished into thin air. Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. He’d really put his foot in it this time. 

“You didn’t know it was me? And you were hitting on me!?” There was a tone in your voice that had everyone around you on edge. It made the blood in Jack’s head rush south…he liked you a lot when you were being mean to him. 

Langdon, who was only just getting situated with his patient pool for the morning, looked over at Jack with wide eyes and a shocked expression plastered across his smug face. He was so thankful it wasn’t him in Jack’s shoes right now. 

“No! No—“ Jack tried to explain himself. “No, I just thought you were, you know, some blonde.” But he had nothing to explain as he lowered his head and pressed his lips together. 

God help him. 

“Jesus, Abbot—“ You sighed. It was hard enough to love him enough as it was. Now, the idea of him running rampant around the Emergency Department, flirting with anything that moved, was going to ruin the small ounce of strength you had left. “You’re pathetic, and hypocritical—and slutty!” You whispered, shouted through gritted teeth. 

“And you are no blonde!” Jack retaliated, sending the Emergency Department into a buzzing gossip column. It was rare to ever see the two of you together anymore, let alone arguing like a married couple. 

“What did you just say to me?” It was a loaded question, like you were just daring Jack to continue. You stepped closer to where he stood, matching his intense gaze like you knew the way passed and into his heart. He fucking loved you. Being this close made his heart yearn for you. He just wanted you to be his again. 

You can’t pull that off, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slipped off his tongue like it was something Jack said every day. It was…But he wasn’t supposed to be calling you that anymore. Much like he wasn't supposed to be wearing his wedding band. 

It made your heart race. He still noticed you. He still wanted you and only you. He still cared. But not enough for you to trust he had your best interests at heart. 

“Blondes are either badass, or fun, and you’re—“ Jack paused, he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t inadvertently hurt your feelings. He was flirting, after all. “You’re a brunette.” 

“Fuck you, old grumpy bastard!” That was all you said as you collected your things and turned away with quick haste. You needed to leave. You were needed for a consultation, and that's what you were here to do. You weren't here to argue with your ex. 

“Damn—“ You heard it as you walked by. Langdon was looking at you like he’d just witnessed a public execution. “If you want my opinion, I think the blonde looks rad.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up!” You hissed with enough conviction that it had him thinking you might actually be venomous. 

“That didn’t end well, did it, Romeo?” Robby reappeared as Jack stood idly, watching you walk away. His heart ached, like he had a school-yard crush on the popular girl at school. 

“When did she dye her hair?” He asked softly, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. 

“Two weeks ago,” Robby replied. He knew Jack would take that as an answer he was hoping not to get. An answer to the question he secretly asked. The question was about your hair, but in reality, Jack had asked how long it had been before he noticed you. 

And the fact you’d been walking around like a totally smoke show for two weeks and Jack hadn’t noticed…made his stomach churn with guilt. 

“She’s too good for me,” Jack sighed. He knew he screwed it up. He knew he stuffed up your marriage. He just wanted to get back to you. “But holy shit, she looks good.”

“I think that’s what she was going for,” Robby smiled as he tapped his friend on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we got hand over to get through Mr. Casanova.” Teasing, Robby coaxed Jack to follow him. 

Meanwhile, you watched on from where you’d run off to, secretly pining for your husband to flirt like that with you again any time. He was coming back to you. 

Slowly. But surely. Jack Abbot was coming back to life.

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part two.

part one.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 11.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; much more intense violence/gore/death than in part one, suicide, self-harm, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, mentions of pregnancy, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; the support so far has been so sick guys! thank you so much! i initially wanted to cover all the events of the movie in two parts and move on to avengers tower type of stuff in the next part but i decided this part was already long enough and was itching to post LMAOO regardless, i hope you all enjoy!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

There was rarely a time in your early life when you weren’t being under surveillance. Cameras, everywhere. Nurses making their rounds. Scientists probing you. Surgeons with their hands on you, over you, inside you. 

But once, when you were sixteen, there was a black-out in the facility, which you later learned to be a total power outage through the entire city. No cameras to watch you. The nurses who had been drawing your blood scurried out with owlish eyes, spooked. Moving gingerly, you pulled the needle out of your arm, bandaged it with the gauze on the medical cart, and glanced out of your barred window. The past few weeks, the scientists had been trying to use your DNA to perfect biological cloning technology. As revolutionary as it sounded, you really didn’t like the idea of someone having to live your reality, death and pain constantly hovering over your shoulder.

For a few minutes, however, you got to be alone with yourself. Nothing but you and your own thoughts. You began to shake, but you didn’t register it. The only thing you clearly remembered was the scalpel on the medical cart. A pale silver, but reflecting the hazy green of the emergency exit signs from outside your cell. You’d always thought the sign taunted you. Exit here, just in case you have to, even though you can’t.

The blade was cold in your touch, cutting the warmth of your skin. 

You watched the blood drip down the first arm, and then sliced through the next. It hurt, of course it did. But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and it would all be over. 

Your shaking had intensified so much that the bed frame rattled like bones. Then, you began to split. Whether it was subconscious or your body’s natural, instinctive reaction, you weren’t sure. You sobbed, a mangled noise caught in the back of your throat, trying to merge back together. But this had never occurred before—you had never tried to stop yourself from duplicating. Typically when you split, you carried forth the same wounds as the original, but that wasn’t the case this time. 

It was as if your body had stored a clean, woundless back-up in case of a singular copy’s dire emergencies. You still felt it—the throbbing, searing pain on your arms—but no signs of the gash on you at all. You were wiped clean from your choice. A fresh restart. 

That was the first time you had to watch yourself die by your own hand. You tried to give your copy some sense of comfort during the last few moments, but it felt futile knowing you craved the very same thing. You never tried committing suicide again. Mostly because, well, you were a walking paradox. Unkillable, yet you’ve died a thousand and one deaths.

And so—when you watched Valentina’s cavalry pierce poor, innocent Bob with round after round of bullets, a guilty, nasty part of you thought about how lucky he was to be able to die so quickly. Of course, you felt terrible as soon as the thought entered your mind. You rather liked Bob and his warbly doe eyes, his skittish but considerate demeanor, and his eagerness to help. It was an awful shame you didn’t get to know him better. You were still reeling over seeing him in your nightmare—was that your mind playing cruel tricks on you or was Bob less innocent than he came off to be? 

His sacrifice certainly wasn’t going to be in vain. Walker had begun to drive the truck out of the compound down winding, sandy paths. 

Except—it seemed Bob was a lot more similar to you than you thought. When someone shot you down, another cropped right back up. Bob, to your relief and utter confusion, did just the same.

The streaking figure across the sky was no star. It was flailing about amongst the grey clouds and bore the pale, baggy silhouette of hospital clothes. 

Bob. Your Bob. He was alive!

“Palindrome,” you whispered in awe, face just about pressed up against the warm glass of the truck’s window. It was only a few seconds that he was suspended up in the air, but it felt like ages. Then, he began to plummet back down to the earth. “Oh, no.” 

His landing was not a graceful descent—in fact, the impact was so massive that it sent a strong gust of wind billowing across the base, knocking your truck clean off its path. The vehicle tumbled in rotation as it made its way down the sandy slopes. You would’ve likely gotten a concussion from being jostled about had you not split yourself into as many copies as you could fit, which was nearly forty, and stayed nice and tight amongst your own nervous copies.

It landed on its side, and you reabsorbed all the duplicates into one body. Moonlight spilled into the vehicle when John hacked at the truck’s metal with his shield. It caved noisily beneath the initial strikes, then eventually split. You might not have liked the man, but he was impressively strong. Was he super-serumed up just like the previous Captain America? The scientists in Madripoor that had been working on you were sure as hell trying their best to make their own formula of super serum, to no avail. 

“Oh,” he said, peering into the dark belly of the truck and seeing your deer-in-headlights expression. “I was worried you’d died in here. Good.”

“Xerox,” Yelena had said, helping you climb out of the truck. You took caution to avoid the sharp edges of the gap Walker carved for you. “Are you okay? Did you see that?”

You nodded. “That was Pal—Bob. Right? I wasn’t just seeing things?”

“Not unless all of us had a collective hallucination,” Ava put in. The group began to walk away from the totaled truck. There was no point in trying to get it up and running now—it was ruined beyond saving from the crash.

“Weirder things have happened,” you said, looking around the great expanse of nighttime desert. “Where did he land? Maybe we can help him.” 

“On the other side of the base. We couldn’t possibly get to him in time before Val and her crew,” Yelena said. Then, she handed you a file. “Valentina did this. To test on someone like that… it’s inhuman. She plans to use him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, then you looked down. It was designs of superhero suits—a collage of striking gold and blue, all sharp angles and bold flares. Lacking all the soft gentleness you would’ve attributed to Bob. It even had a cape. 

“The power of a thousand exploding suns? Golden Guardian of Good?” Ava read over your shoulder, scoffing. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Sentry,” said Walker, taking the case file from you, to your annoyance. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he took a quick gander. “Very shiny. I didn’t think any of them were still around.”

“Did you know about this?” you asked. 

Walker shoved the file back into your awaiting hands. “There was a rumor that O.X.E. had some kind of big breakthrough. I don’t know much, but whatever it was, it was apparently way too extreme. Test subjects were dying. And then when the government looked into it, Val shut it down, and she put me on clean-up duty. I was meant to take care of him.”

“Take care of him,” you scathingly echoed. “Kill him.”

“Well, yeah,” John bit back. “We all were sent to kill each other. Haven’t you gotten over it by now?”

Your eye twitched. “I’m sorry I haven’t warmed up to the idea just yet!”

Ava drew a large, heaving sigh. It seemed she had no energy left to bicker. “Let’s just get home without getting caught.”

John, to your delight, found cactus berries for everyone to eat. You were starving. When you thanked him, quietly, he twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. Not embarrassed, not prideful, but… something more muted, as if he wasn’t sure how to accept gratitude. 

The rest of the group ate and walked in relative silence, save for the occasional complaint, grumble, and irritated tongue-click. 

The Red Guardian—and Yelena’s adoptive father, which you later came to find out—had come to pick her and everyone else up in the middle of the desert, waving his arms about and screaming like a madman. He was a giant of a man, so large that he had to drive his beat-up limo hunched over the steering wheel, despite putting his seat as far back as it would go. His shoulders were broader than the sticky leather seat itself. He donned a shoddy red suit that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to decades-old artifacts. And he was terribly loud, always spouting out something about collaboration, family, and the terrific rag-tag team the lot of you made. He seemed intent on calling the group the Thunderbolts in honor of Yelena’s peewee soccer team.

You found him rather amusing, even if he was obnoxious, overstimulating, and smelled of stale tortilla chips.

Both Yelena and Alexei were arguing about the next course of action—the former wanting to hunker down and hide, while the boisterous latter seemed intent on defeating Valentina with the power of… friendship. You decided to stay silent on the matter. You couldn’t deny that going home sounded like a brilliant idea. But… so did saving Bob. 

Before a proper conclusion could be reached, Walker announced a convoy approaching the limo from behind, three chunky vehicles gaining speed. Alexei tried to engage “defensive measures”, but he’d forgotten which of the several buttons to press, and instead engaged a “party mode”, where the lights turned flashy pinks and purples, and a ridiculous EDM song began to blare from the built-in speaker system, nearly shocking you into splitting. 

And then the gunshots started firing. Walker made himself useful by deflecting the majority of the bullets with his shield. Ghost tried to climb out one of the windows, only to be met by a piercing blast of concentrated, high-frequency sound waves, instantly disabling her suit’s phasing abilities. Yelena currently had nothing but a gun, and Alexei was busy driving. That left you.

With a determined puff of breath, you multiplied once, then climbed out the car window. Distantly, John barked at you to stay behind the shield but he went largely ignored. 

This was going to hurt like hell. But, on the plus side, you never really knew if you had a limit to the number of clones you could produce before you exhausted yourself. Maybe today you could find out. Within the blink of an eye, there were a hundred of you, growing exponentially by the second. 

Yelena realized what you were doing before the others. You were forming a human wall. 

One of the military vehicles plowed right through the weakest part of the wall, your blood and guts splattering every which way, staining the sand a deep shade of crimson. Another tried to swerve around, but ended up skidding too quickly, tipping over and crashing to the side, tires moving fruitlessly in the air. Your copies, still multiplying, swarmed the vehicle like angry, hell-bent ants, slipping into the open windows and pummeling the few soldiers in there. You could feel the bullets empty into your body, but you swallowed down the pain and kept going. But exactly as you told Yelena before—limited bullets, inifinite of you. And good Lord, did it hurt like—well, like you were being run over a thousand times over because you quite literally were. 

The remaining car was taken care of by an explosion so loud that it seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Initially, you wondered if someone from the car had thrown back a grenade, but when you caught sight of the sleek motorbike, you knew it was a newcomer. 

You heard Walker distantly yell, “Bucky!”

And true to his word, It was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You reabsorbed your copies—the few remaining that were still alive—and watched from a distance as he swerved past the last car’s gunfire, pinned a cable to its underbelly, and fell back to hold the wire down with his metal arm. The car flipped in the air as if it were an omelet on an oiled skillet. You blinked, impressed. 

Then, to your dismay, Bucky took off his sunglasses, and proceeded to shoot an explosive disk at Alexei’s limo. Similar to the previous car, it did an uneven pirouette before crashing onto the road upside-down. You winced, hoping none of them were killed in the crash. Even if they weren’t your friends, you thought that killing them went a step too far. 

Bucky was a little ways ahead of you, but he turned and fixed you with an expectant stare. Was he going to shoot you, too?

But you should’ve known—Bucky Barnes was smarter than that. He pulled out a different gun—and when he shot, electric ropes shot out as if they were sticky webs. You came crashing to the ground as they wound about your body, spasming with the sharp current frying your skin. To your panic, duplicating was not an option if you were bound. 

“If—” you choked out as he drew nearer to you. “If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.”

The ex-Winter Soldier looked down at you with a cocked head. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re evidence.”

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he woke up in a nice bed. In fact, this was probably the nicest bed he’s ever been in. His fingers twitched beside him—silk sheets. Just from that, he knew that this wasn’t his home (thank God for that), nor was it a hospital. He sat up.

There was a woman sitting by his bedside, watching him.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and meticulously tender. “How are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”

He stared at her for a moment before awkwardly saying, “Yeah.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good, good. My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

The name immediately had Robert backing up to the headboard, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “No, you—you tried to kill us!”

She began shushing him as if he were a child throwing a fit. On the glass table beside her, she put down what looked and sounded to be a metal plate.

“Let me explain. Would you like that?”

Bob stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his hands fidgeting with the silk. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

As she spoke, Bob took to looking around. The room was rather empty save for the bed, the glass table, and the chair Valentina was sitting on. Where was he? He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long… he didn’t like empty spaces very much. The blankness of the walls always made him worse than usual. When he was younger, he wasn’t even allowed to put up posters because his father would tear them down the minute he saw them. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Valentina was saying.

“Where—where is everyone?” he asked, interrupting her long-winded explanation. “Xerox? Yelena?”

“Xerox?” she repeated, pulling a distasteful face. Bob frowned. “Yelena… Oh, Bob, those people you were with… they’re not honest people. They’re criminals. Villains, really.”

Bob inched closer to the headboard until his back was flush against the leather. “No, but they… they helped me.” 

Well, if they weren’t here, he hoped everyone managed to get to safety. That he was useful for once in his damn life and not just… in the way.

Valentina stood up from the chair and sat down on the bed, inches away from him. Bob stiffened at the sudden movement.

“Let’s just forget about them for a bit. Let’s focus on you,” the woman said, “and how perfect you are.”

Perfect? Him, perfect? Perfect Bob. It sounded like an oxymoron. An embedded contradiction.

“You always thought of yourself as the victim. But you overcame it! You went to Malaysia—you were lost. You were searching for something, someone to help you. And you found me,” she crooned. 

Bob could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “How do you know about that?” 

It was embarrassing—mortifying, even—that someone found out that he was looking for help because he was a pathetic loser who couldn’t do anything on his own, as if he even deserved help to begin with. And now she was confronting him about it! Bob wanted a hole to open in the ground so he could crawl inside of it and hide away for the rest of his stupid life.

“I know all of it,” Valentina assured, though it wasn’t very reassuring. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record, and, you know—I even know about the times your father—”

Bob felt his insides seize at the mention of his father. “Stop!” he said, hands immediately coming up to cup his ears. “No, I didn’t say you could know that.” The lights began to flicker, a dangerous hum filling the room.

Valentina shook her head, scooching even closer. “Robert, I know everything about you—and I still want you to be my guy! All the bad things you’ve done… and I accept it. I accept you. Isn’t that what you want? To be chosen? No one else sees it. But I do. I see you. And I think, Robert, that your past is what makes you so special.”

At this, Bob could feel a small part of him cave. She wanted him. Out of all people, she thought he was capable! Capable of what? Did it even matter? He was picked. Wanted, chosen, special, needed, valuable, a true asset!

That was what he wanted. Yes, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind. She’s your ticket out. You won’t be a useless fucking loser anymore. 

Then, Valentina took his hand. His eyes narrowed a fraction. He dove into her mind and he saw it all—her father, the tears on her chubby nine-year-old cheeks, the bullet in his chest. When he pulled away, he regarded her with a mixture of pity and confusion. 

This woman was just as sad as him. Was everyone equally messed up in the head or did he just attract like-minded people?

Valentina cleared her throat, trying her best to give him a warm smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. “Would you excuse me for just a moment?” she said, getting up from the bed. She looked a bit frazzled. Bob supposed being forced to live your most traumatic memory again did that to someone. 

Before she could leave, she picked up the metal disk. He caught a glimpse of the shiny golden S engraved on the front side.

Your ticket! the dark voice hissed. You fucking idiot.

“No,” he croaked out, scrambling away from the headboard. “No, wait!” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “I can control it.”

She smiled, victorious. “Great,” she said. Then, she turned and left, leaving Bob alone in the empty room.

Bucky Barnes was very good at ignoring you. He only seemed to listen after tying the super soldiers up with bent metal rods, and you, Ava, and Yelena with special power-defusing cuffs. And even then, he dismissed everyone trying to tell him about Bob, Project Sentry, and how Valentina betrayed all of you. He made a scathing remark to John about his wife and kid deciding to leave him—it was clear the two had a tense, troubled history. 

Finally, after about half an hour sitting around and wasting time, Bucky got a phone call. Who with, you didn’t know. Someone close to Valentina, maybe. But she mentioned Bob, and suddenly Bucky straightened. His scowl deepened upon realizing that this group of misfits and criminals—were telling him the truth all along.

“So…” he said after hanging up the phone. “Bob.”

“Bob,” the rest of the group echoed in both exasperation and relief.

“We have to help him,” you said, emphatically wriggling your wrists and shoulders to indicate the cuffs. “Valentina is only going to hurt him or use him to hurt others.”

“Or both,” Ava chimed.

Bucky thought on it for a long second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he stalked over and uncuffed you, Yelena, then Ava. He unwound the metal pipe around Alexei as if he was snapping a string. He paused behind Walker, clearly unhappy to let him back on his feet, but he also broke him free of his bonds.

“You guys know Valentina,” he said. His eyes met yours. “Like you said—people are going to get hurt. And if your knowledge of this Bob can help… then you’re coming with me.”

“Us?” Yelena said, incredulous. “Bucky, you have the wrong people. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Thor?”

“Off-world.”

“Captain America?” you asked, venturing a glance at Walker.

“Busy. Out of the country.”

“The Hulk?” Ava asked.

Bucky shook his head, patience wearing thin. “Listen. I’ve been where you are. You can run, but it catches up. It doesn’t go away. I’m giving you guys the opportunity to do something about it now. It’s either you come with me, or it’s a prison cell. Take your pick.”

Alexei needed no convincing. “This is great!” he roared. “All of us will be fighting together, like a team!”

More reluctant, Yelena drew in a breath. “Stop Val. Save Bob.”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

Walker pursed his lips. “Fine,” he gruffed.

Ava nodded, solemn. “Come on, then.”

Alexei looked around with a wide, oafish grin on his face. “YES!” he yelled. “Come on, then, you slowpokes! What are we waiting for?”

The plan to save Bob was really no plan at all—which was to be expected from a group of mercenaries and assassins who were typically used to working alone. 

Crash into the Avengers Tower. Beat up the guards. Find Valentina. Take care of her (you still weren’t very sure what this bit meant). Save Bob. Easy, right?

Well, crashing into the tower and beating up the guards certainly were a piece of cake. Finding Valentina, which you suspected to be one of the harder steps, turned out to be handed over to you on a silver platter. 

Her voice echoed on the intercom, effectively halting everyone mid-punch or mid-kick. As for Bucky, he dropped the guard he’d been strangling. “Jesus, you guys,” Valentina sighed. “I literally just had a new drywall installed. Should’ve known you lot would mess that up, too. I left the door unlocked for you. Come up.”

Yelena stood beside you, chest heaving. “Think it’s a trap?”

“Probably,” you said. “But do we have a better plan?”

“We didn’t have one to begin with,” Ava retorted. She gestured to the elevator. “Come on.”

The elevator took the group up to one of the very top floors of the tower. You stepped in with wide, scrutinizing eyes. Most of the original Avengers were dead now, weren’t they? Dead or retired. A vague memory of heroism and destruction. You were gone during the Blip—and you thanked God for that—so the Avengers bringing you back was more of a curse than a blessing on your end. 

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina greeted everyone from behind an island counter. There was the pop of a champagne bottle as she poured herself a glass. “Think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly where you’re standing. I mean, I don’t really care—the place wasn’t cheap, but it’s got good optics.”

That’s all she ever seemed to care about, wasn’t it? Image. Branding. It was no wonder she always sent you on undercover missions. You weren’t marketable. No little girl or boy would buy your figurine when there was an Iron Man or Black Widow to pick from. 

“It’s over, Valentina,” Bucky said, expression stoic. “This ends now.”

“Congressman Barnes,” Valentina greeted, voice snippy. “I never thought you’d have a promising career but—you managed to disappoint even the lowest of expectations. Not even half a term, huh? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker interrupted. 

This made her laugh, though it was inauthentic and hollow. “I don’t think so… junior varsity Captain America.”

His hand fell on his gun, and he only paused when Bucky said his name with a warning tone.

“It’s good to see you, Ava. Yelena. You look awful, by the way. You sure you’re really ready for that public-facing role you asked me about?” 

“Eat shit, Valentina.”

“Where’s Bob?” you said, feeling the tensions creeping up until it felt near suffocating. “What did you do to him?”

“Xerox. I thought you wanted to leave… And yet here you are. Just makes me wonder why you haven’t left. You had every opportunity to. Are you getting attached already? That was always a weakness of yours, wasn’t it?” She took a long sip from her champagne flute. “You know, he asked about you. Even mentioned the little nickname you gave him. Palindrome, right? It’s a little bit of a mouthful, but that’s just me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Why were you still here? You didn’t owe Bob—or anyone else in this group—anything. 

Your evident hesitation made Valentina’s eyes light up. “Just look at you guys! So adorable, really. I sent you all down there to kill each other… but you made nice, and you form a team. Who would’ve thought?”

To your relief, Bucky cut through her condescending tirade by asking for Mel, who you assumed to be the person he was on the phone with earlier. 

“Oh, Mel,” she said, dismissive. “She’s having loyalty issues. But I’m just so grateful that she stuck around long enough to lure you all in—”

As she spoke, Bucky took the flute of champagne from her hands and placed it onto the island with a resounding tink. His hand then moved to close around Valentina’s throat.

But it never got there.

His hand froze mid-air, vibrating with strain. Bucky stared down at his arm with furrowed brows.

With a sharp, satisfactory grin, Valentina hummed, “I’m not alone. Robert?”

You turned to see a pair of dark boots descend down a flight of stairs. Each step revealed more of him—flashy golden suit, cinched blue belt, a dark, flowing cape. Blonde hair. A confident stance. A set jaw.

“Oh, my God,” Yelena said. 

“That’s Bob?” Bucky asked, words laced with disbelief.

“He looks… a little different from when we last saw him,” Ava said.

You stayed silent, watching him with what could only be described as a crestfallen expression. This wasn’t the Palindrome you remembered. What did Valentina do to him?

“It is my great honor to introduce to you… the Sentry,” Valentina beckoned to Bob as if he were a shiny new car she was parading. 

Bob nodded at the rest of you. “Hey, guys.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, but he was quick to look away. Your insides felt as if they were curdling.

“All powerful. Invincible. Stronger than all the Avengers combined—and soon to be known as Earth’s mightiest hero,” Valentina announced. 

Ava narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob blinked. “Yeah. It was—”

“My idea,” Valentina nodded.

“I preferred the dark hair,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it to spite Valentina or because it was the genuine truth. Perhaps both. “Brought out your eyes.”

Bob looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“People love a classic hero,” Valentina said. “All the strongest and most beloved were blondes. The original Captain America, blonde. Thor, blonde. Hawkeye, blonde-ish. Black Widow… blonde for some time.”

The mention of her sister made Yelena flinch. Valentina didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said. He wasn’t here to discuss frivolities like hair color.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, Bucky? Geez. Did all that time in the freezer slow your brain down? At least you’re kinda cute—you have that going for you.” 

“You’re not going to hurt people?” the Guardian intervened, his inflection cautious and mildly confused. 

“Oh, no! No. I’m not going to hurt people. I’m going to hurt you—or, well, Robert here will. You see, the press is on their way here now. They’re going to witness the magnificent power of Sentry as he takes down this group of ruthless, rogue agents. Thus beginning a new era where I decide how to keep the American people safe, answering to no one. I’ll be unimpeachable.”

“Cool,” you snarked, lips curling into a snarl. “You got the villain monologue down and everything.” Then, you turned to Bob, trying your best to ignore Valentina’s presence right beside him. Your expression softened considerably. “You told her about Palindrome?” 

Bob froze, as if pondering if he’d done something wrong. “Ye–yeah. I thought—at first, I thought it would be a cool hero name. But yeah, uhm… Sentry is… better. Rolls off the tongue.”

You nodded. “Okay. No, you’re right, maybe. But Palindrome—same backwards as it is forwards, remember? Are you the same Bob I met down in the vault? Because I liked that Bob a lot more than what I see in front of me now.”

Initially, Bob’s expression crumpled. Any hope of seeking the team’s approval was immediately crushed under the heel of your foot. Then, to your dismay, Bob—no, Sentry’s—face grew stony.

“Valentina fixed me,” he said. “I’m better now.”

The team’s incredulous, disbelieving faces told Bob all he needed to know. None of you were on his side. 

Valentina nodded at the tall, now-blonde super. “Sentry. Your first mission is to take out these criminals.”

Bob swallowed heavily, brows furrowed as he weighed between his options. “I don’t want to hurt you guys,” he finally said. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves in?”

With a scoff, Walker said, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby.”

A vein jumped on the side of Bob’s neck. “You can call me Sentry.”

“Please, you do not need to listen to her,” Yelena attempted to rationalize. 

“See?” Valentina exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I told you—they don’t think you’re good enough.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena asserted. “You can trust me, Bob! I know you!”

Bob fixed her with what looked to be a disappointed gaze. “I don’t think that you do.”

“But—you saved us. Only a few hours ago, you sacrificed yourself to help us escape. What was any of that for?” You loathed how your voice broke with desperation. 

Bob had a hard time swallowing around the rising lump in his throat. His mind darted back to the many times you died just to save him. None of this sat well with him, but… it needed to be done. 

“It was a mistake,” he said, simply. He chanced a glance to Valentina, who nodded in approval.

You recoiled like a wounded snake. 

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Alexei bellowed. Bob still wasn’t very sure who he was. “No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!” 

Just as Val incredulously echoed, “Thunderbolts?” Alexei stormed forward, pulling all his weight into a barrel-slam. It was as if he were hit with a solid, thick wall of dense lead. Bob punched him straight in his round belly, and like a ragdoll, the super soldier went flying backwards, crumpling into a red heap against a nearby pillar. Immediately, the rest of the team dove into action and attacked Bob. Save for Yelena, who was still trying to make peace with him.

Bob was, as Valentina had alluded to earlier, seemingly invincible. Able to fling people away without having to disturb a single dyed hair on his head. Stop special-grade bullets mid-air and send them right back to the assailant at twice the speed. Withstood the sharpest of blades and the strongest of punches. 

You split into two copies. One to assist Walker, whose shield was embedded into a sofa, nearly cleaving it in two, and another running after Valentina, who you spotted hurrying to hide behind a corner.

“You lied to us,” you hissed, grabbing the collar of her dress shirt, yanking her close until her nose was inches away from yours. “I came to you for help. I thought you would save me.”

“I did,” she said, and began to howl and laugh like a maniac. “When I found you, you were an empty husk of a person. Now look at you. Fighting with your friends. There’s a spark that wasn’t there before. You know, if I hadn’t only stuck you to do my dirty work, you would’ve made a good hero. A lack of planning on my end, I’m afraid.”

You felt your eyes sting with the promise of tears. “I could’ve been good?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “But you chose this. Sure, I gave you the order… but who, in the end, pulled the trigger?” Without giving you the chance to respond, she lolled her head to the side. “Oh, Sentry!”

Bob, who had been preoccupied smashing Alexei through the windows as if he were playing frisbee, snapped his head to see you holding Valentina. Immediately, his eyes started glowing, and you were ripped away. 

There was no hope in fighting against a man more powerful than all the Avengers rolled into one. You braced yourself for pain, squeezing your eyes shut. But there came none. Instead, when you cracked an eye open you were suspended midair outside of the penthouse. 

“How far?” he asked you, striding to the window, its frames lined with shattered bullet-proof glass.

“What?” you choked out, trying to struggle, though you knew that if he dropped you, you would be met with a terrible fall that was likely worse than the fall you had in the vault. 

“How far until you lose control and get a seizure?” He turned and bent Walker’s shield until it caved around his arm, now shaped like a curved taco shell. “I don’t want to send you too far. I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” you snarled. A second too late, you realized that was probably a terrible thing to say to him when he had you floating mid-air, completely at his mercy. “Wait, Bob—please just stop this—!” The rest of your plea was lost to the wind as he sent you streaking further away from the tower, going so fast that the civilians down below must have thought you were some sort of high-tech drone.

Your duplicate watched in horror, knowing there was nothing you could do for your other-you. You were taken farther and farther until you grew limp, convulsing hundreds of feet above the ground. The copy in the tower crumpled to the ground with not a sound. Ava, battered and bruised, dragged your convulsing body away from the action so you were less likely to be struck while down. 

And when the rest of the team gave up and turned to retreat, Bucky was the one to pick you up by the scruff of your dark suit, dragging you into the elevator. He was missing his metal arm, which Sentry had torn off like it had been attached with paperclips, hot glue, and a dream. Ava picked it up on her way into the lift.

Sentry advanced on them with glowing eyes. “Forgetting someone?” 

He reached out behind him, fingers curled into a beckoning motion. Your copy came flying back into the tower, crashing into the rest of the team as if you were a bowling ball, and the rest of the team the pins. Your skull rattled as it knocked into Alexei’s, and you gasped for air, dizzy and disoriented. If you had been more lucid, you would have apologized to Walker for your boot crashing into his eye. That was likely going to leave a terrible bruise. Yelena took your arm and wound it around her to help you stay upright. 

“I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your… retirement,” Valentina called out, slinking out from the shadows she was hiding in. “Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.”

Bob waited until the elevator doors slid to a close, hiding all the fearful faces from his observant gaze, and he could hear the lift move downwards.

“Finish the job?” he echoed. “No. They’re not a threat to me, so… why do I need to kill them?”

Valentina gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You need to do what I say, Robert.”

Confusion washed over his polished, golden features. “Why?” 

“Why?” Valentina parroted, almost mocking. Bob could feel anger bubble behind his chest.

“I just…” He exhaled in frustration. “I feel like there’s an… unwarranted power imbalance here.” He motioned between himself and her. “There needs to be more of a collaboration between us if this is going to work. Like, the hair—I don’t know. Maybe I should have more of a say.”

She rolled her eyes to the broken ceiling from when Yelena was flung upwards. “Don’t let those idiots get to your head. The blonde is great.”

“You sure?” said Bob, now pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. “I thought I liked it, but now I’m not so sure. Xerox said—”

“Forget Xerox!” Valentina exclaimed. “That’s enough about the hair, Sentry.”

“It’s not just about the hair, though—”

“Well, you keep bringing it up, so—”

“No, but it’s everything!” Bob asserted. “It’s all of it. My suit, my name, my missions. I didn’t even want to be Sentry. I thought Palindrome was good. It… it is good.”

As if she were consoling a child, Valentina relented. “Fine. If you want to change it so bad, be my guest. We’ll just have to re-do all the paperwork all over again and—”

Bob shook his head. “Why would a god… take orders from anyone at all?”

Brow cocked, Valentina slowly said, “I think you’re throwing the word god a bit loosely there.”

“No,” Bob said. “No, but you said… I was all-powerful and stronger than the entire team of Avengers, which includes at least one God. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t actually know what I am, nor what I’m capable of. I’m the only survivor from the medical trials, aren’t I? I’m the only one left.” 

Val drew in a sharp breath, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Yes, that’s more like it.”

Before she could draw out the emergency killswitch, Bob took her by the throat and sent her flying across the room, pinning her against a metal support frame. She struggled against his hold fruitlessly. 

“You were going to turn on me,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes. “Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert,” she croaked before he began to apply more pressure against her esophagus.

“It’s not Robert you have to be afraid of,” he said, voice as cold as the steel behind her. His eyes began to glow a terrifying golden hue and—

There was a click and a zap, and Bob’s hold on her loosened. Sentry crumpled to the ground in a heap of golds and blues. Mel was standing behind the pair, holding the killswitch, legs shaking. 

“I want a raise,” she demanded. 

“Fine. Order cleanup and it’s yours,” said Val, gripping the support beam with shaking hands. “And help me up, damn it!”

The two eventually stumbled into the elevator, leaving Bob’s body alone in the Avengers tower. A minute after Val abandoned his corpse, however, the floors darkened to an inky blank around him. His suit and face was now pitch-dark, absent of any sort of color. His finger twitched. First his pinky, then his thumb, then his whole hand. By the second minute, he began levitating, floating a meter above the cracked floors.

Bob, Palindrome, Robert, Sentry, the Golden Guardian of Who Gives a Flying Fuck—what he used to be… was gone now. And what was left of him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just a void.

Once outside the Avengers Tower, you reabsorbed into one body, stumbling away from Yelena to sit on the curb. Behind you, they were bickering, as always. Alexei wanted to go somewhere to regroup and try again. As if being completely beaten to a pulp wasn’t enough. 

Yelena was done. She was fed up with his bullshit. 

“Stop. Just stop! There is no us. There is no we. Bob is gone. He changed into that thing—and there is nothing that any of you could do about it,” she hissed. 

“Right,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “And what did you do, exactly? Because I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way worse than mine. Xerox didn’t even try to stop Bob.”

“Because we didn’t stand a chance. There was no point,” you gritted out, getting back up to your feet. “Sorry I prioritized getting Valentina over him.”

“Fat load of good that did!” Ava exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I get it! I suck! We suck! We’re all terrible!” Yelena screamed. The pedestrians going about their day eyed the rag-tag team of bloodied, bruised, suited individuals. “Ava, you’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person.”

Ava pretended that didn’t sting. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. 

When Alexei tried to step in, Yelena exploded at him, too. “I am not your little girl! I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year! It’s like you didn’t even care about Natasha. You’re a fucking fake and a coward and I wish you never pretended to be my father!”

Walker stepped in, saying, “Come on, go easy on him.”

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena said, rounding on him.

“What, is it my turn?” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.

“No, you know you’re a piece of trash,” Yelena spat. “And so does your family.”

“Jesus,” said Walker, grimacing at how much that stung.

“Yelena,” you said, weary of her biting your head off for even speaking. “We tried. We failed. We move on. Can we do that?”

“No, but you didn’t try, did you? I saw you talking to Valentina. You could’ve done it. You had the chance to kill her, but you didn’t. You were too caught up in your selfish fantasies of self-fulfillment that you’ve doomed the rest of us!” 

You nodded, withdrawing, clearly wounded. “Mhm. Okay.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was your fault. You had Valentina. You did. Was your need for closure selfish? Did it cost everyone a potential victory?

“We lost,” Yelena said with a tone of finality. She turned around and began to stalk away. “This fucking team was built on delusions. We were never anything, not ever.”

Alexei went after her. The rest of the group slowly started to retreat into different directions. You looked to Bucky with sad eyes he thought resembled a kicked animal.

“Does it get better?” you asked. Your gesture to your head was vague and hard to interpret, but Bucky seemed to understand you almost instantly.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, kid.” The soldier pursed his lips, regarding you with furrowed brows. “But not like this, it won’t. Not like this.”

“What are you going to do now?” you whispered. 

Bucky clenched his jaw. It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was for a situation like this. “As of now, Valentina’s intentions with Sentry are unclear. She could be planning out acts of terrorism as we speak. I think the smartest course of action is evacuating the premises.” He eyed you warily. “You can go home. You’ve done enough.”

“I want…” The words lodged in your throat. “Bucky, I know I’m a fuck-up. I’ve done bad, terrible things. I know there’s no coming back from that. But I want to help. I want to be better.”

Something flickered in the blue of his eyes, as if he was recalling something. Someone. “Okay, kid,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on.”

The two of you began to usher the crowd away. You multiplied a few dozen times, scattering to hoard as many people you could off the streets. You heard many shocked whispers amongst the passerby. Is that Congressman Barnes? No fucking way—that’s the Winter Soldier. Is Captain America around? Why are there four of you? That’s freaky as shit.

“I’m Xerox,” you hurriedly told a family loitering by the entrance to the subway station, trying your best to seem friendly but you likely came off as a raving lunatic instead. “You need to evacuate the premises now. Someone dangerous could be—”

“Are you a hero?” a little girl asked you in wonder, taking a gander at your suit, which was battered and covered with dust and soot. It definitely had seen better days. “You don’t really look like one.”

The mother flinched with shock, and began to frantically apologize for her daughter’s lack of a filter.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m no hero. I just want to help.”

The mother nodded, looking worried. “That’s good enough for me.” It was clear she was no stranger to bizarre happenings in New York. “Come on, Adeline. Let’s go.” They hurried off, and you returned to Bucky, who was urging a gaggle of laughing teenagers not to go into a theater.

“Good. You cleared the street,” said Bucky. “We should set up some sort of blockade to—”

Abruptly, Bucky stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were trained up to the sky, and you turned to follow his gaze. You felt your heart painfully skip a beat in your chest.

A dark figure floated above the city. Caped, with a suspiciously similar silhouette to Sentry. You squinted, straining your vision, barely making out his arm extending out as if he was mimicking grabbing something.

“That’s—” Bucky started.

“Bob,” you breathed out. 

You watched in horror as helicopters came flying towards him. At first, you thought they were press, just as Valentina promised—until they started shooting at him. The bullets seemed to disappear through him. And after a second, the helicopters came crashing down, as if they were completely void of pilots. The vehicles spun into construction scaffolding, pieces of unfinished building breaking apart and falling to the world below.

You and Bucky were quick to move then, yanking civilians out from under falling rubble. You multiplied more in an effort to help, even if it meant getting hit by falling concrete once in a while. You caught sight of Alexei using a metal sign he had torn off a shawarma restaurant to protect citizens as they escaped down the subway tunnels, and Yelena saving an elderly woman from getting run over by a news van. Another helicopter was tumbling down from further down the street, and Ghost phased through rapidly-rotating blades to shove people out of the way. Walker was stopping a large slab of concrete from crushing a civilian. Your clones being as scattered as they possibly could meant you had eyes in all directions. A dozen of you hurried over to help him push it upwards, gritting your teeth with the solid weight.

Another one of you dragged the woman out from underneath. She was sobbing profusely, praying in a language you couldn’t understand. But she signed something—the tips of her fingers touching her lips, then beckoning out to you. Thank you.

It felt like something finally clicked into place. Was it inherently selfish of you to want to help people because it made you feel good? Or did it cancel out?

Yelena joined, then Alexei. Ghost phased through and began pushing beside Walker. Bucky put all his weight in with his metal arm, and the slab finally tipped over, crashing onto the street with such a weighty thud that the asphalt beneath fractured. 

And then the crowd around you started clapping. Quietly at first, but rising up to a deafening applause. 

“Mom?” called a small child across the street. There was a shadow falling over her, growing larger. Alexei was there before anyone else, shielding the little girl from the falling debris that would certainly have crushed her to death if he hadn’t been there. 

“You’re safe, little one,” said Alexei, kneeling down to her height. 

The dry tear tracks on her chubby cheeks bent as she smiled at the red giant before her.

And then she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a shadow in a blobby, vague shape of the girl, spilling darkness across the street. 

You flinched. Three civilians across from you disappeared in the same way. Then two to your left. Another pair behind you. Your eyes flew upwards to see Bob—Sentry—whoever that was descend down to hover only a few feet above the totaled street. 

“You will all know the truth,” his voice echoed. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

Screams erupted around you as people fled every which way. You reabsorbed your copies closest to the growing darkness.

“Come on,” Walker said, yanking your arm. “We need to get people off the streets!”

You nodded, rushing ahead to direct people into the subway tunnels. 

“Yelena!” you heard Alexei bellow. “Yelena, what are you doing?”

You turned to see her calmly striding towards the darkness. 

“No,” you whispered. Your closest copy ran towards her, only a few feet away.

“It’s like you said,” the dark figure murmured, his voice somehow loud enough to reverberate in your ears like a piercing drum. “We’re all alone. All of us.”

“Yelena,” you said, taking her forearm. “Yelena, we have to go.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Bob asked. Instinctively, you knew he was speaking to you. “I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

“No, Pal,” you said, edging away from the darkness, which was eating at the streets. “I don’t need you to fix me, thank you. I haven’t even tried a licensed therapist yet. Come, Yelena, please.”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The assassin shut her eyes and let out a sigh. She stepped forward, and then she was gone. You heard Alexei’s anguished screams somewhere behind you. 

The Void reached out and turned a few more panicked civilians into shadows. Before you knew it, the entire street was blackened, leaving only a circle around you.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” The Void said. He floated down to the ground to stand in front of you, just inches away. If you reached out, you would be able to touch him. You could feel the cold emanating off his body, tempting you to just—fall into him. “The darkness will keep you company.”

“And that’s you?” you whispered, trying your best to look for an expression in such a blank canvas of darkness. “Where’s Bob?”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” the Void said.

“He does,” you insisted. “He did to me.” 

“You died for him,” he said, tilting his head.

You nodded. “And I would again.”

“Why?” 

The question, though it was just one word, weighed heavy on your mind. 

“I’m not the bad guy I thought I was,” you finally told him. You stared at the darkness closing in around you with a heavy heart. “If I went in—would I find Bob in there?”

“Your Palindrome is hiding. He isn’t looking to be saved.” The Void motioned around him. “Look at this mess. This is no place to be. Step in with me. I’ll take care of it. You wouldn’t need to worry anymore… it’ll be just us.”

“Can I try to help him in there?” Your voice broke, betraying your own fear.

The black figure’s shoulders trembled as if he were smothering a laugh. “You can try. I’d advise giving up, though. It’s never worth it. Now… come.” 

His arms spread wide open, inviting you in. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Ava call out your name. You swallowed heavily.

Then you fell forward, willingly embracing someone for the first time since you were a child. He was solid for a split moment. All frigid edges and hard muscle—then you collapsed into the soft darkness, and sat back up in a hospital room.

It was the same vision as before. Two of you. One whole and one cut. Without hesitating, you kicked at the surgeon, grabbing a scalpel from the table and slitting his throat. You watched the blood gush out of his wound, dark and bubbling. Too dark to be real blood. 

You turned to free yourself with the missing leg from the operating table, slicing at the leather straps. And then, to your shock, young-you began attacking yourself. 

It was disorienting to see your younger self snarl like a rabid animal, leaping from the table to claw at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your exposed throat. You made a garbled noise of pain, and threw the kid off. Your throat stung, but it was a hollow pain that was quick to fade back into nothingness.

“I’m you!” you screamed before the kid could leap at you again. “I’m you!”

“I don’t know you,” little Xerox said. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“I’m you,” you whispered. You put the scalpel down and approached like one would a nervous horse. “Honey, I’m you. I’m okay, see? You’ll be okay.”

Little-you swayed. You began to cry in the silent way you always did, smaller frame wracking. 

“It’s okay,” you said with an aching chest, gathering yourself up in your arms, stroking the back of your head. “Let it out. There you go.”

The child began to bawl into your chest. You reached over for the scalpel again, slicing through the bonds of the young, whole copy. “Here. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” the whole copy said. Both of the younger Xeroxes held onto one another. You stepped away with a heavy heart. 

“Palindrome?” you called out. “I’m here to help. Come talk to me.”

Nothing.

With a huff, you turned out of the hospital room, shoving your way through the doors, though not before bidding a respectful goodbye to your younger copies. 

You found yourself in a different room now. You had escaped the hospital at this point, now living off of the meager cash you earned by doing the dirty work for Madripoorean crime lords. Your gun was trained on a woman as she sobbed for mercy.

“I didn’t mean to—” she said, wiping away the snot that dribbled from her nose. “I didn’t mean to, please tell him that for me!”

“I don’t speak to my bosses,” your copy said. Current-you rounded about to look at Xerox’s face here. Gaunt, with glassy, empty eyes. “He wants you gone.”

“I can be gone!” she said, nodding. “Please. You can pretend you shot me. I can disappear without a trace.” When you said nothing, she doubled over, wailing out a pitiful noise. “I’m pregnant. Please. Please don’t kill me.”

Past-Xerox’s eyes thinned into disbelieving slits. “Lie.”

“I’m not lying. Please. It’s his child, but I can—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Just listen to me—”

Your younger self began to panic. “Why would you tell me that?”

“If you could—”

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

“Is—do you need money? Is it money you want?”

“No.” Yes. “I don’t need your charity.”

The woman shakily pulled out crumpled bills from her bag, offering them to you. You gritted your jaw and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground with her mouth frozen mid-plea. Before you left, you took the bills and stuffed them into the holey pockets of your ratty trousers. You took the silver necklace the woman was wearing for good measure, too.

Your past-self looked up at you. “Do we ever find out?”

“What?”

“Was she really pregnant?”

You stared down at the dead woman with horror. “I don’t know.”

Young Xerox straightened, shoulders rolling back. “We don’t deserve to be forgiven. Not for this.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “You’re also only eighteen.”

“So?”

“You were just a kid. You had no money. No food. No home. No family. Just you and your copies and your missions,” you whispered. 

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s an excuse.” You looked down the alleyway. “Valentina will be coming soon for you. She’ll be too good to be true at first. A house. A clean bed. Food in the fridge. But it’ll be the same thing again. Just… repackaged.”

Your younger self’s face twisted with a rotten, disappointed look. “Do we ever get better?”

“We try to. I try to.”

“Good.” Young Xerox pointed up a rusty metal fire escape. “He’s up there. Your Pal.”

“Thank you,” you said, about to make your way up the creaky stairs. 

“He wants to be found,” said young you, nodding. “He made the rooms easy for you. There’s a lot worse that he could’ve chosen from.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, though saying that made you feel all the more terrible for the dead woman on the ground. “What about you? Did you want to be found?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“You tell me,” retorted the younger you with a wolfish grin. “I’m all me, remember?”

Your final room was when you lived in America. It was dark in your apartment. You were twenty-five, looking a bit healthier than you had been at eighteen, but still just as miserable. 

You stood in front of the stove, which held a pot that was almost halfway full to the brim with boiling water. “Come on,” younger you said, jumping up and down on the spot, psyching yourself up. Your palm raised to slap yourself across the face. There was a belt tied about your mouth so as to not alert your civilian neighbors. “Come on, you pussy,” you hissed at yourself from behind the belt.

Inhaling sharply, you held in your breath as you dove your left palm into the boiling water. Your scream went muffled behind the belt. After a moment, you quietened to an occasional whimper. It was strange being able to watch yourself and not feel the same pain. Only the memory of it. 

It wasn’t self-harm. At least, you didn’t consider it to be so back then. It was endurance training. Upping your pain tolerance for the job. Valentina had told you that you were useless if you couldn’t handle dying. 

Younger you pulled your raw hand out of the pot after about thirty seconds, then flipped the tap on to its coldest setting, sticking it beneath the running water with a hiss. The next day, you would repeat the process until you lost all feeling in your left hand, frying your nerve endings to shit. 

As the room began to repeat itself, you stopped your younger self from plunging a hand into the pot by grabbing your wrist. “You don’t have to do that,” you said. “There are other ways of being strong.”

“If I don’t do this, I’m not worth anything,” young Xerox said. “I’d be nothing.”

“Hurting yourself doesn’t make you stronger,” you deadpanned. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” the younger you sighed. “I know that. It’s just nice to be in control of my own pain for once.”

“You can be in control by consciously trying to keep yourself from the pain,” came your soft whisper. “Hurting yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only leaves scars that take way too long to heal. Trust me. I still can’t wear short sleeves.”

Younger you barked out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Summers are hell.”

“I know, right?” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. “You know what helped me?”

“What?”

“Crosswords,” you said. “The newspaper stand across the store sells entire books. Every time I had the urge, I would solve a puzzle or two.”

“Oh, God,” said the younger you, bending over into what sounded like a cry, but it was actually an incredulous laugh. “I’m such a nerd. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just try it. It helps.”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ geek.”

“We memorized every single element of the periodic table in order by age eleven. I think the nerd has been with us all along.” As you spoke, you took the pot of boiling water and carefully maneuvered to dump the steaming water into the sink. You turned off the stove, and past-you didn’t try to stop you.

Your younger self smiled, and it was clear that it’s been a while since that happened, too. Then, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What happens if we run out of crosswords?” 

The question didn’t seem to be just about crosswords.

“We can always try something new,” you ventured. “I think crocheting is all the rage now.”

“Is it?” 

“Probably not, no. I’m not really sure what the youths are into these days. It changes every other day.”

“We can try crocheting anyway,” past-you laughed. Then, you pointed into the living room. “Look in the TV. He should be there.”

“Alright. Thanks.” You gave mid-twenties Xerox a two-fingered salute, then turned to sit down in front of your TV. 

And, as promised, you caught a glimpse of Bob in the reflection. When you looked behind you, it was still your regular, dim living room. You looked back at the dark screen.

“Found you,” you murmured, a relieved smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey, Bob? It’s good to see you.”

Despite the warped reflection, you could see him look up with a creased, almost guilty expression. “You found me,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. 

“I did. Will you let me in?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Please let me in. I want to help.”

Bob drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself. The darkness surrounded you, and in the blink of an eye, you were in a different room. One you didn’t recognize. Your gaze flickered about. This must’ve been one of Bob’s rooms. An attic, by the looks of it—cluttered with junk.

You sat down in front of him. He was fiddling with a Rubix cube. “I used to love solving those,” you told him. 

“I’m—” He handed the cube over to you. “I’m pretty bad at it. I don’t know.”

“I was, too,” you said, turning the squares about. Bob watched you gradually align the colors together—orange with orange, green with green, blue with blue. You struggled with one side, but after moving back a few paces, you managed to get it right. “I was terrible at it. I kept giving up and reshuffling. But I got better with time and practice.”

You handed the cube back to him, neatly solved. Bob took it with soft fingers, inspecting your handiwork. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help you,” you said. “And there’s people out there that can help you, too.”

“They can’t help me. I’m… broken.”

There was screaming coming from downstairs. The noise made Bob flinch, his hands instinctively going up to his ears. As you listened, you could hear a man yelling, the sound of skin smacking skin, and the sound of a woman crying. A little boy intervened. More thuds, smacks, a shattering glass. The woman began berating the little boy for making things worse. It made your heart sink low to the pits of your stomach.

“Just ignore that, please,” he said once the noise died down, as if afraid you would leave now. “Don’t mind them.”

You drew in a breath. Tentative, you asked, “Can I touch you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice croaky. “Yeah, you can. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give you a hug. Is that okay?” 

Bob nodded again. His mom used to give him hugs, but that was a long time ago. Before she…

“Yeah,” he said, and he felt shame wash over him when tears pricked the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him. He patted at your back awkwardly, but eventually took to mimicking your embrace when you sank into him, holding you close. 

“This is the first time I’ve hugged someone else in a very long time, you know. I’ve mostly just hugged my clones, as sad as that sounds,” you mumbled into his shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s sad. I like to hold myself, too.”

“I like your hair like this, by the way,” you said as you tried to pull away, but he was holding onto you rather tightly. “Bob.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat shyly, forcing himself to relinquish his grasp on you. “Sorry. Thanks. That was nice.”

“It was,” you agreed. There was some more silence. Bob put a fist up to his mouth and began to weep, utterly overwhelmed but nearly silent. You placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles over his back. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“No, I’m—” Bob let out a quaky breath and began to cry all over again. You scooched closer to him and let your hand lay over his. He enjoyed feeling your fingers trace shapeless patterns over his skin.

“Bob,” you murmured after he began to calm down. “I don’t want to stay here forever. Do you?”

He swallowed around nothing, and avoided the question. “It’s quiet here. Quieter than the other places. The rest are… worse than this.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not me, you know. I wish I could fix it, but I just can’t. I can’t stop it,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s the Void.” 

You nodded. “Could you let Yelena in here, at least? I saw the Void take her. We can help you together.”

Bob blinked back his tears. He nodded. The room slowly rotated ninety degrees, and you could hear creaking footsteps outside. Yelena busted the door open with a sharp kick to the doorknob, which you found amusing, considering the door didn’t look to have a lock on it. The team had a troubling tendency not to check if doors could just open on their own without breaking them down first.

“Bob!” she exclaimed. Then, her brows rose upon seeing you. “Xerox.”

“Hi,” you greeted. Bob waved at her besides you.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surveilling her surroundings in typical assassin-fashion. 

“Therapy session,” you said, only half-joking, patting the spot beside you. 

There was screaming downstairs again. Yelena wandered over to look down the attic’s opening, where she could see a man with a glass bottle in his hands. She looked up at you and Bob, then sat down where you gestured. 

“I’m sorry, you had to live through this, Bob. And listen,” she said, lips pursed, meeting his watery gaze. “What I said to you before was wrong. You can’t stuff it down. You can’t hold it in all alone. No one can. Nobody should. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. Even if it doesn’t make the emptiness go away, I promise you… it’ll make you feel lighter.”

Bob sniffed. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“Because it already has for me,” Yelena told him. “I found a team of people I could trust.”

At this, she looked to you, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for what I said to you out there, too. You are not selfish. In fact, you’re probably the most selfless person I know. Not a lot of people are willing to die all the time for others.”

“Thanks, Yelena,” you said, simultaneously warm with sincerity and stiff because you weren’t at all used to receiving compliments. “So what do you say, Bob? Will you help us get out of here?”

To your delight, Bob nodded. You smiled, taking his hand. Yelena’s eyes bounced between the two of you—absent-mindedly wondering what the two of you were talking about before she arrived. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because the walls and furniture began to hum with a low-tone frequency.

“Look out!” Bob exclaimed, pulling Yelena down as a lamp flew across the room, nearly hitting her square in the head. A plastic kiddie chair whizzed into his back, striking him painfully. There were papers—monstrous childhood drawings—flying every which way. The curtains broke free of their hooks on the railing, wrapping around you and Yelena. Bob hurried over to try to claw the fabric off you, to no avail. It wouldn’t let go.

“Just try to get used to it, okay?” he called out over the whizzing and smashing of objects. “If you try to resist—the pain only gets worse!”

You could feel your vision swim with black dots as you gasped for breath—and all of a sudden, there was a slicing noise, and you were falling to your knees, filling your lungs with air. It was Ava, holding a sharp blade in one hand. 

She nodded at you, helping you up to your feet. “I should start keeping track of how many times I’ve saved you.”

Before you could respond, Walker and Alexei burst in through the walls, followed by Bucky through one of the windows. You only narrowly managed to dodge his metal arm cuffing you across the head with his dramatic entrance. 

“You came for us,” Yelena said, looking at her father with a touched frown. “What did you see? Are you all okay?”

Bucky only shrugged. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.”

“We’re probably going to need another one group therapy session once we’re out of here,” you said, which made both Bob and Yelena smile to themselves, nodding. 

“Thank you guys,” said Bob. “Really.” He was about to say something about how he didn’t deserve this—but when you put a hand on his arm, he bobbed his head again and kept his mouth shut.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Walker, glancing back at the ruined walls. “I’d prefer not to have to go through my rooms again.”

Bob scratched at the back of his head. “As far as I know, it’s just… endless rooms.”

“You said that this was the quietest room, right? That all the others are worse?” you asked, and Bob nodded hesitantly. 

The Thunderbolts team all exchanged determined looks. Alexei cracked his neck, John rolled his shoulders, and Ava flexed her fists. 

You gave Bob a gentle push towards the broken doorway. “Okay, Palindrome. Show us the worst of ‘em. We’ll take on whatever comes our way together.”

[yeahxsurexokay13]

anything but the truth, lando norris

summary: the lead up to the british gp was already chaotic, then y/n's best friend has to interview her f1 driver ex (and yn asks her to tell him a white lie) [influencer!reader]

warnings: like three typos, two swear words, a mason mount mention if you squint and no happy ending ):

inspired by sophia scott's song 'anything but the truth'!

y/n.y/l ✓

Liked by romeobeckham, lilymhe and 770.932 others

y/n.y/l definitely not fucking hot where i’m posting this from 👍🏼

👤 friend1, friend2

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friend1 YOU'RE fucking hot 🪭🪭🪭 ♥︎ by author

y/n.y/l 💋

user6 here before lando

user8 babe........ lando hasn't been here in WEEKS and i don't think he's coming back 🤡

user4 I know y’all love drama but assuming they broke up because of no interactions in two weeks is actually wild 😭 let them breathe

user8 it’s been dead silent from both sides. no likes, no tags, nothing since barcelona... something’s definitely up lol

user11 guess lando can finally focus on winning the wdc without distractions 👏

friend2 we should've brought that sunshine back home 🌞 ♥︎ by author

user14 she’s finally free from the mcdrama!!!! 😩

user1 So she’s not in Portugal anymore??? 👀

user5 she wouldn’t be back for silverstone would she?? 👀

user1 I’m holding on to delulu

user7 not to be dramatic but if she’s not at silverstone i will throw myself into the paddock gates

user15 the 'oh so perfect' couple didn’t even last. shocking.

jasmineharper ✓ this is what fomo looks like 😮‍💨

y/n.y/l ✓ 🥺 we missed you, reporter barbie!!!

user10 she's vibing and staying hydrated!

user12 maybe she just wants a break from the grid and from being "lando’s gf" every time she posts?? radical idea

user13 absolutely stunning!! hope you had a good holiday 💖

user2 how are u cold in july what’s going on girl 😭

user3 it's like 18°C in the uk right now lol

user9 girlhood healing summer arc unlocked. he fumbled and we move.

user16 why are people still hating on her even after the alleged break up?? omg seriously. you lot got what u wanted leave! the! girl! alone!

4 July 2024

Friday, July 5

Satuday, July 5

lando's phone:

Sunday, July 7

landonorris ✓

Liked by lnfour, maxfewtrell and 1.103.098 others

landonorris Silverstone I love you, so many incredible fans out there ❤️ Congrats on the win @.lewishamilton, we’ll review, do better and come get you next time 😜

view all 3.350 comments

user1 and Silverstone love YOU❤️

user2 OH MY 444 HEART

user3 Love u love u love u!!!

maxfewtrell ✓ Proper job this weekend brother 🔥

user4 Aww❤️

user5 how about reviewing the lack of a certain someone in the paddock today?

user6 your time will come soon Lando🧡🧡🧡

pietra.pilao 🙌

user9 silverstone would have been SO much more perfect if y/n was there with you 😭😭😭

user8 another podium in the bag 🧡

7 July 2024

[nochepsicodelica]

"Good morning, baby," you greet, disrupting the early morning stillness that Toji had immersed himself in. You stand behind him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and lean in to pepper a barrage of kisses on his temple.

Toji uses his fork to cut out a bite of his little pancake stack for you and brings it up to your mouth. The smell of breakfast suffocates the kitchen and already had you salivating the second you left the bedroom, so without hesitation, you take the bite and savor. Savor the sweetness of the syrup he doused his pancakes in and the buttery softness of the texture.

"God, you're amazing," you say, muffled by the food in your mouth. You swallow the bite before leaning in to press a few more sticky kisses on his cheek. "I love you."

Toji chuckles at your clear, genuine appreciation. "What's got you in such a good mood this morning?" He doesn't say it like he's starved of good mornings from you, more like he just wants to know what is so great about this one.

"I don't know. I'm rested and it's early." You exhale, lips curling contently. "We should go on a walk—no, a run. And then after--"

"Baby, sit," Toji instructs, pushing the chair beside him back with his foot. "That's for you," he says, nodding at the plate of breakfast he fixed for you on the center of the table. "No coffee, 'cause you clearly don't need it," he says, pulling your mug in his direction.

"But, but... Toji, please!"

"No," he responds, grinning smugly before taking a sip of his caffeinated delight, like he's mocking you.

"I'm gonna crash out, baby," you warn. "And it's gonna be a bad morning. The floor is gonna crack open and we're gonna be able to see straight down all the way to hell."

"How 'bout some orange juice?" He suggests, attempting to calm you down before you throw your overdramatized, premeditated fit.

You hum, thinking for a few seconds. "Mm... no, I want coffee. Look, you prepared it just the way I like it and it's right there," you say, pointing at the full mug. Toji doesn't look because he knows he did exactly that.

"I didn't. I put a fuck ton of creamer in it. You wouldn't like it," he lies. "Let's get you some juice, yeah?"

With a sigh and a defeated look in your eyes, you nod. "Okay."

"There we go." A soft smile plays on his lips. "I got it," he murmurs, getting up from his chair. He places a kiss on the top of your head before continuing on to the little kitchen area to grab the orange juice bottle from the fridge and then a glass from the cupboard. The second he sets the glass and bottle down on the counter, he sees you, not so sneakily reaching for the mug of coffee.

You're trying so hard to chug the hot coffee, burning your tongue and lips. His footsteps only make you more nervous as they get closer but you try to drink even more. Your eyes grow glassier from withstanding the burning sensation on your tastebuds.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks, gently pulling the mug away from your lips before taking it out of your hands. You don't even try to hold onto it, handing it over without a fight. A satisfied sigh leaves you, like you were parched and those scorching sips of coffee were a nice glass of water.

"It's really good," you utter, licking the sweet remnants off your lips. "Which is conflicting because the coffee was made by a liar."

Toji rolls his eyes, but the amused grin that makes it's way onto his face is inevitable. "What are you talking about now, ma?"

"You said you put too much creamer in it, but it was perfect—as always. Let me have the rest of it, yeah?"

"No. I'll put it in the fridge and you can have it cold later. You have enough energy right now," he says.

"Why did you get to have coffee?" You argue.

"'Cause I woke up a little earlier to make the breakfast that's getting cold right in front of you," he bites back.

You roll up one of the pancakes on your plate and take a big bite out of it, turning to him with puffed up cheeks.

"Thank you. Happy?" You mumble, wishing you had that cup of juice to wash down your food.

"You're welcome, and yes," he says, leaning forward to peck your overstuffed cheek, before heading back to the kitchen to pour that cup of juice for you. He catches the way you make grabby hands at the mug, and utters a simple "no" as he keeps walking.

The juice is poured out, the juice bottle and your forbidden coffee in the fridge, and Toji is finally making his way back to you.

"Here." The cup is set down beside your plate and Toji takes his seat, again.

"It's so good," you mumble, through bites of food.

"Yeah?" Toji responds, wiping a crumb of pancake from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Mhm, it's a lot, though."

"You're just used to your itty bitty portions. That's a good serving right there, so you're gonna finish the whole thing."

"Yes, sir, Mr. President, sir!" you say, with mock seriousness, expression and all, before continuing to chow down.

"God, you're such a dork sometimes," he mutters under his breath. Still, the edges of his lips turn upward as he picks up his fork again.

You talk about everything and nothing. Lunch and dinner are planned out together, while you occasionally utter compliments about how good the food he made is.

"How did you even learn to make this?" You ask, taking a sip of your orange juice.

"Memorized your movement," Toji responds, casually. He didn't expect your face to light up the way it did, in such a precious manner. It's almost as if he made you shy with the revelation.

"What? You know how often I'm around while you cook?"

"Almost every time," you answer, with a giggle. "Clinging to me like a koala."

"Exactly," he says, shamelessly. "So... are you impressed or what?"

"Mhm," you hum, taking the final bite of your breakfast. "Very much so," you assure, locking eyes with him as he takes the final bite of his meal.

"So impressed that I get a fat smooch for my hard work?"

"Yes, please," you say, all too eagerly, causing the table to shake and the tableware to clatter slightly.

It's one of the things Toji loves most about you—how excited you get over the simplest things. It's as if you're about to start bouncing off the walls over some kisses. "Then, come here," he commands.

You almost knock over your glass of juice and his coffee mug from how quickly you stand up and make your way to him. Toji barely has time to drag his chair back to make room for you on his lap before you plop down on him and make yourself comfortable. He thinks you're going straight for his lips, and he's ready to feel the softness of your own against them, but you take your time and savor. Savor the way he hums when you leave a trail of kisses on his jaw and how he squeezes your hip as you greedily riddle the rest of his face with more.

"Can I buy you one of those 'Kiss the cook' aprons?" You murmur into his ear, biting his earlobe after.

A small groan accompanies his chuckle as you continue nibbling on his ear. "Depends... is there a limit or will I be spoiled?"

"You know the answer to that," you respond, letting him pull you in even closer.

"Tell meee," he grumbles, against your cheek, luring an amused chime of laughter from you.

"That apron will become a kiss magnet," you say through unrestrained giggles, withstanding the quick burst of pecks he scatters along your cheek, until he reaches the corner of your lips. "Instead of--" you're cut off by a direct, chaste peck to your lips, but pick up again immediately after. "Instead of saying 'oh shit, where's the salt?' while we're cooking, i'm gonna say 'oh shit, where's my handsome bobansome? Gotta give him a fat smooch.'"

He chuckles, something low and comforting to your ears. It's the sound equivalent of having warm soup belly on a cold, cold day.

"You're crazy, mama," he responds.

"Mhm," you hum. "So, can I order the apron or...?"

"Fine. Gimme-"

"Yay!- Oh sorry," you mumble, earning an irrepressible snicker from Toji, as you lean in to give him the fat smooch you promised him.

-

A week later, the apron is finally delivered and it's nearly impossible for you to contain your excitement. You giggle to yourself as you scurry back to the bedroom, where Toji is sprawled out on the bed, like a sunbathing cat about to fall asleep.

"Baby! Baby, baby, look," you call, enthusiastically, unfolding the black apron. It says 'Kiss The Cook' in bold, white lettering, and it has a single, red kiss print to add a dash of color. Toji merely cranes his neck to look at what you're fussing about, and when he sees the item you so proudly hold in your hands, he instantly turns away with a lazy grin and a shake of his head before letting his eyes fall shut, again.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Male Jasmine X Reader

          You had always avoided the palace walls. They loomed too tall, too guarded, and far too filled with people who held the kind of confidence you lacked.

You preferred the quiet corners of the marketplace or the hidden courtyard where the jasmine trees grew wild.

Also, you liked soft things like sunlight through leaves, the pages of old books, and silence broken only by wind or birdsong.

That’s where he found you.

Prince Jamil, heir to Agrabah. But not the one people whispered about with awe.

No, the real Jamil was far more dangerous than the charming man he pretended to be at royal banquets.

He found you in the garden, reading beneath a tree, too shy to meet his eyes.

"Why haven't you attended my father's banquet?"

You gulp, noticing the tiger by his side, but the prince doesn't seem to care as he sits beside you under the tree.

"I feel uncomfortable in huge crowds."

You explain, closing the book, then meeting the beautiful, sharp eyes of the prince.

"I have watched you," he admitted, brushing a petal from your hair.

"You never look at anyone else. You are pure, modest, and perfect."

Anyone would have taken those words as a compliment except for you.

The way he spoke those words is anything but flattering; his eyes want much more.

"I apologise, but I must return to my parents, if you will excuse me, your highness."

You try to get up, but the tiger's growling is more than enough to scare you.

Jamil takes your wrist, forcing you back down, but this time on his lap instead of the ground.

His right arm wraps softly around your shoulder, pulling you near. With tender fingers, he brushes the sensitive skin behind your ear, then gently tucks a fragrant white jasmine blossom into your hair.

"My father asked me to find a wife for myself, and I did."

"What if I refuse?"

Jamil gazed affectionately at Rajah, his loyal tiger companion, gently stroking the magnificent creature's head.

A cunning smile played on Jamil's lips as he confided in his beast.

"I have a strong feeling that you are going to accept my proposal," he murmured, his voice filled with anticipation. "Don't you think so too, Rajah? "

The message is clear.

Accept, and you live.

Refuse, and he will feed you to his tiger.

"I accept," you said quietly, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.

"There," he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek with unsettling gentleness.

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Jamil rose, still holding you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you easily and confidently.

"You told me you hate the crowd? Don't worry, you don't have to see or speak to people ever again, excluding me."

[mushyposts]

OKAY I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.

MY BEST FRIEND FUCKING HATES THIS HANSTER. Or more specifically, she hates ME and this hamster happens to be in the crossfire.

I sent this to her for the first time at LEAST three years ago. I don’t even remember the original context, I was having a phase of sending unrelated images as reaction photos and that last one in the thread got me so bad. I spammed her saying it was important, and then sent the hamster. She got so mad at it that I made it a point to send it whenever I could just because I couldn’t understand WHY she had such a deep hatred for this lil guy who’s just cheeked up!!

Her hatred for this image has led to her having to go on actual, honest to god walks because I’d just send it for NO reason. It’s a sticker on my iPhone, it’s saved to my phone and my laptop in a special folder for easy access, I have it open on a tab at all times. I am always ready, and the rage this mad her feel was unmatched.

Now. Important thing about me. I am VERY good at the long-con. Sort of ridiculously good, actually. I have “hamstered” her three times since the time I got temporarily blocked for it. It’s important to also note that aside from me sending it nonsensically, she has 0 reason to be so knee-jerk aggressive around the hamster. Anyway. Onto the three times I’ve hamstered her in the most BRILLIANT ways.

1- I did not use the hamster for over a year. I had moments I could have, but I didn’t. She even pointed this out!! Saying “I expected hamster ass.” But I did not rise to the bait, for I knew if I waited, the result would be oh so sweet.

I travelled HOURS to meet her, I took a plane, I used a train for the first time, I LABOURED!! And finally the moment was upon us. We met for the first time in person, we hugged, we exchanged thoughtful gifts, we went back to her house so I could force her to watch the hunger games, and then my time to strike came. I said “oh I have an edit to show you!” And I brought up an edit I had made using a capcut template, the “say yes to heaven, say yes to me. I’ve got my eye on you.” And then at the “you”, hamster ass flew across the screen.

The betrayal. The rage. The horror. It was cinematic. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was beyond anything I had ever seen before in my life. I played the long con, and it paid off. “In my own house?? Under my roof??” Yes, Soap. In your home. Under your roof. My hubris is unmatched and you consistently let it go unchecked. This is a saw trap you designed, enjoy the hamster.

2- I had just gotten back into contact with a mutual friend of ours who I hadn’t spoken to in years! It had been around eight months since the amazing first-meet-hamster-ass, and I once again hadn’t used it since then. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

I sent a photo of the hamster ass to our friend and asked him to use it when he felt the time was right, and I wish I could have seen it when the time was right. Out on the beach, I think, and he goes “hey, look at this!” And shows her the hamster ass. The confusion, the betrayal, the shock. I would give my afterlife to be a fly on a rock observing that interaction. The rage in the message she sent me was beautiful.

At some point it becomes something she brings unto herself. I don’t gain anything from the hamster but her reaction, and yet even though she fully understands this, her rage for the hamster out matches her understanding that if she stopped reacting, I’d stop hamstering.

3- now. This one took prep, and I can’t take all the credit. I got my friends sibling in on this one and we planned it for MANY weeks before. I sent a document with ten hamster asses on it, and they cut each one out, numbering them 1-10, with little witty remarks on the back of them to keep things interesting.

I distracted my friend with our homestuck re-read, such perfect planning, and her sibling hid the hamster asses around their home. Coming to the end of the call while we discussed how wild everything was, and how we always forget the crazy little details, sibling walks in.

“I got some chocolate!” “Oh! Thank you-“ the pause. The silence. THE ERUPTION OF CHAOS AND RAGE. “THERE IS SOMETHING SICK AND WRONG WITH YOU!!” The HORROR!! Shakespeare could only ever HOPE to get to the level of drama and chaos exhibited in that discord call.

Nothing, however, could match when I went, “enjoy the hamsters!” And she goes “… hamsters? Plural?” And realises that yes, indeed, the hamsters are numbered. One to ten. She had number one handed to her, and yet nine more await her, hidden in her own home.

Has she found them all, you ask?? No. No she has not. How do I know for a fact that she hasn’t? Because if she had found number 10, I would know within on second of her realising, because the shock and horror when she finds it will be completely unmatched to any horror film identity reveal. No plot twist will ever compare to how she will react to number ten.

Anyway, that’s the very brief story of cheeked up hamster. I could add some screenshots of her reactions to being hamstered but it’s also late at night and I can’t be bothered. Just wanted to share with the world that sometimes the most fun pranks are the completely harmless ones.

Breaking your friends shit is out, sending them a cheeked up hamster is in.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚛𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which the fire never burnt out

You remember the way the gravel cracked under your sneakers as you sprinted down the winding path to the treehouse, breathless from laughter, heart racing with something you didn’t have a name for back then. Paige was always faster, always waiting at the top of the ladder, legs swinging, grinning like she knew a secret you hadn’t caught up to yet.

“Come on, slowpoke!” she shouted down, sticking her head out of the hatch. “You’re gonna miss golden hour.”

You groaned theatrically, hands on your knees. “You and your weird obsession with lighting.”

“It’s not weird, it’s cinematic.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically. “We are the main characters.”

You climbed up, breath still uneven, and flopped beside her. The boards creaked a little—Mr. Bueckers had built the treehouse himself when you were both ten, and it had stood strong through five brutal Minnesota winters, a few lost squirrels, and that one summer a raccoon tried to move in.

You were thirteen now. And Paige had just made varsity. Seventh grade, and her name was already floating around town like a whisper carried by wind and basketballs.

But here, in this dusty little treehouse, she was just Paige. Just yours.

She looked at you with that mischievous glint in her eye—the one that always meant trouble, or a dare, or both.

“Wanna run away?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I dunno.” She leaned back, arms behind her head, eyes on the slant of light cutting through the planks. “Just you and me. Get in a car. Drive ‘til we run out of gas.”

You snorted. “You don’t even have a license.”

“Details,” she muttered. “You’d come with me though, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at her, really looked. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed from the sprint, a tiny cut on her shin from climbing the ladder too fast. She smelled like sun and summer.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say always.

But instead, you said, “Only if I get to pick the music.”

“Deal,” she replied instantly.

You stayed like that for a while. Just breathing. The treehouse creaked occasionally, the breeze rustling the leaves above like a lullaby. The world below could’ve ended, and neither of you would’ve noticed.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Your heart did something weird. It twisted. Dropped. Soared.

“…What?”

“I said—”

“I heard you. I just… Paige…”

She was still staring at the ceiling, like she hadn’t just lit a match and tossed it at your chest. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought, I dunno. You’d maybe want to.”

You sat up a little. “Have you… kissed anyone before?”

She scoffed. “You think I’d ask you if I had?”

Your heart beat faster.

You turned to face her. “Do you want to?”

She finally looked at you. Not the teasing kind of glance. Something softer. Vulnerable.

“Yeah,” she said. “With you.”

You didn’t say anything for a second. And then you leaned in.

It wasn’t perfect. Noses bumped. Teeth clicked. You were both awkward and giggling halfway through.

But it was real. Warm. Electric.

When you pulled back, Paige was biting her lip, eyes wide.

“Whoa,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling like your heart was about to burst out of your chest. “Whoa.”

She looked away for a second, then back at you. “Does this… change stuff?”

You thought about that.

And you smiled. “Only if we want it to.”

That night, back at your house, you couldn’t sleep. You kept replaying it in your head—Paige’s smile, the way she leaned in a little more after you pulled away, the quiet moment that followed like the universe holding its breath.

You picked up your phone and texted her.

Are you still up?

She replied instantly.

Always. Can’t sleep either.

You didn’t say anything more after that. You didn’t need to.

The summer that followed was magic.

You and Paige spent nearly every day together. The treehouse became your sacred place. A little world tucked into the leaves where time stood still.

“Are we dating?” you asked one day, half-laughing, half-serious, your feet hanging out of the hatch.

Paige was sprawled out across the floor, dribbling a basketball against the wood softly. She stopped. Looked at you.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want to be?”

“I think I do.”

“Then we are.”

And just like that, you were hers. Quietly. Secretly. Sweetly.

Nobody else knew—not really. Maybe your moms suspected something when you started sleeping over more often. When you walked a little closer. When you blushed a little harder.

But it was yours. Untouched by the world.

One night, Paige brought a flashlight and a permanent marker to the treehouse.

“What are you doing?” you asked, sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Immortalizing us.”

She clicked on the flashlight and began writing on the far wall, under the low window where the breeze always came in strongest.

P + Y/N — Summer Forever

You watched her, smiling so wide it hurt.

She handed you the marker. “Your turn.”

You thought for a second. Then wrote just beneath hers…

You’ll always be my endgame

She read it. Looked at you.

And kissed you again.

You didn’t know that it was the last summer of everything.

Because after that, things began to change.

Eighth grade came. High school scouts started showing up at her games. Articles were written. Social media buzzed.

“Paige Bueckers is the future of women’s basketball,” they said.

And you were still just you.

You still met in the treehouse sometimes. But less often. Her schedule got packed. Travel teams. Tournaments.

Texts slowed. Sleepovers stopped.

You tried to be understanding. You tried not to let it hurt.

But it did.

“Are we still… us?” you asked her once, after she'd come back from a week-long tournament in California.

She sighed. Ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know how to do both.”

“Both?”

“This life,” she gestured vaguely, “and… you.”

You swallowed. “Then what are we?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she hugged you. So tight. So long.

But not forever.

The last time you saw her before everything changed, you were fifteen.

She came to the treehouse with a hoodie pulled up and eyes that didn’t meet yours as much as they used to.

She gave you a bracelet. Simple. Braided. Your favorite color.

“I leave for prep school in a week,” she said quietly.

You nodded. “I know.”

“I wish it was different.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you said, “I do too.”

She took a photo of you that day. Said she wanted to remember.

Later, she sent it to you with a message.

“Don’t forget the treehouse.”

You never replied.

And she never messaged again.

But you kept the bracelet.

You kept the memory of that kiss.

And the words scrawled on the wall of a weathered treehouse.

You’ll always be my endgame

It had been years.

Years since the last message.

Years since the treehouse.

Years since Paige Bueckers kissed you like she meant it and vanished like it hadn’t happened.

You weren’t angry anymore. At least, that’s what you told yourself when her name popped up on ESPN. Or when your coworkers talked about how she was "redefining the game." Or when a friend texted you a screenshot of her latest GQ spread with a casual, “Damn, you see this?”

You’d say, “Yeah, she’s doing great.”

And you meant it. Mostly.

Your life didn’t look like hers. It wasn’t front-page or floodlit. You worked at a small photography studio a few towns over—tucked behind a diner that still sold pancakes for five dollars and had a jukebox that worked half the time.

You had a good life. Quiet. Predictable. Clean.

And then one Wednesday night, long after the town had gone to sleep, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. You rolled over, half-asleep, expecting a reminder or some promo spam.

Instead, it was one name. One message.

Paige Bueckers: 1:42 a.m. Do you still remember the treehouse?

You stared at the screen. Blinked. Sat up.

Your heart thudded once. Again. And again.

You whispered it aloud like it might wake you from a dream, “…The treehouse?”

The room was dark. You could hear the distant hum of an air conditioner outside your window. Everything else stilled.

It felt like a ghost had crawled into your ribs.

You hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a decade. Not after she left. Not when she got drafted. Not when she became Paige Bueckers.

But now, somehow, she had found her way back into your life with six words.

You didn’t reply.

Not that night.

You tried to shake it off the next morning. Poured yourself coffee you didn’t drink. Stared blankly at an empty Word document you were supposed to fill with edits.

Everywhere you went, it echoed.

Do you still remember the treehouse?

God, of course you did.

You’d remember it even when your bones forgot everything else.

Two days passed.

Then three.

You caved.

Your fingers hovered over your phone for five full minutes before you finally typed:

You: I never forgot.

She read it within seconds.

You watched the three dots flicker.

Then disappear.

Then flicker again.

Paige: I’m back in town. Just for a few days.

You: Why?

Paige: I don’t know. Everything’s loud. I needed quiet. And I thought of you.

You stared at that for longer than you should have.

Paige: Would you meet me there? Tomorrow. Sunset.

You didn’t say yes.

You didn’t say no either.

You just stared at the message, then at the world outside your window—small, familiar, unchanged.

You went.

Of course you did.

You parked where you used to, your car tires crunching over the same gravel path, though it all looked smaller now. Maybe because you were grown. Or maybe because time had chipped away the wonder.

You walked the trail slowly.

Your shoes kicked a pinecone you were sure had been there since middle school.

Then, like it was waiting for you, the treehouse appeared.

The paint had peeled in places. One of the lower rungs looked like it might break if you stepped wrong.

But it was still there.

So was she.

Sitting at the top of the ladder, legs dangling like always, hoodie pulled tight around her, a snapback tucked low on her head. She looked like a mirage. Or a memory.

You stopped a few feet away. “I could’ve said no.”

She looked down.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

“Why now?”

She exhaled slowly. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about this place. Or you.”

You crossed your arms, not stepping closer yet. “You ghosted me.”

“I know.”

“You disappeared. Left me with a bracelet and a text and nothing else.”

“I know,” she said again, voice breaking a little. “I was scared. Everything got so big so fast. And I didn’t know how to carry it all and carry you.”

You looked away, jaw tight. “You didn’t even try.”

Silence. Heavy. Honest.

“I regretted it,” she whispered.

You looked at her again. Her eyes looked tired. Older. But still… Paige.

“Why’d you text me?”

“Because I was in Dallas, in some penthouse I didn’t want to be in, surrounded by people I didn’t know. And all I could think about was this treehouse and how I ruined the one thing that ever felt real.”

You let that settle between you.

The breeze rustled the trees above. The sun was dipping lower now, painting gold across her face.

She smiled faintly. “You gonna come up? Or you just gonna keep interrogating me from the grass?”

You rolled your eyes.

But you climbed.

The boards creaked beneath you. The hatch opened. And there she was.

Older. Taller. Sharper.

Still… her.

You sat across from her. The space between you felt like it held years.

“Wow,” you muttered. “It’s still here.”

She nodded. “I came last night. It was weird being here alone.”

You looked at the far wall. The words were still faintly there.

P + Y/N — Summer Forever You’ll always be my endgame

She followed your gaze.

“I never erased it,” she said. “Even when I wanted to forget, I couldn’t.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I used to wonder,” you said slowly. “If I ever really mattered to you, or if I was just some small-town footnote in your rise.”

She leaned forward, eyes shining. “You were everything.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “So what now?”

She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. I just… needed to see you. Needed to see if this—if we—was still real.”

“And is it?”

She looked at you, no walls left. “I don’t know yet. But I’m not walking away this time without finding out.”

The morning after the treehouse, you wake up with sunlight pouring in and a heart that feels like it’s been rattled loose in your chest.

You check your phone before your eyes even adjust.

Paige: Morning. Can I buy you coffee? Or bribe you with pancakes?

You stare at the screen and smile before you can stop yourself. Then you type back:

You: Depends. Do you still like blueberry syrup and hate whipped cream?

Her reply comes fast.

Paige: Some things never change. I’ll be outside in 15.

The diner’s still the same.

Red booths with worn vinyl, faded newspaper clippings pinned to the cork board wall near the register, and the smell of bacon that somehow always lingers in the air, even at 2 p.m.

You slide into a booth by the window. Paige follows, hoodie up, hat low—still trying to hide a little.

“Think anyone’ll recognize you?” you ask as she pulls the syrup closer.

She shrugs. “Maybe. But people here are chill. I think they’re more interested in gossiping about weather and deer crossings than some basketball player.”

You grin. “You say that like you weren’t the most talked-about name in this town for four straight years.”

She makes a face. “God. That was so weird.”

You raise a brow. “You were weird. Walking around school with three medals and a full college offer by freshman year.”

“I peaked early,” she jokes.

“You’re literally at your peak right now.”

She pauses mid-bite. “I don’t know if I am.”

You glance up.

She’s chewing slower. Looking out the window like it might answer something for her.

You wait.

Finally, she says, “I thought once I made it—once I got to college, once I went pro—that I’d feel like I had it all figured out. But I don’t.”

You sip your coffee. “Maybe nobody ever really does.”

She nods.

Then, changing the subject, “You still taking pictures?”

You smile. “Yeah. Studio work mostly. Family portraits. Graduation sessions. Sometimes weddings.”

She perks up. “That’s cool. You always had a good eye.”

You tilt your head. “You remembered that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I remembered. You used to carry that little Nikon everywhere. Took that blurry picture of me at your birthday party and said I looked like a ‘poetic blur.’”

You laugh. “It was poetic. Your face was half in motion and the lights hit just right—”

“You were so cheesy.”

“You liked it.”

She looks at you. “I did.”

A beat.

The waitress drops off more coffee. Paige thanks her quietly, then turns back to you with something softer in her expression.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” she asks.

You lean back a little. “You left.”

“I didn’t forget you.”

“You acted like you did.”

She winces. “Fair.”

You stir your coffee, watching the swirl. “I didn’t want to be another anchor. You were flying. I didn’t want to be the thing that held you back.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“I didn’t want to be untethered,” she says finally. “But I didn’t know how to ask you to hold on while I figured everything else out.”

That afternoon, you walk through town together like you used to.

Paige insists on stopping by the corner store for the sour watermelon candy she always loved.

You pass the basketball court behind the rec center where she used to run drills, where you sat on the sidelines pretending not to stare.

“I haven’t been here since high school,” she murmurs.

You nod. “Same.”

She climbs up on the old bleachers and sits. You follow.

“This place feels smaller,” she says.

“Or we got bigger.”

She glances at you. “You ever think about what it would’ve been like if I stayed?”

You pick at the edge of the bench, watching your fingers.

“All the time,” you admit.

She leans back, arms behind her. “We could’ve gone to prom together. Gone to the same college. Lived in some tiny off-campus apartment and argued over what to cook for dinner.”

“Probably ramen and frozen pizza.”

“Obviously.”

You both laugh.

Then fall silent again.

It’s comfortable this time.

Like breathing.

You spend the next few days in a rhythm you hadn’t realized your body still remembered.

She picks you up in her rental and drives aimlessly through town, windows down, music low. You talk about everything and nothing. Old teachers. Inside jokes. Dreams you never chased.

At night, she drops you off outside your place, lingering at the curb.

The first night, she waved and drove off without a word.

The second night, she leaned across the console and asked, “Can I see you again tomorrow?”

The third night, she walked you to the door. Stood there. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t.

You waited.

She shoved her hands in her pockets instead.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

You didn’t sleep that night.

On the fourth night, it rains.

Thunder rattles the windows of your apartment. You’re curled on your couch with a blanket and a book when your phone lights up.

Paige: This storm sucks. Can I come over?

You don’t even think.

You: Door’s open.

She shows up ten minutes later, soaked.

Her hoodie is plastered to her arms. Her sneakers squelch against your floor. You grab her a towel and a dry shirt from your laundry pile.

She changes in the bathroom and comes out wearing your oversized T-shirt and pajama pants.

You try not to stare. Fail completely.

She notices. Smirks.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

She joins you on the couch. Pulls the blanket over both of you. Her knee brushes yours and doesn’t move away.

You put on a movie you’ve both seen a dozen times. Something safe. Familiar.

Halfway through, she leans her head on your shoulder.

You freeze.

Then slowly, you rest your cheek on top of her hair.

“I missed this,” she murmurs.

You whisper back, “I missed you.”

Her fingers find yours under the blanket. Tentative. Testing.

You let her hold your hand.

And you don’t let go.

You never talk about what this is.

Not on the fifth day, when Paige shows up with two coffees and a blueberry muffin, saying, “Thought I’d fuel the local artist,” with a wink that makes your stomach flip.

Not on the sixth, when you take her to the edge of town where the lake still freezes solid and kids skate without helmets, daring each other to race across the cracking ice.

Not on the seventh, when you walk the trail to the treehouse again—this time together—and sit in silence as the sky folds into a soft pink.

She leans against you there. Your head on hers. Her hand wrapped around your thigh, thumb tracing small circles near your knee.

And still, neither of you say it.

Whatever it is.

“Stay tonight,” you say before you even realize it, standing at your front door, rain misting the air again.

Paige pauses.

Then nods. “Okay.”

You sleep with her.

Not like that.

You just sleep.

She borrows another one of your shirts. Brushes her teeth with an unopened travel brush you didn’t know you had. Climbs into your bed like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times.

She falls asleep with one arm slung over your waist and her breath soft against your collarbone.

You stay awake listening to her heartbeat.

The next morning, she makes eggs. Sort of.

You watch her burn the edges of the omelet, trying to pass it off with a straight face.

“This is gourmet,” she declares, sliding the plate toward you.

“This is charred rubber.”

“I call it ‘Paige’s Pan-Fried Masterpiece.’”

You take a bite. Grimace.

“Five out of ten,” you say.

“That’s generous.”

“I’m generous.”

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that slow smile.

“Are we… okay?” she asks after a beat.

You meet her gaze. “You tell me.”

She walks over, quiet steps. Stands in front of you.

“Some part of me always knew I’d end up here again,” she says.

You raise a brow. “Back in Minnesota?”

“No,” she says. “With you.”

But cracks start showing.

Small ones. At first.

You’re walking through town when a car slows down beside you and someone yells out:

“Yo! Is that Paige Bueckers?!”

She winces. Gives a polite wave.

Later, she apologizes. “I didn’t think people here still cared.”

“They care,” you say. “They always did.”

You don’t say what you’re really thinking, “they’ll care even more when they find out who she’s spending her nights with.”

She gets a call the next afternoon.

You hear her in your kitchen while you’re brushing your teeth.

Her voice is soft. Tired.

“Yeah, I know… I just needed a break… No, I’ll be back in Dallas on Thursday.”

Your chest tightens.

Thursday.

That’s two days from now.

When she comes into the room, she acts like nothing happened.

You don’t ask.

That night, you're at the treehouse again. She’s quiet.

You sit shoulder to shoulder, watching the fireflies bloom in the dusk.

“Why’d you stop writing me?” she asks suddenly.

You blink. “You stopped writing first.”

“I know. But I kept waiting. Thought maybe you were mad. Thought maybe you moved on.”

You chew your lip. “I think I was scared I’d still love you.”

She turns slowly toward you.

You feel her stare, heavy and searching.

“I was scared of that too,” she whispers.

You nod. “And now?”

Her voice cracks. “Now I know I never stopped.”

You kiss her that night.

Really kiss her.

There’s no awkwardness this time. No nervous giggles. Just years of silence melting into something molten between your mouths.

She kisses you like she’s memorizing you. Like she’s rewriting all the years she lost.

Your hands move up her back. Her fingers thread into your hair. She tastes like cinnamon gum and something sweeter underneath.

She pulls away first, breathing hard.

“I missed this,” she whispers.

You tuck your forehead to hers. “I missed you.”

But love doesn’t erase facts.

And the next morning, she packs.

You watch from your doorway as she zips up her duffel.

She glances over. “I’ll come back.”

You nod. “Okay.”

She steps closer. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want this to be goodbye.”

“Then don’t let it be.”

She kisses you one last time at the door.

And then she’s gone.

The silence after is brutal.

You go to work. Edit photos you can’t focus on. Try to answer emails, but your brain feels like static.

You go back to the treehouse. Alone. The boards creak like they miss her weight.

You find her hoodie in your laundry basket three days later and sit with it in your lap for an hour before folding it carefully and placing it on your pillow.

A week later, your phone dings.

Paige: Can I call you?

You answer on the first ring.

She sounds winded. Like she just finished practice.

“I miss you,” she says before you can even say hello.

You swallow. “You left.”

“I had to.”

“I know.”

“I want to come back.”

You close your eyes. “When?”

“Soon. I don’t know. But… I want this.”

You breathe out slowly.

“You sure?”

“So sure,” she says. “I don’t want a life that doesn’t include you.”

Your voice is small. “Come home.”

A beat.

Then she whispers, “You are home.”

[conchcronch]

I Know…

Sanji x Reader

Summary: You’re the newest crew member and the girls are desperate to learn more about you during a tipsy night in. The last thing you want to discuss is your sex life, or lack there of, leaving you to flee into the galley under the gauze of refilling the drinks. But you never end up making it back to the girls’ room.

WC: 7041

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve written in a hot minute, so it may be rather rough. The summary is shit, that’s just because there’s not a lot of plot there, if you get what I mean.

“So hold on, let me get this straight,” You sipped the drink Sanji had brought you what felt like hours ago, even though all that was left was the water from the melting ice, you needed something to do to avoid looking at the two girls in front of you. ”No one has ever gone down on you?” Nami spoke slowly as though she was carefully choosing her words when in reality the alcohol was getting to her, Robin was swirling her drink leaning back on her hand.

“Is it that weird?” The night had started with a few drinks with the girls which Sanji happily brought you until the three of you went up into your shared bedroom, sitting on the floor talking about what Nami claimed was ‘girl stuff’ but in reality seemed to revolve exclusively around your sex life.

“I mean yeah!” You looked at Robin, hoping she would side with you, but you could tell even before her mouth opened by her pursed lips that that would not be the case.

“I think it says more about the partners you’ve been with then it does you.” She said, reassuring a concern you hadn’t even realized you had.

”Oh yeah, it has nothing to do with you, just seems like the guys you’ve been with have been shit.”

“Do guys usually just like…do it?” You wished you had more alcohol in your system, this conversation taking a way different turn then you had originally expected and you hadn’t really been prepared for this.

“Women do.” Nami grinned, leaning back on her hands behind her, stretching her legs out in front.

“That doesn’t really help me.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“A good partner will.” Robin spoke up, tucking her legs under her.

“I’ve brought it up, in the past.” You begin picking at your nails, suddenly feeling very aware of your surroundings. “He looked at me like I had three heads.”

“Please tell me you didn’t let him fuck you after that.” Nami groaned. The silence that stretched across the three of you was answer enough.

”I’m gonna’ go get us some more drinks, and then maybe we can talk about something that doesn’t have to do with my sex life.” You stood up, grabbing their glasses before leaving and started off towards the kitchen. Popping outside for the brief few seconds before entering the galley, you hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The sun was long gone, the only light on on the deck was beaming down from the crow’s nest where you were sure Zoro was.

You shouldn’t have been surprised to see Sanji still in the kitchen, standing at the counter while he idly flipped through his tattered recipe book, looking up at you the second you came down the ladder. “Mon chou, I didn’t think you were still awake.” He came around, helping you with the three glasses that were now all in one hand so you could climb down.

“Oh yea, we’re just yapping.” he put the glasses in the sink, opening the cupboard to pull out three fresh ones. “Oh Sanji, I can just make them quick, they don’t have to be anything special.”

”Nonsense, a beauty like you has to have a drink that’s just as beautiful.” You leaned against the counter, watching him pull fresh fruit from the fridge. ”So what were you ladies chatting about?”

“Unfortunately, all the topics seem to be revolving around me lately.” He smiled softly as he cut a piece of strawberry into a surprisingly perfect heart.

“Sounds like a conversation I wish I were part of.”

”Believe you me, you don’t want to be. I wish I weren’t.” A comfortable silence stretched on between the two of you as he prepared the first of the three drinks with all the precision and care in the world. ”So, are you still settling in okay?” You had been part of the crew for little over six months, the everyday things had become a comfortable habit, but it was things like being at sea for so long and not really having your own space that you were still struggling with.

“For the most part I guess, I’m still not used to the long stints at sea though.” He nodded, pausing his preparation to turn and look at you for a moment.

”They get easier.”

“I just wish I had my own space sometimes.” He nodded. “I hope that doesn’t sound selfish, I’m just not used to being around people 100% of the time.” He added a pineapple that was sliced into a star to the rim of the glass before pulling the tea towel that had been draped over his shoulder off, rubbing it between his hands before putting it on the counter next to the two empty glasses, turning to you with a soft expression. There was no nosebleed, no hearts in his eyes, just a genuine member of your crew.

“I completely understand,” He paused, stepping closer. “I know it’s not the same but if you’d ever like some quiet time, no one besides myself is ever really in here between meals.”

“It wouldn’t bother you if I were in here?” He reached a hand out, his finger moving a piece of hair that had slipped from behind your ear, tucking it back into place. The tip of his finger gliding against your cheekbone.

“Bother me?” He smiled, a small laugh accompanying it “I would love to have you here. I always work better in the presence of a beautiful woman.” You were searching for something to say, even so much as a thank you seemed so far from your lips. You had never spent much time alone with the chef, let alone been this close to him. The blue of his one uncovered eye was so much deeper then you’d ever noticed, flecks of green dotting his iris. A dusting of the faintest freckles graced his cheeks and over his nose. You hadn’t realized he had moved closer until you felt his chest against your breast when you inhaled, alerting you to the fact you hadn’t spoken in what could possibly have been quite a while. Your eyes widened slightly as you refocused away from the smallest details of his face to his expression overall.

“Will you-“ Your voice seemed as loud as some of Luffy’s shouts, breaking the quiet moment of what you mentally refused to refer to as intimacy. He pulled his face away, stepping back on the ball of his foot to give you space enough to slip from between him and the counter, if you so chose. “Will you have a drink with me?”

“Who am I to deny a request from such an enchanting woman.” He lingered a breath longer, as though there were words dangling from the tip of his tongue but didn’t quite make it to his lips before he stepped entirely out of your bubble. Moving back over to where he had abandoned the one near completed drink, reaching up to the cabinet above to pull a wine glass down for himself and put away the other two glasses that were clearly not getting used.

”Could you…Could you make mine a bit stronger than before?” You hadn’t realized your face was already warm until it started to burn, suddenly you felt very vulnerable as he smirked at you.

“Think you can handle something stronger?” He chided, pouring a few additional shots of the dark rum into your elongated highball glass, a variety of fruit already cut into different shapes hung off the rim or were skewered in the glass.

“I guess we’ll have to find out, now won’t we?” He finished your drink before opening a bottle of wine he selected for himself, pouring a glass before clearing the small distance between you two to give you your drink. You clinked your glass to his before taking a sip, despite the alcohol you had watched him pour, you wouldn’t have known. The notes of spice from the dark rum, expertly sandwiched between vanilla coconut flavours.

“You don’t have to stay with me, if the girls are waiting for you.” He said before sipping at the deep maroon liquid. His gaze never leaves you, watching as you shake your head before taking another long sip of your drink.

“Truthfully, I don’t really want to be the topic of their conversation anymore.”

“You have to remember, we’ve all been together for a long time. We already know everything about each other, you’re new. They just want to get as close to you as the rest of us are to each other.” You nodded, leaning heavier against the counter, moving so you have both arms propping you up as you leaned over, your back arching in a way that was not missed by the blonde.

“I just feel like, compared to Nami and Robin, I’m so…I don’t know, lame I guess? Boring?” You pulled the skewer from your drink, guiding an alcohol soaked pineapple chunk off of it with your teeth. ”They’re both drop dead, unreal, honestly, they’re probably most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. And then I’m just over here like their loser little sister or something.” It wasn’t until you felt a drop of juice from the fruit you were tugging off the skewer slip down your chin that you realized you had been rambling. “S-sorry…I guess the drinks are hitting me harder than I expected, I’m getting really whiny.” You looked up at Sanji for the first time since shifting positions, your lips sticky with pineapple juice.

“Everything you said about yourself,” He had put his mostly full wine glass on the counter at some point, his expression having changed, tensed, the same look you had seen him take before a battle. “Every single word out of your mouth was wrong.” You could feel your cheeks burning but you didn’t know if it was from the alcohol that was making your thighs jelly or if it was because of him. “Do you honestly think any of that is true?” You dropped your face, hoping the answer to his question was somewhere on the polished white countertop.

“I mean, I guess yeah.” You hadn’t noticed he moved until you felt a hand gently pull your chin to look at him. He was leaning down, your nose almost brushing his.

“You’re so completely wrong.” The words barely made it out of his mouth before you closed the very small distance between your lips and his. There was a small, muffled sound of surprise but it was more so at the force of the kiss rather then the kiss itself. When he stood at full height you had to move onto your toes to keep the kiss going, your hands moving to the back of his neck as though you thought he was going to pull away completely. But when you felt his hands wrapping around your waist, tugging you even closer to him you knew you needed more.

Whether it was the alcohol in your blood that was convincing you of your want, or the very long dry spell you had been going through since joining the crew your body was reacting in all the right ways. His hands on your lower back shifted, coming forward and holding onto your sides, very gently pushing you off your toes and effectively ending the kiss, much to your disappointment.

Your eyes were wide, doe-ish as he searched your expression for something, but your brain was too foggy to piece together what he could be searching for. When he didn’t speak or move you felt a pit in your stomach open, a wave of self doubt washing over you. “Fuck” The sharp word tumbled from your mouth before you could stop it. “I-I shouldn’t have…fuck” You could feel tears well in your eyes, the realization of what you just did washing over you like a bucket of cold water “You were just being nice…and I made it weird!” You stepped backwards as you pushed a hand through your hair, tugging at the strands as you turned around, trying to make a beeline for anywhere that wasn’t here.

He caught you by the waist before you could get too far, the alcohol making your coordination even worse than it normally was. “Mon chou, please listen to me.” He turned you around so you were facing him, his hand quick to wipe away the tear that had fallen. He looked like he was about to speak but thought his actions in this situation would outshine any words he chose. The weight of his lips against yours was enough to drag a muffled sound of surprise from the back of your throat. His lips moving with more direction then they had moments ago, his tongue moving along your lower lip begging for you to let him inside. And who were you to deny him?

He held you tightly against him, your hands bunching the front of his blazer in them as you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slide along your own. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out when you felt his hands clutch the back of your shirt. You could have stayed like this for hours, your eyes opening slightly every so often to see how relaxed he looked, how much enjoyment he was taking from this. That is, until you shifted, putting more of your weight onto him, you felt how much he was enjoying this.

Much to your disappointment you felt him squirm, trying to control his hips against your lower stomach. When you parted, you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your lips. “You just caught me by surprise, ma chérie.”

“I surprised myself.” You wanted to be closer to him, you wanted to feel him against you, there were too many layers separating you. “Do you…” Sanji sniffled, clearly trying to start the preemptive nose bleed “I actually don’t know where we could go.” He leaned forward, seemingly going in for another kiss but dodging your lips at the last second before landing on your neck.

“My my,” You could feel him smile against your neck, between quick pecks he was pressing to your pulse point. “Were you about to invite me up to your bedroom, mon chou?”

“Yes” The word came out as a long sigh fled your lips. He trailed kisses up to your ear, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“But where will we go?” What was meant as a frustrated groan ended up sounding more wanton than you had intended. His hands moved from your waist up to your hair, running his fingers against your scalp as he pulled the strands up into a makeshift ponytail, giving him unfenneled access to your neck, his kisses trailing back down towards your shoulder. You naturally tipped your head, getting lost in the way his kisses began to linger.

“I-“ You furrowed your brows in attempted thought, opening your eyes that you hadn’t realized you had closed. “I don’t know.” If you were capable of any more thought, you would have tried to recall a time you had gotten so turned on by such a simple act, but considering even piecing together that three word sentence was as difficult as it was, you would have to try to answer your internal question at a later date. ”Sanji” You felt his one hand that still remained on your waist tighten at his name on your tongue. He pulled away from where he was sucking what you could only assume was a decently dark hickey in the dip above your clavicle, his bangs had moved so for the first time since you joined, you saw both of his sapphire eyes staring back at you. “I can’t take this much longer.” You tried your best to convey what you wanted through your expression, but when he didn’t immediately blurt out the perfect, private room that no one on the crew knew about (that you knew didn’t exist) you reached forward to paw at his tented pants hoping to quicken his decision making. His whole body stiffened, a quiet ah slipped from his lips as his eyes fell shut. “Please Sanji.”

His mind was racing as quickly as it could through the fog of lust, which was only made more difficult by the hefty glass of wine he had finished before you had even entered the galley.Your hand squeezed him through his pants, the heel of your palm pressing into where his head wept sticky precum. He forced his eyes open after allowing himself a few moments to enjoy the attention, looking up at the clock. Almost midnight, late enough that the bulk of the crew was already asleep, and early enough that Luffy wouldn’t be waking up to try and sneak a late night snack. The only person who they risked running into was Zoro, who had a terrible habit of coming into the kitchen for a late night snack midway through night watch. It wasn’t ideal, but he could make this work.

Sanji let your hair fall back over your shoulders and down your back, opting instead to guide the hand that was slowly beginning to jerk him off through his pants as he turned around and started walking towards the long couch that ran along the wall near the table they all ate at. “It’s not ideal, next time we’ll have to find a bed. But if you don’t mind my love, I think this could work.” A thrill ran through your body as though you were shocked, the tingles going right to your cunt at the idea of being in such a public and commonly used spot. “If you’re comfortable with it.” He added when you didn’t sit down immediately, still standing at his side, hand in hand.

“N-no it’s…fuck, it’s good.” You sat down, bringing his hand with you, noticing the uncertain expression on his face. “I like it…” You squeezed your thighs together, clocking the way his eyes darted down and watched, the true meaning behind your words worming their way into his brain. You began to squirm under his prolonged glance, unsure of where or how he wanted you, but he made no efforts to say anything. “D-do you want me to like, lay down or-“ He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly making their way up to your face, his free hand wiping the blood that was beginning to gather and drip. While your fingers were still intertwined, he moved in front of you, crouching down.

“May I?” You stared blankly at him, his free hand moving to your knee, gently guiding them apart to get his point across.

“Wait what?” Your face began to burn, as he shifted his weight so he was kneeling, your knees falling apart so he could see your plain cotton panties that you would have silently been cursing it you weren’t trying to wrap your head around all the other things he could be offering other than what you thought he may be offering. “Y-you don’t have to! I-I mean, I want you to but you don’t have to! But if you want to I want to. But you don’t have to.” The words were falling out of your mouth faster than you could control. His brow furrowed as he stared at you before you covered your face with your hands. “Fuck this is so embarrassing” you hadn’t intended for that sentance to come out, muffled by your palms but not enough for the cook to not hear them.

You felt his hands move from your knees, the warmth coming from his body disappearing. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wondering if you thought about it hard enough if you could sink into the green fabric of the couch.

But before you could will the matter to part and absorb you, you felt warm hands gently pry your hands away from your face. “My love” his tone was gentle, akin to the voice you would use when trying to soothe an upset child.

“I’m sorry” the words burst from your mouth as if you had been trying to physically withhold them, prompting a warm smile to spread across his lips.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” When he felt confident that you weren’t going to cover your face again, he released your hand and opting instead to guide a stray strand of hair behind your ear again. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.” He was standing awkwardly to the side of the couch, keeping your chin in his grasp despite not really needing to.

“I do want it.” He nodded “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” He leaned forward, having to brace himself on the back of the couch so he could press his lips to yours. On instinct your hands came up to his neck, your legs relaxing while you tried to take as much as he would give you. When he pulled away you chased after him before accepting the kiss was over.

“I want to.”

“You do? Like actually?” He couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

“Is that so hard to believe?” He pressed one last kiss to your lips before resuming his place on his knees in front of you.

“No one has ever wanted to before.” He was parting your thighs when your confession slipped out, making his movements stutter.

“Never?!” He sounded almost offended. You shook your head. His hands slid up the outsides of your thighs, grabbing the sides of your shorts and tugging them down, lifting your hips to help him pull them down and off your legs. “Merde” he balled your sleep shorts up, your cunt bare for him to take in. “If you want me to stop,” he forced himself to look up away from your pussy and up to your face, waiting for you to nod. He grabbed behind your knees, tugging you down the seat until your cunt parted and you were within tasting distance.

He couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out at the sight of your glistening folds, every part of your cunt was on display for him. He guided one of your legs over his shoulder before using his free hand to run over you, from the crest of your labia, over your clit until the tip of his finger could prod into your entrance. You expected him to push his finger in further, so when you felt his tongue lap greedily at your entrance your moan surprised even yourself.

His tongue pressed into your hole, moaning as he got more of your stick in his mouth, his thumb pressing into your clit to ensure it wasn’t neglected. You wanted to tip your head back but you were enamored by the way his head covered, the tickle of his golden locks against your lower belly and mound. When his eyes flicked up and met your gaze you both moaned in tandem.

He didn’t want to but he forced himself to part from your body, his chin was wet with your slick and his own saliva, his pupils were blown out as he stared up at you. “What do you need, Ma gâterie savoureuse?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, opening your mouth to speak just in time for him to pull his hands away from your clit and your entrance, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“M-more” was about the only intelligent thing you were able to force from your lips, watching as he smiled at you, pressing his lips to your inner thigh as a sort of reward.

“More of what, my love? What do you like most?” His warm breath puffed over your spread lips, your hips squirming in an attempt to get his attention.

“I- I’m not really sure…” The blonde clicked his tongue at you, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh, grinding the flesh between his front teeth.

“Do you like it when-“ he pulled away from your leg and slowly watched you as he pressed his longest finger into your slick entrance, drawing a shaky breath from your lips. He crooked his finger, rubbing against a spongy part of your crevice that you could rarely reach. He pressed a second finger inside, pushing harder against the section of your wall until you were grinding your hips to meet every thrust. “Or how about this?” He pulled his fingers out of you along with a long whine that you weren’t impressed with yourself for making. But very quickly you were trying to chase the orgasm that was beginning to fade as he replaced his fingers with his tongue, his eyes glued to you with every slurp of your pussy. You shook your head, bucking your hips up for any other sort of stimulation, his tongue not being enough for you. “So not that one?” He couldn’t stop the cheeky smile as he licked his lips, watching you slowly blink in an attempt to clear your brain enough to speak coherently.

“First was better” you said, swallowing hard.

“That’s good.” He praised, as he held your thigh tighter, forcing your body further down on the couch “How about this?” He was right back in your cunt, his lips wrapping around your clit as his fingers resumed this place inside you.

“Fuck” you breathed, your hands instinctually grabbing his hair and holding him exactly where you needed, as though you thought he was going to pull away. You felt him smile against you, changing from suckling at your clit to flicking his tongue over it, making your back arch almost painfully.

Your words were not your own, tumbling from your mouth before you could even realize it. A mix of curses, praise and non communicative words flowed with no restraint. With his free hand he guided your other leg over his shoulder, giving you the chance to tense your thighs, keeping him even more firmly in place.

Your body was burning, your entrance clenching around his digits as the white hot knot tightened to the point of ripping, your muscles contracting as you squeezed your legs, pinning him against your core as your orgasm crashed into you harder then you’d ever experienced. Wave after wave of pleasure rattled through you, egged on by his slowing tongue against your clit, his fingers gliding over your g spot slowly in time with your tapering ecstasy.

You hadn’t realized your hands were pressing his head into your folds until the fog of pleasure was beginning to lift, pulling your hands from his tresses as though they turned white hot. “S-shit sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-“ your voice faded into silence when you saw his expression. The lower portion of his face was wet with your slick and his spit, his pupils blown out and the hint of blood under his nose. His lips were parted as he breathed through his mouth, hands still on your thighs but not moving them from his shoulders.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, I could die between these thighs and I would consider myself the luckiest man to ever sail these seas.” He greedily licked his lips, and you noticed the way his gaze darted down to your cunt which was still on display to him, and anyone who stepped foot in the galley. “Do you want more?” You nodded, but when he leaned back down his tongue barely making contact with your overstimulated clit your protest stopped him immediately.

“Ahh w-I-I meant more of you.” His expression was that of shock, when he looked back up at you.

“Of me?” Suddenly you felt very sheepish as you nodded, your heart beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I want you.” The words were barely louder than a whisper, so quiet that Sanji almost missed them.

“How do you want me, mon chou?” You could see by the look in his eyes that he wanted to hear you say it, he was getting off to the idea that you were asking for him.

“Sanji” you whined, wanting to cover your face with your hands knowing your cheeks were even more red than you thought was even possible, but you knew he’d be quick to stop you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs as he guided them off of his shoulders, you knew they’d be a little shaky if you were to stand and likely you’d be feeling the strain in the morning. But all you could focus on was him.

He pushed himself to his feet, making quick work of his belt and fly but not taking his pants off, but rather pulling them open wide enough that you could see his boxers that were dampened with his seed. “S-Sanji did you-“ he avoided your gaze for the first time possibly since meeting him.

“Yeah…”

“Do you still want to?”

“Of course!” You were pleased, and honestly impressed he was hard again after having cum once already. His cock finally freed from the cotton restraint and swung out as he pushed his pants behind his sack. It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, the tall blonde vision of beauty, disheveled but still mostly dressed with his long slender cock awaiting your next move.

You forced yourself to your feet, your shirt falling to cover your lower half as you wrapped your hand around Sanji’s cock, pleased to hear the startled ah that fell from his lips. You rocked up to your toes, your lips meeting his in a teasing kiss before you whispered against his lips “Mind if I’m on top?” He moaned at the question which you could only assume was his way of agreeing as your free hand pressed against his lower back, wanting him to take up your place on the couch.

He took up your spot on the couch, his legs naturally falling apart as his hands grabbed your hips, tugging you with him as he sat. As you were getting yourself situated on his lap, one hand bracing against his shoulder while the other guided his cock to press against your entrance, his hands slipping under your billowing shirt. His hands were warm as they slowly slid from your waist up along your sides until they could grip your breasts, drawing a simultaneous moan from both of you. “Seems unfair we can’t take more clothes off.” You leaned forward enough that you could press your lips to the corner of his mouth as he pulled your shirt up enough that he could suck a nipple into his mouth, breaking away to answer,

“Next time.” Before greedily sucking the bud as though he’d be able to gain sustenance from it, pulling a long moan from your lips as you sank down onto his cock, not stopping until you were fully sat on his lap. It had been a while since you had had more than your own fingers inside of you, so the stretch of his cock meant you needed some time to get used to it. As you slowly felt the sting of your cunt fade, he released your tit from his lips, his hands pulling away from your chest to hold your face instead. He looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it before pulling you in for another one of his earth shattering kisses.

As your tongues moved together, little moans slipped out of your mouth as you were unknowingly grinding your hips against his. You were lost in a world of pleasure, not enough to get you to finish but it was such a wonderful feeling to rotate your hips in such a way that his cock would graze over you g spot while your clit was rutting against his pelvis. It wasn’t until his hands dropped from your cheeks to your hips, blunt nails digging in as he tried to hold you still. The action seemed out of place, none of your past partners had ever stopped you before, you pulled your lips away to find his eyes already open. “Shit you just feel too good.” It didn’t sound like the words were intentional.

“I can do all the work, o-or we can stop?” You were so unsure what the issue was but you were desperate to solve it, no matter the solution. You were seconds away from lifting yourself off of his cock before you felt him push you down harder.

“J-just don’t move f-for a secon-d.” His eyes dropped to your chest that was once again covered by your shirt, having fallen back into place the moment you started kissing. You froze, barely even allowing yourself to breathe as you sat motionless, still impaled by his cock, your clit all but throbbing from neglect. “Sorry.” He breathed, meeting your gaze again after what felt like minutes. “Sorry” he repeated a bit more firm, a hand coming up to the back of your neck to draw you in for another kiss, pressing kiss after kiss from your lips down to your chin, then your jawline, your neck, nipping just below your ear where he whispered “You had me right on the edge without even trying.” He nipped your ear lobe sending a shiver down and then back up your spine before he kept kissing down, getting progressively sloppier but stopping at the neck of your t-shirt that was serving as a roadblock.

His hands left your hips, gliding over your skin and around until he could grab the curve of your ass, guiding you up his cock until just the head remained inside. “Feeling okay?” You nodded, desperate to feel every inch press inside of you, but the hands on your ass were keeping you from dropping down the way you craved. Your gaze locked with his glacier blue eyes watching your every facial feature to check for any signs of uncertainty. But of course, there were none, but he still didn’t release you from his hold, the corners of his lips turning up when you started squirming out of desperation.

“F-fuck c-come on.” You tried to groan but it just came out whiny, your nails dug into the back of his neck. He appeared to take pity on you, but actually he was just as desperate for you as you were him. He shifted his hold from the curve of your ass to your hips, allowing you to sink onto him at your own pace. A long moan pushed from the back of your throat as you felt every inch of him push between your gummy walls, until you could rest your forehead on his shoulder as you sat flush against him. You drew up onto your knees quicker this time, becoming obsessed with the way his cock dragged through your body, his grip tightening as your speed increased until the galley was filled with the sound of slick slapping and your intermingled moans.

His lips were all over you, moving from your neck to your lips and anywhere else he could reach, but you so desperately wanted to feel them on your chest again, the shirt irritated you far more then you could have ever expected. Finally, you decided to throw caution to the wind, sitting straight up, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it on the couch, your hips never once missing a beat. The way his eyes took you in was enough to make your cunt tighten around him, he drank your bare body in as though it was the first sip of water after days lost in the desert. His hands quickly abandoned your hips opting instead to grab your breasts, kneading the fat in his hands as he caught your lips again. You barely even noticed one of your breasts was free from his grasp until you felt his thumb press against your clit, your body burning red hot as your hips stuttered. You broke the kiss with the intention of telling him to stay exactly like that but the only thing that came from your lips was a slew of yes.

He was smart enough to know what to do, drawing your nipple back into his mouth while refusing to move his digit from the apex of your folds, moving it in even circles as you set the pace again. You fucked yourself on him, knowing your volume was getting out of control but not having the ability to change it. “Sanji” You tried, desperately hoping he could understand what you meant but were unable to actually say. And he, of course, did. But he couldn’t ignore his own impending finish that was approaching at an alarming rate.

“M-my love, merde I’m right there.” Your nipple slipped from his mouth, his tone was tight, you could tell his teeth were grit and had his nails been any longer you’re sure they would have pressed crescents into your hip. You leaned over, pressing your forehead to his while you put all your remaining brain cells to work trying to put together your two word sentence.

“Do it.” You felt his thumb press harder into your clit, his movements just as firm but somehow the movements were tighter, shoving you over the edge into the expanse of your orgasm. It felt like your cunt expanded, the pleasure filling every crevice of your body as you arched an amount that would be painful had it been in any other situation. You sat fully on him, feeling how he forced your walls apart, his heat white hot as you felt a warmth flood through you, giving you an awareness of your body you had never experienced before.

His jaw clenched harder than you had ever seen it, even during the most heated debates with his least favourite swordsman, he had wanted to keep his eyes open to watch you ride the wave of your climax, but with every pump of his seed they pinched tighter. You felt every pulse of his cock, each one getting a bit weaker until all that was left was Sanji whining weakly. But even when he was quiet, his head lolled against the back of the couch as his breathing seemed almost impossible to catch, you didn’t want to move off of him. Opting instead to lean forward and resting your head on his shoulder, getting only a small whine from the blonde in response to you accidentally moving your hips slightly.

You’re not sure how long you sat like that, but eventually Sanji was the first to try to sit up. One hand coming to your back making sure you didn’t tip backwards, the other resting on your hip to avoid you unexpectedly shifting. He pressed chaste kisses to your shoulder, lulling you from the edges of sleep back to the waking world. “Ji” was all you could manage, your throat scratchy from all the noise you had been making.

“Come on my love, if we don’t get you cleaned up and dressed soon, we’ll be interrupted by the shitty swordsman looking for a late night snack.” You slowly sat up, leaning back against his hold, your hips shifting enough that you could feel the stickiness that would soon be spilling down the insides of your thighs. He saw how you crinkle your nose at the feeling, reaching over and grabbing your shirt, helping you put it back on with slow, gentle touches. He brought both hands to your back, scooting his body close to the edge of the couch until you could feel your foot touch the cold wood of the floor. “Take it slow, I’ve got you.” And you did just that, slowly shifting your weight off the couch and onto your feet that were fully pins and needles at this point, lifting yourself off his cock drawing a low moan from the blonde which continued when he saw the drips of milky white that fell from you onto the black of his slacks.

“Shit, sorry!” You stepped away, squeezing your thighs together on instinct, immediately feeling the tops become sticky with his seed.

“Fuck” He breathed, his eyes moving from his pants to you in front of him, his tone was the same as it had been when he first tasted you. “Show me.” You furrowed your brow at him but felt the throb of your exhausted cunt. “I wanna’ see the mess we made.” When you didn’t move, he tugged on your wrist, standing up and guiding you into his seat for the third time that evening. He wasted no time spreading your thighs and bringing your legs up, the angle compressing your lower half so he could watch as a large dollop of his cum was forced from your entrance, electing a long moan from him.

“What’re yo-Sanji!” Your mouth was on your entrance, his tongue pressing into you.

“Please my love, I just want to clean you up.” He didn’t wait for a response before delving back in, being sure to avoid any contact with your surely sore clit. He tried to avoid lingering, keeping his mind to the task of cleaning you up instead of getting lost in your taste.

“W-we were just talking ‘bout this.” You tried when he was finally leaning back on his haunches, licking his lips. “Me and the girls.” He watched you, wanting to coax another orgasm from you but forcing himself to resist. “Not about you specifically. But like- about how no one- no man- has ever gone down on me…y’know.” You watched as the corners of his lips pulled up before he stood up, shoving his semi hard cock back into his slacks before extending a hand to you, pulling you up and into him, capturing your lips in a kiss. You could taste yourself and his seed on his tongue, but before you could enjoy it he pulled back just enough to say “I know.”

[no-144444]

hiii can u pls make a kimi fic that has angst and fluff??? u can make the story☺️☺️☺️🩷🩷 tyyy

sacrifices- k.antonelli

꩜summary: everyone has to make sacrifices...

꩜pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

“We need your full focus, Kimi,” Toto sighed. “You have a chance this year. You need to capitalise.” 

The way he said it sent off alarm bells in his head, and he gulped. There was something about the way Toto was looking at him, that silent sympathy but tough love he was used to. Last minute light night meetings were reserved for real problems, and it wasn’t like Kimi was underperforming. He had won a race already. He was qualifying well. He was on the podium constantly. There was a certain silence in the motorhome that always made him uneasy, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping the way this conversation made him feel. 

“I plan on,” he shrugged. “And the team is my full focus.” 

Toto sighed. “You don’t understand what I’m asking, do you?” he looked down, exasperated, as Kimi shook his head. “Y/n. You won't… I’ve talked to Y/n.” 

That was all kinds of fucked. Kimi’s jaw dropped, his brain bringing him to his feet before he could think about what he was doing, who he was threatening, or what this all meant. The air in the room vanished, replaced only by a thick tension, one Kimi would only add to. His whole body went cold. “You do not get to meddle in my life!” he shouted, crossing the table and getting right up into Toto’s face, a pointed finger at his chest, hitting it, hard. “I have a girlfriend who is nothing but supportive of me and what I do, what I give to this team, even though it takes away from her! And I know you like to pretend I’m your son because it makes you feel better about the fact that your actual sons barely speak to you, but you’re not my dad,” his chest was heaving, head burning with anger, and he scoffed. “Fuck you.” 

Toto took a deep breath, shocked at his outburst. Stupidly, he thought this was going to be easy. He thought Kimi would do what he asked blindly. He was wrong. “We all have to make sacrifices-” 

“I will not sacrifice her,” he demanded, his voice cutting through the Austrian’s. “Not more than I already have to.” 

And he turned and left. He couldn’t do this right now, not when he just got you back from an argument about something stupid he did. He was working hard everyday to make you feel how much he cares about you, how much he loves you, despite the thousands of miles of distance. He dialled your number, terrified that Toto had gotten to you before him, and fucked up any chance he had of reconciliation. 

“Kimi?” You sighed. “What?”

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Toto talked to me,” you sighed. “Is that what you want?”

“NO!” he practically screamed down the phone. “God no!”

You let out another teary sigh. “Kimi, if it’s what you want I’ll understand,” you sniffled. “You’re busy now, you’re a famous F1 driver, you don’t have to just keep me around because you feel bad-”

“Baby please,” he begged. “Just please don’t. I love you, I have always loved you. I’m not giving you up just because Toto asked me to,” he shook his head, his feet working as fast as they could to get to his room before he had a breakdown. “Just- please don’t leave me.” 

You were quiet. “We can talk about this when you get home, alright?”

The silence was deafening when you hung up the phone and his mind raced as he sat in his driver’s room, his life falling apart. 

“Ready for quali?” a knock at the door signalled his time for leaving all of this shit in his driver’s room and making sure it didn’t touch his helmet. He wasn’t sure if he could. 

The dim light of the setting sun made the perfect backdrop for your quiet evening alone. You usually liked evenings like this, just you and your dinner, finishing up some college work, making yourself dinner, and calling Kimi. Little candles all over your apartment, a cosy blanket and couch, maybe the cat from next door would come in through the balcony and lie down beside you where Kimi usually sat. 

Except, that evening there was no calling Kimi. And the apartment felt much too cold. You couldn’t unhear Toto’s points about how Kimi performed better when you were there, because he had less to work about and juggle, but you couldn’t always be there. You had your own life and friends, your own family to take care of, your school and your work. You couldn’t drop it all just to follow Kimi around the globe. You adored him, but come on, that’s a huge ask from someone. And then Toto suggested breaking up and your heart just… broke. 

But if that’s what it has to be, then so be it. 

The door opened. “Y/n?” His voice was clearly tired but determined. You turned your eyes to the door, a puff of smoke leaving your mouth as your eyes found his. He hurried over to you and took the cigarette out of your hand before stomping on it, mumbling something about ‘Peccato per te. Giving me heart attacks’.

It was a bad habit you'd picked up from some of your college friends, but you'd gotten it down to only doing it when you were really stressed. You thought this situation more than applied to that.

You sat on the couch as he closed the sliding door of your apartment balcony and sighed. “Congrats on the weekend. Pole and podium are huge.” 

He sat down beside you, sighing. “It was… alright, I guess. Didn’t feel as good with you not there,” he turned his head with a small smile and saw the way you dropped at his words. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say in the prolonged silence. 

“I think Toto’s right,” you practically whispered. “You don’t need me coming in and giving you more stress.”

He shook his head, taking your hands. “No, si sbaglia. You’re everything to me-”

“I shouldn’t be. Racing should, Kimi,” you sighed, dropping his hand. “Let’s face the facts, you’re going places in that sport, you’re going to be a household name. You don’t need me fucking up your first season just becasse-”

“You’re not fucking anything up,” he shook his head, calmer than you’d even seen him during a fight. “And I don’t care what Toto says, I love you, and I’m not giving that up. Fine della storia,” he shook his head and took your hands again, bringing them to his mouth to kiss them. “You’re brilliantly smart,” one kiss. “And stubborn,” another. “And everything I want. I’m not giving you up because Toto doesn’t understand me.”

You were quiet for a long moment. He was so sure. So soft with you. There was something in his voice that almost made you believe him. So you nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he questioned, making sure. 

You turned your head and nodded. “Okay.” 

He leaned in and kissed you, and it felt right. But that growing pit in your stomach made you feel sick, and you didn’t know how long you could act like everything was fine. 

Toto had begged you to break up with him. 

You were considering it, for his own good.

navigation for my blog :)

mercedes & williams masterlist

[holymolyyikes]

III / VI.

Don’t worry. No more troubles.

As soon as I entered the shopping centre, I headed for the exit at the other end without even listening for if the car was following me. From what I could tell, it wasn’t. I took a back route and ended up in the car park. It smelled slightly of masala and salt, and felt an absent type of dry; it’s hard to take solace in the nice moments when the nice moments aren’t so nice. Regardless, some fool had left their car unlocked, presumably while they were going to put away their shopping cart or whatever. I imagined they were tall, and jacked their car.

***

As I drove through the streets of [your town], I noticed something strange. Not in a shocking way, or even a noticeable one if you didn’t know what to look for, but in a way no less eerie. Hundreds of people, all carrying some form of light, were walking the town, presumably in search. No less, they all formed near-perfect lines, as if they had practiced. I knew better than to assume they were looking for me, but I didn’t really. Plus, they were all tall, which was really the first thing I noticed about them. Hordes of tall people patrolling the streets and parks and who knew where else. I hadn’t the foggiest clue what the fuck was going on. Sweat dripped down my pores and onto what was admittedly a nice steering wheel, compelling me to look up and into the terrified [your height – short] girl before me. I was pondering trying and failing to figure out what was going on when my phone began to ring. Considering I had bigger issues, I went to answer.

‘Brooke,’ My friend said. ‘I saw you on the news! Are you okay?’

‘I guess? What the fuck’s going on?’ I hit the roundabout at a pace that was way too fast.

‘That was what I was going to ask! Hold on, I think there’s someone... Right, I tried to call you before but you didn’t pick up – ‘

‘I was a bit busy!’

‘ – yeah, sure. False alarm, by the way. So I went to drive over to your house but I couldn’t because the street was – you know the vans that park outside you window?’

‘The black ones in the movies?’

‘The street was blocked because there were like twenty of them parked in the road!’

‘What?’

‘… Wait, are you calling me while driving? That’s really unsafe!’

‘I’ll live. Are you safe?’

‘What do – ‘

The phone was silent. I turned up the volume, trying to hear something, but the speaker had cut off. No, I could still hear background noise. My friend wasn’t speaking. Then, the phone hung up. I pulled it closer, watching the background change colour as the call ended. Was my friend in danger? No, that wasn’t right. I’m the one who found the tall coin, not them. They were probably just doing something and accidentally turned the phone off. It’s not all about me, you know. I stared into the screen waiting for him to call back. Waiting. Waiting. Come on, pal. One more minute and I’ll call you. One more –

The loud blare of a horn or what was mostly likely a really loud car engine shocked me into realising that I was about to get rammed at top speed so I accelerated and tried to swerve my body out of the way as our cars shook –

There was glass everywhere in the sky.

what if people over a certain height had a special currency called tall coins that short people didn’t know about. And one day you’re walking with your friend (huge) and she drops something and you pick it up and say what is this and she says oh that’s my tall coin don’t worry about it. But you did worry

[inwithrin]

⋆˚࿔ ellie loves your voice

imagine ellie being completely obsessed with the sound of your voice. it’s not just that she likes it—it’s that she lives for it.

cw: slight dumbification, fingering (r!receiving), soft dom!ellie, overstimulation. this was inspired by how, after my phonetics and phonology class, i began to pay much more attention to people's speech LOL

she’ll listen to you talk about anything, for as long as you want. doesn’t matter if you’re telling her about a weird dream you had, venting about someone you hate at work, or reading her the ingredients on a serum you bought—if it’s your voice, ellie is listening to every word.

you’re talking, and she’s sitting across from you, chin in her hand, just watching. not even pretending to be casual about it—she looks so in love it’s almost embarrassing.

“you have no idea how cute you sound right now,” she says, completely serious, as you ramble about some niche hyperfixation for the third time that week.

she knows the little inflections in your tone by memory. the way your intonation gets high and breathy when you’re excited. how it softens when you're being careful with your words. the fake, polite “customer service” tone you use when you're on the phone with strangers.

but what really makes her brain fuzzy, is the way you say her name when you’re under her. that fragile, airy whimper of “ellie” when she kisses the inside of your thigh, or the way you moan it like it’s the only word you know when her fingers are deep inside you.

ellie can tell exactly where you are by the sound of your voice, and she thinks there’s nothing more sacred than that—you, babbling and sweet, then broken and begging, all just for her.

ellie loves your voice like it’s a language only she was ever meant to learn.

she listens to you like it’s her favorite song—like she’s studying it. memorizing the lilt of it when you’re shy, the way it drops when you’re really tired. she’d take it in any form. your giggles, your sighs, your babbling rants. but when you’re like this—laid out for her, legs spread, her fingers knuckle-deep inside you and her face buried between your thighs—your voice becomes everything.

“c’mon,” she murmurs against the sensitive skin near your hip, her voice low, steady. “talk to me too, or i’ll stop.”

your breath catches. your hips twitch. you try to bite back the noise, but she drags her fingers just right, curling them up until you gasp. “ellie—fuck,” you whimper. “please, don't stop.”

“that’s better,” she says, curling her fingers again, her palm flat against your pussy. “don’t go quiet on me, baby. you know i love it when you talk.”

and you really try, but you can’t talk. not with the way she moves inside you. not when her mouth is brushing your thigh like she’s worshipping it, her eyes locked on your face like you’re her only focus in the world.

“feels—feels so good, ellie,” you try again—whimpering as you close your eyes.

“yeah?” she breathes. “tell me more, pretty.”

you stutter through the heat in your stomach, breathless and helpless. “fuck, ellie. i—i—”

she’s so far gone, so focused on you, her fingers slick and steady as she fucks you slow, deep, perfect. 

“you’re s-so deep,” you whimper, clutching the sheets. “i—i can’t think.”

she smiles against your skin, and it’s evil. “good,” she says, dragging her mouth up your thigh, leaving soft kisses against your skin. “you don’t need to think. just keep that pretty mouth going for me.”

and when you whine, when your voice cracks around her name again—ellie moans like you’ve given her something sacred. her fingers pick up a rhythm that feels like heaven to you.

“that’s my girl,” she whispers. “so fuckin’ perfect like this. all dumb, sweet, and noisy just for me.”

and you are—you really are noisy. babbling now, voice wrecked, and ellie keeps going like she wants to wring every word from your lungs.

she needs your voice like air. and you? you’d give her every breath you had.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

you don’t know how long she’s been at it—all you know is that your thighs are trembling and your brain is gone. everything feels thick, hot, and heavy. her fingers are fucking you open, slow, and deep, like she’s trying to carve her name inside you. you’re soaked. dizzy. lips parted, barely able to form a single word that isn’t her name and ellie is eating it up.

“what’s that?” she asks, low and breathy, her fingers curling just right again. “you trying to say something, baby?”

you whimper, trying to close your legs, but she pushes one thigh open, spreading you wider for her. "i'm gonna cum, el—"

“nuh-uh,” she interrupts, voice almost teasing. “not until you ask.”

you blink up at her, lashes wet with frustrated tears, swollen lips trembling. “please,” you gasp. “ellie—please let me come. please. please. please.”

her breath hitches, and she stills her fingers—barely, but enough for you to cry out at the loss of friction. “fuck, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning in close, her nose brushing yours. “you sound so cute when you beg.”

her thumb presses gently against your clit, not moving, just enough to make you ache.

“c’mon,” she says, voice thick and low now, dripping with want. “say it again. nice and slow for me.”

you can’t breathe—you can’t—but you nod, already whimpering out the words she wants. “please, ellie,” you say, your voice high and broken. “please let me come, i’ve been so good, i just—i need it so bad, please—”

and she groans, like she’s the one who’s about to cum. “yeah,” she breathes, mouth brushing your skin as her fingers move again, hard and fast now. “that’s it. good fucking girl. come for me, baby.”

[heartyluv]

Hiiii I have a little request/inspo for you if you would like it 😚🤲🏽 As I was reading your camboy fics (I am obsessed btw), I couldn't stop thinking about reader being the one who maybe has an onlyfans or sells things like her panties for money 👀 And perhaps caleb is her #1 fan because we all know he loves panty sniffing. Then maybe a dash of his usual yandere/stalker tendencies ensue because he believes he's the only one of your fans who truly appreciates you. Idk, maybe there's nothing more to explore here, but I needed to share with you bc I know you will pick up what I'm putting down

- @asiatic-apple

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ لا ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺‎

Note: Thank you for the lovely idea. I hope this meets your expectations!

Creds to @/omi-resources & @/anitalenia for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Caleb basically pays to sleep with you, He’s a little bit of a creep LOLL, Panty fucking, He’s been in your apartment without your knowledge, Sex on camera.

Word Count: 2,708

Summary: Caleb is obsessed with his precious camgirl.

Stalker!Caleb/Camgirl!Reader

Finding you fundamentally changed Caleb’s life. He never thought he’d be the type of man to pay for the things he’s paid you for, but here he was, almost ten grand deep, paying you to see the most beautiful things he’s ever had the luxury to lay his eyes on.

When he found you, he thought you were a simple content creator, just a pretty girl who likes to do live streams for fun. When someone initially starts looking through your page, they find you reacting to movies and tv shows, playing popular video games, and even showing tips and tricks on how you take care of your hair.

He thought you were cool, but you didn’t do things he thought he’d be interested in watching. Until he found the tab that said 18+ Only - Must Pay To Enter. That was what hooked him like a hungry fish. And you weren’t cheap, he liked that. Just to enter was $100. He wasn’t ashamed when he put his card information in without hesitation, because he was gifted with the glorious sight that was you.

Videos of you playing with your pretty pussy, using toys and your fingers to please yourself, and images of you bent over, spread open, was what captivated him. He’ll never forget the first time he joined your explicit live for the first time. People were gifting you so much cash—hundreds.

Your highest payment was almost two grand, and he understood why anyone was putting money in your pocket just to see you come. He’s never come so hard in his life when he watched your slender fingers slip in and out of your wet hole. The way you bit your lip, the way your eyes rolled back, the way you creamed so beautifully… he needed more.

He didn’t give a damn how much anyone was paying you. They would never, ever, appreciate you the way he does. They would never value such beauty and art like he did with you. And because of that, he has to keep you.

So he took it upon himself to find where you lived. Being a colonel offered him access to technology to be able to easily do things like this. And when he found that you lived only forty five minutes away, he knew the universe was hitting him in the face with destiny.

The first time he came to your home was when you posted an announcement, saying you’d be gone for the next two weeks for a quick family emergency. It was absolutely perfect, and he spent time in your apartment like it was his own. Getting inside was incredibly simple, too. With a simple summon of his gravity evol, he was turning your lock and stepping inside.

He only went during the night time after he got off work and drove nearly an hour every time to be able to figure out who you were. He found all the information he needed; pictures, birth certificate, important documents, journals. He knew you. All he needed was for you to see him so that the relationship he craved could come into fruition.

During his visits, he found your stash of toys that he frequently watches you come on. He even saw the light pink pillow he paid you to hump for $800 while you moaned his name, something he paid you an extra $50 to do. He ended up humping that same pillow himself in your bed his first night, smelling your essence and becoming terribly aroused at the fact that he was in the same place that you fill that hot cunt with everything but him.

After he found your empty laundry hamper, he frowned to see that you took it upon yourself to wash your clothes before you left. But then when he discovered your pantry drawer, all bets were off. He took two pairs for himself, rummaging through the rest to see the red lace pair that you wore before you peeled them down your soft legs to rub your needy clit against the material of the pillow.

He jerked off with that same pair for three days before they became an unusable mess. The way the lace material glided against his cock, the image of them squeezing against your fat pussy and sinking into your pillowy lips was all he needed to come hard and fast every single time.

Caleb was addicted in a way that motivated him. He ended up paying you for so many private videos that he became your top contributor. You knew him by name, but you didn’t know him. And he wanted to change that.

So when you returned from your trip, he proposed an idea to you that he was taking a risk on, but he figured it was the only way to put himself in your life without you suspecting anything.

Sending you a message, he said: Hello, beautiful. It’s Caleb. I want to ask you for something that I know will make you hesitate, but for you, I can be a patient man. I want you so much. It’s in a way that even I can’t understand. So, I’m offering you $5,000 to let me fuck you. I will make sure you have all my information, as well as recently completed tests. Your safety and peace of mind means that much to me. I’m waiting. I always will.

When you read it, you were absolutely thrown off. But you were intrigued, most of all. You’d never been paid by a fan with so much money all at once, nor has any of them had audacity to ask you for such a thing. You should be disturbed, unnerved. But your pussy was throbbing in your pants at the thought, at his…confidence.

So, you sent him a reply and you said yes. He sent you the money immediately with interest. And like he said, all his information was sent to you, down to his address and test results to confirm that he was clean. You did the same out of courtesy, but you had to admit. This was a lot. But it was a lot in the sense that you couldn’t help but find out what would happen.

You let him come to your apartment and sent him directions. It was silly to Caleb, in fact it made him smile. He knew how to get to you three different ways without navigation. He would always know how to get to his pretty girl.

And when he saw you face to face for the first time, he didn’t know what kept him upright, but he thanked it because his knees almost buckled at your gorgeous face. His breath grew ragged as he stared you down. From the tight t-shirt and shorts to the way your doe eyes looked up at him, he knew that you would always belong to him. And you didn’t even know it yet.

“It’s so nice to see you,” he said softly.

“Likewise,” you smiled. Caleb had sent you a picture of him before you agreed, but it didn’t do him any justice. This man was ethereal. “Please, come in.”

Was it crazy to let a stranger in your house to fuck you? Absolutely. You knew that. But Caleb wasn’t a stranger. You’d find that out soon enough.

“I’m sorry,” you huff out a laugh once he’s inside and you shut the door. “I don’t mean to be nervous. I just don’t exactly know how to go about... starting? I’ve never done anything like this.”

He looks around the familiar space, loving how you don’t know a fucking thing. He wonders if you’ve smelled him in your sheets or noticed your missing panties yet.

“It’s okay,” he assures. What he really wanted to say was that he knows. He’s read your journals and learned that you’re more shy than you are extroverted.

“Would you like me to help? I’m more than happy to make your pussy wet,” he says lustfully with hooded eyes.

Your eyes widen, thrown off by the filthy words from a man who looks and seems like a sweet puppy. You clear your throat, not trusting your voice to speak for you and just nod.

He walks up to you, his muscles rippling beneath his white shirt. You look up at him as his hands start to feel on your plush body. If only you could read his mind, you’d understand how fucking ecstatic he was right now.

Feeling you for the first time was like winning the lottery. He couldn’t stop the soft groan that came out of him when he felt how your plump ass filled his strong hands, how you gasped when he pulled you close to inhale your scent that he already knows so well.

Vanilla and a mix of lavender. He ended up buying the same bottle of perfume you love and kept it at his house for when he missed you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks sweetly.

“I’d like that…”

He kisses your jaw first, using your ass to push you into him as if you couldn’t be any closer. You feel his cock, but only a little through his jeans. And he’s hung—thick.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” he bites your ear. “You don’t know how special you are to me.”

You don’t say anything, whimpering at the soft smooches he trails down the side of your neck. You honestly just think it’s sweet talk and lust, but for him? This is love.

When he finally sticks his tongue in your mouth, all the gentleness he intended to use is gone. He’s ravishing you, making you lose your breath as he sucks on your lips like a sweet treat. He bites them, licks them to soothe the pain, before doing it all over again as you cry into his mouth.

“Where’s your phone?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What?” you ask frazzled.

“Your phone. So we can stream this for your page.”

“Caleb…” you take a moment. “I don’t know if that’s—”

“Let me fuck you on camera, baby. Please.. I’ll make you feel so good. I want everyone to see it.”

“This isn’t a game. For your safety—”

“I don’t give a fuck about me. Just tell me yes..” he cuts you off, and pleads as he plays with the hem of your shirt.

You find yourself succumbing to him often, more than you’d like to admit because you bring your phone to him and he props it up on your kitchen counter that has a view of your couch.

You’re so wet that you can feel it with every step you take. You start the live for him and he’s so happy to see the hundreds of people flood in, enjoying their curiosity.

iluv2cum: Who is that?? 👀

ForDaFanss: Is this a surprise collab?

here4fun: Omg, is this your boyfriend?

Go0nCr3w: SURPRISE LIVE!?!!?

With you two in frame, he doesn’t waste anymore time. He’s about to show everyone who you belong to and his cock is more than ready.

You whimper as he flips you, bending you over the back of your couch. Your hips sway side to side, whining when the cool air wisps against your wet pussy when he tugs your shorts and panties off. He makes you come out of them completely, taking the panties and bringing them to his nose. Your pussy clenches when you look behind you him to see him deeply inhale the baby blue lace like your scent gives him life. This is what he was looking for.

He puts them in his back pocket, undoing his belt buckle and zipper to get his cock out. He’s never been so hard.

He slaps your ass with his length, the echo and sting of colliding flesh making you leak. You feel him bring himself between your lips, moving back and forth in between them without slipping inside.

You gasp. “Holy fuck…You’re big...”

He smiles, letting the tip touch your clit to make your back arch. “Push back for me, baby. Let me in.”

You toot your ass up and push back like he wants. And as your hole is being stretched by his fat cock, when you hear how soaked he’s really made you, you cry out so loud that you’re sure you’ll get a noise complaint.

Pushing into you for the first time is what he can only equate to heaven. This is going to be his for life.

He’s not gentle, he can’t bring himself to be. He grips your hips hard as he watches his cock get covered in your juices, watches how he effortlessly slides in and out of you.

He looks at the phone to see the mass influx of likes and fluttering hearts across the screen. Knowing that they’ll never get what he’s keeping makes him fuck you even harder.

“You suck me in so fucking good,” he coos. “I knew you would. I knew you were made for me.”

“Yes…” you whimper as you grip onto the couch. “Fuck, right there, Caleb…”

“You feel me in your stomach, don’t you? That’s where I’m meant to be. Deep inside you,” he rolls his hips so you really feel every inch. “We compete each other. It’s about time you found that out.”

Your tits press against the couch, the rough thrusts making your hard nipples grind against it beneath your shirt. He’s captivated at the way your ass bounces against him, showing how good you take him like you’re supposed to be.

“Arch it more for me, pretty,” he guides you, pressing his palm to your back. “Take your cum, let me put it where it’s supposed to be.”

His commands make tears form in your eyes as you get ready to take his load. You’ve never felt a cock like this, never felt such power like him. “Caleb…I’m gonna come…”

“I know,” he says breathlessly, stopping for a moment and spitting where you’re connected, watching how his saliva mingles with all the fluid. Then he’s moving again as you clench over and over to suck him back in. “Let me take you there. I’ll be the only one doing it from now on.”

The way he talks like he owns you should scare the shit out of you. Instead, it makes you match his thrusts as he pulses deep inside of you. His fat tip kisses your cervix over and over and over, and when he presses his hand on the back of your neck to keep you down as you take him, you finally come.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Let them see who makes you cream.”

The way he takes you is being captured for so many to see, and that’s exactly what he wants. No more will you be alone—because he’s here.

You scream his name, grabbing the couch like it feels impossible to ground yourself. When his thick cum spills into you shortly after, you feel how it leaks down your inner thigh as you shake from the intense pleasure.

He gently rocks his hips to push his cum deeper and all that’s heard once he stills is both of you breathing heavily. He pulls out slowly, making you hiss and miss the way he filled you. He then goes to grab your phone to see that the views went from hundreds to thousands, more than he’s ever seen when he watched you. He flips the camera so they get a good shot of your leaking hole.

“This is mine,” he whispers, running his thumb down your lips and smearing his spend. He grasps his cock that’s still half hard, using the tip to rub it all around like he’s staking his claim.

“Fuckk..” he says deeply as some of it leaks to the floor. “If she didn’t know it before, she knows now. And so do all of you.”

He abruptly ends the stream, leaving everyone wet, hard, aching, and confused.

“I meant what I said.” You jolt and cry at the overstimulation when he puts his cock right back inside of your raw and sensitive pussy.

“You and I own each other. Thank you letting me in. Because now,” he leans down and kisses your shoulder.

“You’re never getting rid of me.”