#will schedule that one to go off right before this

[p0orbaby]

Leah/reader have been going through a sex drought so reader decides to surprise leah one evening with a strip tease. Make it SaUcY plz x

-

The plan has been percolating in your head for days. Weeks, if you’re honest with yourself. The outfit agonised over for days: all silk and black lace that toes the line between sultry and “I’m absolutely trying too hard.” You’ve taken into account lighting (low, warm, flattering) and ambiance (candles, but not so many it screams séance). This is high-level strategy, not a whim.

The drought has been bad. Biblical, almost. You’re starting to feel like one of those tortured protagonists in an indie film about suburbia. “Are we okay?” hangs between you and Leah like stale air. You’re fine—better than fine—but busy schedules and post-match fatigue have made the bed a glorified charging station for your phones rather than a place of… connection.

The sound of Leah’s keys jingling in the lock sends a ripple of nerves through you. You check your reflection in the mirror one last time—lingerie clinging to you in all the right places, lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of confidence that’s half real, half bravado.

“In the living room,” you reply, pitching your voice just shy of nonchalant.

The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking as gorgeous and knackered as ever. Her hair’s tied up in a loose bun, and her kit bag is slung over one shoulder. She smells faintly of fresh grass and whatever industrial-strength shower gel Arsenal uses.

“Hey,” she says. Her eyes land on you, and she pauses mid-step. “What’s all this?”

You cross the room slowly, hips swaying with more intent than usual. “I thought I’d treat you tonight”

Her bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. “Something special,” she repeats, her accent curling around the words like a tease of its own. “And what exactly does that mean?”

You press a button on your phone, and the opening notes of the song fill the room. Leah freezes as the implication hits her like a perfectly struck free kick. Her jaw tenses, her cheeks flush, and you know you’ve got her.

Her voice is shaky but attempting nonchalance. “Are you…? Are you about to—?”

You step closer, tugging the robe’s belt loose. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be”

She exhales sharply, her hands coming up in mock surrender. “Nope. Absolutely nowhere”

The next few minutes are equal parts electrifying and ludicrous. You sway your hips to the beat, sliding your robe off completely before stepping closer to her. Leah sits frozen on the edge of the sofa, hands gripping her knees like she’s trying not to combust. Her eyes flicker between your face and… everywhere else, wide and slightly panicked.

“You’re… really good at this,” she stammers, which makes you laugh mid-spin. “Like, way better than I expected”

“Expected?” You pause, raising an eyebrow as you slide a strap off your shoulder. “What were you expecting?”

She shakes her head rapidly, clearly realising she’s said the wrong thing. “No, I mean—it’s just—oh, God.” She runs a hand through her hair, flustered. “You’re killing me right now”

You step closer, close enough that her knees brush against yours. Her breathing has gone shallow, her lips parted slightly. “Killing you, huh?” you murmur, letting your fingers trail along the line of her jaw.

“I’m actually dead,” she whispers. “Gone. Buried”

You smirk, shifting to straddle her lap, and her hands hover awkwardly at your waist like she’s scared she’ll ruin the moment if she moves too soon. Her eyes search yours, and for a moment, the teasing drops away. There’s just her, and you, and the ridiculous, overwhelming love you have for each other.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you say softly, your lips inches from hers.

And that’s all it takes. Her hands find your hips, her grip firm but reverent, and she pulls you closer like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it. The playlist fades into the background as she kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, needier, like she’s making up for lost time.

The drought is over.

[hsunrry]

date night // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: based on this request.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~2k

warnings: smut18+, angst, praise, unprotected sex, creampie

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“you know how important this meeting was for me.” you said coldly from passenger seat. your arms were crossed over your chest. he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.

“i know, i know, i’m sorry, okay?” he apologised, his voice laced with frustration. “something came up, i couldn’t just drop this.”

“always the same, Harry.” you shook your head. his eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on defensive tone.

“and what’s that supposed to mean? that i can’t do anything right in your eyes?” he looked at you briefly before his eyes went back to the road.

“no, that’s there’s always an excuse.” you mumbled. your body language was closed off to him. “it’s just that i was reminding you about it for two months and you still were almost an hour late.”

“i heard you, okay?” his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “you reminded me every single day. but real life happens sometimes and i had to deal with something urgent. i promised i’d make it up to you.” he glanced over at you.

“what was that urgent then?” you asked. “what was that important?”

“my manager called, there was a…” he sighed. “problem with my upcoming tour schedule that only i could handle. it wasn’t something i could ignore or delegate.” he paused for a second. “look, i get that i messed up.” you bite inside of your cheek, looking out of the car window. his frustration boiled over when you gave him silent treatment. “you know what? you always do this.”

“do what?” you asked, not looking at him. he gestured broadly, his hand sweeping across the interior of the car.

“you always stay quiet. always keep everything bottle up inside. ant then you just… shut down. like a switch flipped and you’re no longer there.” his voice was low.

“because i’m frustrated, what am i supposed to do?” you asked coldly. his expression darkened.

“yell at me then! storm off! do something other than just sitting there looking pissed off!” he yelled, his knuckled white from gripping steering wheel so tightly.

“pull over.” without a word, he pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in parking mode.

“what now?” he turned to face you fully, his eyes blazing with frustration. you unbuckled your seatbelt, getting out of the car and going into the direction of the house. he quickly got out of the car as well, following you. “where do you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice laced with irritation. he quickened his pace to catch up to you.

“i’m going home myself.” you said, your arms crossed on your chest from anger and cold air. he grabbed your arm, stopping you.

“walking home yourself? it’s a 15-minute drive, you’re not going anywhere!” he shouted, his face red in anger. “get back in the car!” he demanded, trying to tug you back towards the vehicle.

“no!” you snapped, feeling his arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting you up and bending you over his shoulder. “Harry!”

“if you’re not going to act like an adult about this, then i’ll treat you like a child. now be quiet, before i spank your ass.” he carried you to the car, talking through gritted teeth.

“you wouldn’t dare.” you mumbled. he smirked, giving your bottom hard smack, the sound echoing through the night air. he opened backseat doors, tossing you inside. he quickly gets to the driver’s seat, starting the car. he glanced at you in rearview mirror only to see you pouting back there.

“now, are you going to behave yourself or do i need to come back there and remind you who’s in charge?” he was gripping the steering wheel, ready to drive.

“fuck off.” you mumbled, watching him turning off the engine and walking out of the car. he sat in the backseat, pulling you astride his lap. “what are you doing?”

“i’m giving you a timeout, little one.” he placed his hands on your thighs, going up and down gently, almost soothingly. “now, can we talk normally?” you shrugged at his words. his hands slid up higher on your thighs as he held your gaze intensively. “i miss you when you’re like this.” he admitted softly, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. “i miss hearing your voice, seeing your smile…” he traced his thumb across your bottom lip.

“what are you expecting when i’m mad at you?” you asked, looking into his eyes this whole time. he sighed.

“for you to talk to me, not ignore me or mumble under your breath.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “for you to, i don’t know, yell at me, but not giving me silent treatment.”

“i’m just upset you were so late. you promised me you’ll be there no matter what. i was talking about this meeting for two months.” you said quietly. his expression softened with guilt.

“i know, love. i’m sorry i broke my promise.” he ran his hand through your hair. “this problem with schedule was last minute, but that’s not an excuse. i should have been there on time.” he leaned his forehead against yours. you closed your eyes, biting inside of your cheek. he knew it was a sign that you were very upset. he hated every second of it, he hated making you mad. “look at me, please.” he asked softly, his voice gentler with every word. when you opened your eyes to look at him, he noticed tears welling up in them and his heart sank at the sight. he gently wiped away the tears that escaped your eyes with his thumb. “baby…” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. you sniffed. he held you tighter against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head. “don’t cry, please. you know i hate seeing you cry…” he kissed the top of your head, running soothing circles on your back. “i know i fucked up, i’m so sorry…” you nuzzled your face into his neck. his arms tightened around you when he felt your warm breath against his neck. after few seconds his hands moved to cup both sides of your face, tilting it up to look at him. “listen to me, i’m so fucking sorry.” his thumbs brushed away the remaining tears. you nodded quietly. his voice was gentle, but serious. “i need to know you forgive me. i don’t like when we’re not talking. it drives me mad, knowing you’re disappointed in me.” he stroked your hair, waiting for your response.

“it’s not that i’m disappointed in you, i’m just sad that you promised me to be there.” you said quietly. his expression was soft, but intense.

“i know… and that makes it worse. your sadness hurts more than anything else could. i fucked up something special to you…” he paused, his hands still tenderly framing your face. “i’m so sorry lovie, really.” you nodded again. he sighed, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead to yours again. “tell me what to do to make this right.” his hands moved to your waist, holding you close.

“just be there next time.” you sighed quietly. he looked at you intently, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. he needed to know you were serious about giving him another chance to not mess up again.

“you can count on it. next time, i’ll be there early.” he nodded solemnly. you managed a quiet ‘okay’ in response. he watched you carefully, waiting for any sign that you were truly over this argument. he didn’t wanted to push his luck, but he also didn’t wanted you to be silently upset. he decided to test the waters a little. “you really not mad at me anymore?”

“i’m not.” you shook your head slightly. he raised his eyebrow sceptically, tilting his head to the side. he pulled you even closer.

“you sure? you’re not giving me the cold shoulder or anything?” he asked, searching your face for any hint of residual anger. you chuckled softly, shaking your head again. his face lit up with relief and joy as he heard your laugh. he pulled you into tight hug, burying his face in your neck. “i missed you.” he murmured, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw.

“mhm.” you hummed against his neck. he held you tightly, savouring the feeling. after a moment he pulled out slightly, to look at you.

“you know, i was thinking…” he started.

“about what?” he smiled softly at your question, his hands resting on your waist.

“about making it up to you.” he said, his eyes filled with determination. he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “starting with this.”

“i’m reminding you that we’re in the car.” you chuckled softly. he grinned, his hands moving to either side of your face.

“and i’m reminding you that we’re very much alone right now, with tinted windows.” his thumb gently stroked your cheek. when you smiled, he closed the distance between you two, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your lips. it was a sweet, tender kiss, filled with all the love and apology. “i’m sorry.” he whispered against your lips.

“mhm.” you hummed into his mouth, feeling his hands lifting your dress up, exposing your legs and ass. he deepened the kiss, his hands splayed out on your thighs. he broke the kiss to trial soft kisses on your neck. he unbuckled his belt with deft movements, his hands then moving to unzip his pants. he lifted his hips slightly to push it down along with his boxers, freeing himself. he looked up at you, his voice low and husky.

“come here, love.” you lifted your hips up, moving your panties to the side and lowering yourself at him. he let out a low groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly. he leaned back in the seat, his eyes never leaving yours as you started to move. “fuck, you feel amazing.” he breathed, his hands guiding your hips as you rode him slowly. he leaned forward, claiming your mouth in another passionate kiss. “right there.” he moaned when you started to move faster, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. “that’s perfect…” he broke the kiss to pant, his head falling back against the headrest. his hands roamed up your stomach to your waist, his touch gentle yet

firm. “faster.” he urged, his hips bucking up to meet yours. “look at me, baby.” and you did, moving faster. his eyes locked with yours, dark with desire and love. his breath became ragged as he watched you move on top of him, his hands back on your hips. “beautiful.” he whispered, leaning forward to capture your lips in another intense kiss. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” you gasped into the kiss. he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he thrust up into you, the car rocking slightly with the motion. he swallowed your moans with his mouth, his heart racing in his chest. he felt himself getting close, his body tensing.

“i’m so close, baby.” he gasped into the kiss.

“me too.” you responded. he felt your body tense around him. he tightened his hold on you, one hand moving to tangle in your hair as he thrusts deeper. “you can’t come inside me, we don’t have anything to clean me up, i’ll suck you off.” his eyes darkened at your suggestion.

“no fucking way, baby, i’m filling this pussy up.” his cock twitched inside you. “i’ll clean you up with my mouth.” he grunted when you started moving faster, moaning at his words. his hips were moving erratically as he chased his release. he felt his orgasm building, his balls tightening. you cried out, clenching around him when you finished. “fuck, i’m coming!” he moaned, burying his face in your neck as he came hard, filling you with his hot seeds. he panted heavily, his body shaking with aftershocks. he pulled back to look at you, a lazy smile on his face. “i love you.”

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Oops, my hand slipped.

Even at his absolute lowest, the points in his life where he could barely meet his own eyes in the mirror, the days when he thought he would choke on the self-loathing that enveloped him…he'd never actually believed God hated him. He wasn't sure he believed in God at all, honestly, ‘no atheists in a foxhole’ jokes aside. But if there was a God, he didn't believe that He was wasting time hating on Thomas Kinard for liking dick, no matter what hellfire rhetoric his father and grandmother spewed at him before disowning him. 

Looking at the person the incident commander, in their infinite wisdom, directed him to pair up with on scene, he decided that, no. No. There was a God. 

And he fucking hated Tommy Kinard. 

Evan–Buck. Buck was not supposed to be on shift tonight. He'd requested the time off months ago, had made elaborate plans with his sister to host a Thanksgiving feast at the Buckley-Han house for everyone at the 118 who could swing the holiday. There had been color coded charts in his kitchen, menus, recipe cards, and schedules that were more complex than some war plans Tommy had seen in his day. It was going to be a goddamn Michelin star experience. Even if it somehow wasn't, it would have been amazing.

It would have been the first big holiday gathering they'd attended together. Their first big family holiday as a couple. 

“Tommy!” Evan–Buck. Buck, damn it. He'd done this, he'd made the choice, he had to live with it. He didn't have the right to call him Evan anymore. Buck looks startled. 

Then for just a moment, just a moment he lit up. The bright, open happiness that Tommy had been stupid enough to get used to, stupid enough to get addicted to, stupid enough to start wondering if he might get to keep, washed through Buck's face. His eyes, still as blue as the clearest summer skies Tommy had ever flown through, sparkled, his lips quirked into the sunshine-bright grin that always made Tommy want to kiss him, feel that warmth against his mouth. For just a moment, he looked as happy as he always did to see Tommy. 

Then it was over. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the happiness disappeared like the sun vanishing behind a cloud. A cold, professional mask slammed down over Buck's face. His eyes went flat and hard as ice, and his whole posture seemed to…change. Without moving an inch, Buck withdrew completely from him. It was what he was expecting. What he wanted, he reminded himself. It fucking hurt. 

“I thought you were off tonight,” Buck said, his voice completely neutral. Completely polite. Completely professional. 

Tommy hated it. 

“Uh…thought you were too,” he said lamely. 

The mask slipped, and for just an instant, Tommy was treated to a Buck who just looked…sad. Weighed down by the kind of sadness that made minutes feel like hours, and hours feel like years. The kind of sadness that pulled at you, always dragging you down, down, down, made you feel heavy and tired, no matter how much you slept, how much you rested. Tommy was familiar with the look. It stared back at him from his mirror every day. 

“Danziger’s mom went into hospice last week. Probably isn’t going to make it to Christmas…Bobby put out a call for anyone willing to trade him shifts so he can get as much time with the family as possible.” Buck shrugged. “And I wasn’t really in the mood to–” His mouth shut with an audible click, and the cold, professional mask wobbled a little. “Anyway.” 

Tommy could guess the rest of the sentence well enough. The sickeningly familiar mixture of guilt and want washed through him. Guilt because he’d done this. He’d made this sweet, incredible man feel like being around his family for Thanksgiving would hurt so much that he’d gone looking for extra shifts. Want because it was supposed to be different. 

He should’ve spent the day watching Ev–Buck run around his kitchen like a madman, stepping in to distract him in the best ways possible when it looked like he was starting to take the flakiness of the pie crust too seriously. He should’ve been cracking jokes about his contribution being the wine and the eye candy, should’ve been exchanging knowing looks with Howie over the heads of their respective Buckleys when they inevitably started arguing about the placement of napkins or the height of the centerpieces or something, should’ve been watching Ev–Buck demonstrate how completely his little niece had him wrapped around her finger, should’ve been sitting down to the kind of family dinner that he’d been sure was only ever going to exist for him in hazy memories of the time before his mom died, surrounded by people he’d thought were starting to become more than just casual friends he used to work with and a beautiful man he could so easily fall in love with, should’ve, should’ve, should’ve…

The wanting was the problem. 

The wanting was always the problem. 

It was dangerous to want those things when he knew just how fucking fragile they really were…especially in his hands. 

It hurt now, but Evan Buckley wasn’t going to be lonely for long. He wasn’t made to be lonely for long. In the long run, he’d understand that Tommy really had had his best interests at heart. Had had both their best interests at heart. Better a little heartache now than a huge one later, when he inevitably realized how much better he could do. 

“That’s–that’s good of you,” he said. 

Buck didn’t reply, just hefted the medical kit he was carrying a little higher. “Captain Nichols sent you to me, I take it?” 

Straight to business, then. Probably for the best. 

“Yeah. Assess and assist. The 57 has the heavy rescue, we’re just tagging anyone who needs paramedics.” 

“All right. Well. Let’s get to work.” 

He turned away and started walking towards the scene, back ramrod straight, wearing the professionalism like armor. Tommy watched him go, the ache that hadn’t left the space behind his ribs since he walked out of the loft for the last time pulsing dully. For the best, he told himself for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. It was all for the best. 

If he kept saying it, maybe he’d eventually be able to believe it. 

buck and tommy both wanting to not spend thanksgiving without the other because they were supposed to be together at the buckley-hans', so they each take an extra shift to distract themselves and wind up working the same scene. send tweet.

[msbigredmachine]

Behind The Mask (Roman Reigns)

Sometimes love demands that you fight not for yourself—but for someone who can’t fight back.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: HEAVY themes of abuse, angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This story touches on an extremely sensitive subject matter, therefore a trigger warning is in place.

Song inspos:

Beneath Your Beautiful - Labrinth & Emeli Sandé Anytime You Need a Friend - Mariah Carey

------------------------

The dim fluorescent light in Roman’s locker room hummed faintly as you pushed the door open. You’d been searching for him all day. Meetings, creative briefings, segment reviews—none of it could move forward without him. But he’d been ghosting everyone, including you of all people, one of his closest friends behind the scenes. It wasn’t like him to disappear, especially not when you were scheduled to run through one of the most important segments for tonight's episode of SmackDown involving him and the rest of the Bloodline. But there he was, sitting in the corner, head bowed, his long hair cascading forward like a curtain shielding him from the world. You noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest and the tremor in his hands. His massive frame seemed diminished—small in a way that set off alarm bells.

“Roman,” you called softly, stepping inside, coming closer.

He didn’t respond.

You crouched before him, the smell of musk and faint cologne mingling with the tension in the room. “Roman, I’ve been looking for you all day. We need to go over—”

Reaching out, you pushed back his hair gently. Your heart dropped when his eyes met yours—there was a faint, yet jarring discoloration on his cheekbone, purpling against his tanned skin.

“Is that a bruise?” you asked, your voice low and tight. Without thinking, your hand reached out to tilt his face toward the light above. His jaw tensed under your fingers. “What the fuck happened?”

Roman flinched, tilting his head away. “It’s nothing. An accident.”

“An accident?” You exhaled sharply, anger bubbling in your chest. “That’s what you told me the last time!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low and guarded.

“Yes it does!” you continued. “You only wrestle on PLEs, Roman, so where the hell are these injuries coming from? I’m not an idiot!”

“Just drop it,” he muttered, his voice thick with shame.

Your mind raced. The memory of his “accidents” flooded your mind. Last week, a split lip. Two weeks before, ugly scratch marks on his neck that forced him to let his hair down. But this time, the dots connected. Your stomach churned as the realization hit you like a freight train. 

Sabine.

That beautiful, manipulative, venomous witch you never liked. The same one who dripped perfection in public and poison in private. She clung to Roman like a parasite, feeding off his fame, draining his strength and his pockets. You had seen right through her from the start but Roman had fallen for her. Hard. And now, it was breaking him.

“No.” You rose to your feet, the weight of your fury grounding you. “No, Roman. I know who’s doing this to you.”

His shoulders stiffened.

“It’s that fucking psycho, isn’t it,” you spat, “What did she do this time? What did she—”

“Don’t call her that!” he snapped, standing abruptly. He loomed over you, his chest heaving, but his eyes betrayed him—pleading and broken. “It's not what you think. She loves me. She just…has her ways.” The words came out hollow, almost like he was trying to convince himself. 

“Well she sure has a fucked up way of showing it!” you shot back, tears pricking your eyes. “You deserve better, Ro. You know you do!”

Roman stood abruptly, towering over you, his presence as commanding as ever, but the cracks in his armor were all too visible. He raked his hand through his hair, his face clouded with emotion. “We’re working it out on our own. We are. Just…please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.”

“So I should be quiet until she seriously hurts you? Injures you so bad it ends your career?” Your voice cracked. “Roman, a person who truly loves you would never put their hands on you!”

“Stop,” he said firmly, his voice a strained plea. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it no more. Just...stay out of it. Please.” He turned and stormed out of the locker room, the echo of his departure leaving you alone with your racing thoughts, a storm of anger and heartbreak swirling inside you.

------------------------

Two weeks passed. Two agonizing weeks of you avoiding Roman and Roman avoiding you, knowing he wasn’t ready to hear the truth. That woman was physically abusing him and for some reason he couldn’t leave her. You were desperate to help him but you didn’t know how.

He never opened up about the full extent of Sabine’s abuse, but pieces of the truth started to fall into place when you confided in Naomi. The two of you were backstage during a SmackDown taping when the subject of Sabine came up. Naomi’s expression darkened, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness.

“I know Roman says to mind our business, but I have to tell you something,” Naomi said hesitantly. She glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping. “Jimmy and I went on a double date with them a couple of months back. And, girl, I couldn’t believe the way Sabine talked to him.”

Your stomach sank. “What do you mean?”

“She ripped into him right there at the table, over something stupid,” Naomi explained, her voice low but tight with anger. “He forgot to order her drink or something, and she just…snapped. Called him useless. Told him he was ‘lucky’ she even gave him the time of day. In front of us, no less.” Naomi’s fists clenched at the memory. “Jimmy almost got up to defend him, but Roman brushed it off like it was nothing. Just laughed like it didn’t bother him.”

You shook your head, your jaw tightening. “And Jimmy didn’t say anything?”

“Of course he wanted to, but Roman told him not to. Said she was just having a bad day.” Naomi paused, her voice softening. “I didn’t want to push, but you could see it in his eyes. He was embarrassed. Humiliated.”

Your blood boiled as Naomi continued.

“She didn’t stop there, either. Every time he tried to speak, she interrupted him. Or rolled her eyes. At one point, she even said, ‘What kind of Tribal Chief can’t handle a simple dinner reservation?’ Like, who says that to someone they love?”

You exhaled sharply, your heart breaking for Roman while fury built in your chest.

“That’s when I started to notice the little things,” Naomi added. “How he doesn’t talk about her much, how he flinches sometimes when she raises her voice. I hate seeing him like that, but he’s so damn proud. He won’t let anyone help him.”

He used to be so full of life. The Roman Reigns that everyone knew—The Head of the Table, the sweet, shy guy who still commanded the attention of any room he walked into, the guy who’d throw you into a headlock just to make you crack a grin. Now, it was like he was just going through the motions. There was a hollowness to him, a dullness that wasn’t there before. Sabine has stripped him of his fire, and you were not sure if it was ever coming back.

Naomi reached out to squeeze your hand. “You’re close to him. Maybe closer than anyone else. I think…I think you might be the only one he’ll listen to.”

You swallowed hard. Roman’s pain was worse than you’d imagined, and your resolve to help him only deepened.

But one social media post torched your plans and shattered your heart into a million pieces.  

------------------------

Scrolling through your phone during a rare moment of downtime, an Instagram notification caught your eye. Seeing it was Sabine’s page, you were hesitant, but curiosity got the best of you. The pinned post showed her perfectly manicured hand adorned with an obnoxiously large diamond ring, resting in Roman’s palm. 

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening with a mix of rage and anguish. You couldn’t breathe. The room around you seemed to tilt, and tears blurred your vision.

How could he do this? How could he propose to her?

You couldn’t stop yourself. With shaking fingers you dialed Roman’s number.

“Hey,” he answered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Roman?” you snapped, skipping pleasantries. “You proposed to her? After everything?”

He sighed, the weight of a thousand unspoken truths in his voice. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I wouldn’t understand? Try me,” you fired back. “Explain to me how proposing marriage to the woman who’s beating you makes any sense at all.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice quieter, sadder.

The laugh that escaped you was stripped of any and all humor. Angrily, you hung up, tossing your phone onto the bed. The tears you didn’t realize you were holding spilled over, breaking down, not for the first time, over him.

Why couldn’t he see you? Why couldn’t he see how much you cared for him—how much you loved him?

Why?

------------------------

The jet ride to Europe was eerily quiet as you settled into your seat across from Roman. You’d barely spoken since the news of his engagement broke, but you couldn’t ignore how miserable he had been since. It was also impossible to not notice his painfully conscious attempts to keep his sunglasses firmly in place despite the dim cabin lighting.

“Take them off,” you told him quietly.

“What?”

“The sunglasses. Take them off.”

He hesitated, his face a mask of barely concealed terror. Reluctantly, he slid them down, revealing the fresh cut on his upper cheekbone.

You exhaled sharply, your chest tightening with anger. “What did she do this time?” you asked, your voice soft but firm.  

He didn’t answer, but the way his shoulders slumped told you everything. Tears welled in his eyes, and your heart broke all over again. “Roman, tell me,” you pressed.

Roman looked away, his jaw clenched. “She threw her phone at me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his confession.

Your hands curled into fists. “I swear to God…”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, “It was my fault…I shouldn’t have made her mad. I-”

“No! Don’t you dare!” Your voice cracked. “Don't you dare blame yourself. This was not your fault!”  It baffled you. You were a hothead by nature, but you’d never, ever lay hands on anyone unprovoked, especially not someone you loved. You didn’t understand why he was letting this happen to him. 

The tears began to climb, but with great effort, you pushed them back down. “Roman, you need to talk to someone. Please,” you said gently, no longer above begging. You couldn’t stand seeing him like this anymore, the man you’ve known for so long reduced to this version of himself that barely even felt human.

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’ve got it under control.”

But it wasn't true. It simply was not true and you both knew it. “Under control?” you repeated, incredulity lacing your words. “Roman, have you seen your face?”

His eyes flickered with something—regret, maybe. “I’m fine.” Again, the words came out like an automatic response, a lie he was telling himself, desperate for it to come true.

“No, you’re not,” you responded. “You used to have this fire, this… drive.” You paused, struggling to find the right words, your frustration bubbling up. But it’s not directed at him. “And now, you’re a shell of yourself and I blame her. She’s breaking you. Please…swallow your pride and leave her!”

His gaze hardened, but it was more out of guilt than anger. “I...I can't...I love her. And she loves me,” he muttered, another weak excuse, fooling nobody. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. The sad truth of it was suffocating. “Sabine doesn’t love you, Roman. If she did, she wouldn’t be doing this to you. She wouldn’t treat you like you’re nothing. She wouldn’t tear you apart piece by piece and make you feel like you’re unworthy of love.”

Roman finally met your eyes, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he used to be. But just as quickly, it vanished.

You wanted that man back. Badly.

“Come here,” you whispered.  

Roman hesitated, but you patted the seat beside you. When he finally shifted closer, his walls crumbled. He collapsed into you, his broad shoulders trembling as you wrapped your arms around him. His big frame somehow felt small and fragile as he curled up against you, like a wounded puppy seeking solace. 

“I’m not weak,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice breaking.

“You’re not weak,” you repeated softly, stroking the top of his head. “But baby, you are hurting. You're unhappy. I hate seeing you like this.”

Roman exhaled shakily, like the weight of the world was pressing on his back. “I don’t know how to get out of it. I feel trapped with her, yet at the same time I feel like I can't breathe without her,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know what to do and I'm so fucking tired.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmured, kissing his temple, squeezing your eyes shut as your tears and his flowed together. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

As you comforted him and cried with him, your mind raced, quietly strategizing, plotting. It was crystal clear that Sabine wasn’t going to stop until Roman was utterly destroyed. You would die before you let that happen.

It was time you took matters into your own hands.

------------------------

When you returned to the States, you made your move. Roman might have begged you to stay out of it, but you couldn’t stand by and watch him suffer. Sabine needed to be dealt with.

Damn the consequences. He would thank you for it later. 

You stood outside Sabine’s apartment, the same one Roman was paying for, the edifice as gaudy and ostentatious as she was. Your blood boiled as you raised your hand to knock. But the door was slightly ajar, and inside, you heard sounds that made your stomach churn.  

That trifling bitch.

The place reeked of perfume and deceit, at least those were your thoughts as you burst through the door unannounced. The scene before you confirmed everything. Sabine, tangled in white rumpled sheets, on top of another man—a married man, judging from the mark of his wedding ring still visible on the fingers gripping her gyrating hips.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered, pulling out your phone. You snapped pictures, the flash startling the couple.  

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sabine screeched, scrambling to cover herself.  

“Exposing your sorry ass,” you replied coldly, turning your attention to the man with a death glare. “And you. Go back to your wife, with your thirsty ass.”  

The man froze, unsure of what to do, while Sabine lunged at you, her expression a mix of fury and panic. “Get out! Get the fuck out, you crazy bitch!”

But you were ready. “You damn right I’m crazy!” Blocking her first swing, you shoved her back, rushing forwards and tackling her with a spear that Roman would have been proud of. You both went flying over the bed but you were on her like white on rice.

The fight was brutal, a messy flurry of punches, slaps, and screams. But you had rage on your side, and Sabine was no match for it.

“You think you tough, huh?” you growled, pinning her down and raining blow after blow on her exposed ribcage. “You wanna put hands on a man cuz you know he won’t hit you back? Try that shit with me, bum ass ho!”

Sabine clawed at you, but you dodged her attacks effortlessly. You landed a solid punch to her jaw, sending her head snapping back and crumpling to the ground.

“Get up,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you dragged her by her hair across the linoleum floor. “Get your ass up!”

Her partner stood frozen in the corner, too much of a coward to intervene. Smart. He didn’t want this smoke. You delivered a swift kick to Sabine’s side followed by another punch, your anger boiling over. Each blow was cathartic, a release of every ounce of pain you’d witnessed Roman endure.

The cuts. The bruises. The tears.

For him, you held nothing back.

“That man loves you!” you spat, crouching down beside her as she lay against the wall in a pathetic heap. “Only God knows why but he does. He worships the ground you walk on, and this is how you treat him? You don’t deserve him!”

Sabine whimpered, blood trickling from her lip, her face streaked with tears. “I’m gonna call the cops,” she spluttered.

You laughed darkly. “Go ahead. I dare you,” you hissed, holding your phone in front of her face. “I have pictures of everything you did to him. Every mark, every bruise…all documented. I’ll make sure everyone knows what a lying, cheating, abusive bitch you are. Matter of fact…” You tapped a button and smirked. “The pictures I just took of you and ole boy here? I just sent them to Roman. Maybe now he’ll finally dump your ass.”

Sabine sneered. “You're so desperate. Always have been for that man. No one will believe you or him. Big bad Roman Reigns getting beat up by little bitty me? He’ll be a laughing stock!” 

“See, now that’s where you’re wrong. I dug up the footage of the restaurant where you had your double date with Jimmy and Naomi. You punched his injured ribs in the parking lot. You slapped Roman in front of the restroom three times. You thought there were no cameras there, didn’t you?”

Sabine’s eyes widened in horror. With her last strength, she swung wildly at you, trying to grab your phone. “Okay stop…Don’t, okay? Please don’t! You’ll ruin everything.” The bitch was begging now, pissing you off even more.

“Fuck you!” You slapped her. “Now listen to me carefully,” you said, your voice icy. “You’re going to call off the engagement. You’re gonna disappear and never contact Roman again, or I’ll post everything online. Everything. If you so much as look in his direction, what I’ll do to you will make you wish I killed you tonight. Do you understand me?”

Sabine nodded, trembling from pain and fear.

“Good.” Straightening up, your smirk was cold and triumphant. “Rot in hell, you dirty whore.” Spitting at her feet, you turned on your heel and walked out.

------------------------

Roman’s voice was tense when he called you.

“What did you do?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” you replied, unapologetic. “That bitch was not only hitting you, she was cheating on you. She deserved worse.”

“Baby, I told you to stay out of it,” he said, but there was no anger in his tone—just exhaustion.

“And I told you I couldn’t. I care too much about you. I wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing any longer.”

There was silence on the other end before Roman sighed. “Where are you?”

“On my way to yours. Are you home?” you asked him.

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming over. I wanna see you.” 

When you arrived at his house, he was waiting for you on the porch. Jumping to his feet, he hugged you tightly, then his eyes lingered on your bruised knuckles. “Your hands…”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Roman’s expression softened, but his eyes were heavy with guilt. “You could get in trouble for this.”

“You’re the goddamn Tribal Chief. I know you can make that shit go away,” you said with a small smirk. “But even if I do catch a case, I won’t care. It was worth it.”

Despite everything, Roman chuckled softly. He looked at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Babe…”

“I’m serious. I’d do it again,” you declared, your voice trembling with all the sincerity you could muster. “I fight for the people I love. That’s just who I am.”

Roman’s gaze searched yours, raw and vulnerable. “Why would you do all this for me?”

Your heart melted as you cupped his face. It was time to come clean. “Because I love you,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m in love with you. And you deserve to have the kind of love I feel for you.”

Roman’s eyes widened, softened, and for a moment, the world stood still. Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and kissed him. To your surprise and delight, he kissed you back, the tension melting from his body. It was a kiss of desperation, relief, and unspoken longing.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. Emotion flickered in his eyes, relief mixing with hesitation. “I’ve always had feelings for you,” he confessed. “I never acted on it but Sabine kept accusing me of cheating on her with you. She said you only wanted me for my money and the clout. Her exact words.” He frowned. “She said you'd never love me like she did. And I believed her.”

Your heart ached for him. “She lied to keep you under her thumb,” you said gently, taking his hands in yours. “And I would never do that to you, Ro. You mean a whole lot more than that to me.”

He sighed. “I know. I’ve always known. And I love you too, but…I need time. She…she fucked me up. I need to figure out who I am without her.”

Resting your palm tenderly on his cheek., you whispered fiercely, “I know exactly who you are. You’re Roman fucking Reigns. The Head of the Table. The billion-dollar face of WWE. And most importantly, you’re the kindest, most humble, selfless man I’ve ever known. Don’t let her take that from you.”

Smiling his first genuine smile in weeks, Roman kissed your lips again, his relief palpable. “Thank you,” he breathed, “For everything.”

“You don’t ever need to thank me. I’ll do anything for you. And I’ll wait for you for as long as you need,” you promised.

He smiled softly—a happier, hopeful smile. “Thank you. Although…I believe it’ll be sooner than you think.”

Your heart soared. “Good.”

It wasn’t a fairy-tale ending, but it was a start. And that was enough.

------------------------

Roman sits on the black leather chair, his hands clasped tightly, his leg bouncing nervously as the camera crew makes last-minute adjustments to the lighting. The room is quiet except for the low hum of equipment, but the weight of what he’s about to do makes the silence feel deafening. He stares at the floor, his usually confident presence replaced by hesitation and vulnerability.

You stand just off-camera, watching him closely. Despite the months that have passed since Sabine’s abuse came to light, the remnants of her cruelty linger—not just in the faint bruise still visible near his eye but in the way his shoulders tense and his jaw tightens. 

He’s terrified.

“Fuck...I don’t know if I can do this,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You step forward, crouching beside him so you’re at eye level. “Yes, you can,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “You’re not just Roman Reigns, the Tribal Chief. You’re Roman Reigns, the human being, the survivor. And someone out there needs to hear what you have to say. You’re going to save lives today.”

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see his doubt waver. You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his cheek. “Baby, it’s okay. I’ll be right over there.” You point at the spot where you’ve been standing. “You can look at me if you need to.”

Roman takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before nodding. When he opens them, a flicker of his familiar determination shines through. He shifts in his seat, straightens his back, and looks directly into the camera as the red light flicks on.

“My name is Roman Reigns,” he begins. His deep voice reverberates around the room, steady but carrying an unmistakable weight. “You know me as a WWE Superstar, a champion, the Head of the Table. But today, I’m here as something else—a survivor of domestic violence.”

He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “For a long time, I stayed silent. I thought admitting the truth would make me look weak. I thought people wouldn’t believe me, that they’d say, ‘He’s a strong man, a wrestler. How could someone like him be abused?’ But abuse doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care how big you are, how strong you look, or what kind of life you live. It can happen to anybody.”

His voice cracks slightly as he adds, “Abuse isn’t just about fists. It’s the words that cut deeper than any punch. It’s the control, the manipulation, the fear that keeps you silent. I told myself it would get better. That I could fix it. That my love would be strong enough for her to change. But the truth is, no one changes unless they want to. No one deserves to live in fear—no one. And love should never, ever hurt you or make you feel bad or guilty…or worthless.”

Roman glances down for a moment, composing himself, before looking back at the camera. “To anyone out there who feels trapped, ashamed, or afraid: You are not weak. You are not alone. There is help, and there is hope. You have the strength to break free, and you deserve to be loved and respected.”

Pausing, he casts a nervous glance in your direction. You smile at him, mouthing the words, “I love you.” That seems to bolster him, as his voice has gained a new strength when he continues. 

“I’ve learned that even the strongest among us need help sometimes. Asking for it doesn’t make you less of a man, less of a person. It makes you…human. I needed help, and I got it, and I’m grateful.”

Roman exhales deeply, his gaze unwavering. “Today, I’m standing here not just for myself but for every survivor who’s been told their pain doesn’t matter. It matters. You matter. And if my story can help even one person find the courage to speak up...to break free and walk away...then it’s worth it.”

He nods slightly, his voice softer now but just as resolute. “You are not weak. You are not alone. And you are worth fighting for.”

THE END

------------------------

I hope this wasn't too heavy. I know you guys aren't used to this from me. How did I do?

Protect good men.

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[anon-sect]

Picture source: anonymous

Terry had been working long hours for months for Klingon Inc. He was given a lot of the big projects and managed to complete them in time and sometimes early. He had a reputation of getting the job done right and in a timely manner. That reputation also landed him the big projects and long hours.

Terry had paid for working so late. He had missed a lot of events in his kid's life and even lost his wife. She had divorced him about three months ago and took his son with her. He had visits with him on the weekend, but it was estranged with his son when he did visit. He promised him he would take less long term projects so that he could spend more time with his teenage son. Yet, so far, that hasn't happened yet. No matter how much he tried to turn them down, he was forced to take it by his manager on the floor. He didn't refuse because he didn't want to lose his job next.

Terry had just finished up the last big project on his desk. He decided that he would take no more. He wanted to be in his kid's life despite the divorce. He went to his floor manager's office to turn it in and leave for the night. He knocked on his door. He heard Clark tell him to enter.

Terry placed it on his desk. "All done. If it's okay with you, I want to take a nice week vacation to be a better dad." He requested, but from the look on Clark's face he could sense he was about to be denied.

"Unfortunately, I have another big one that needs your attention. It has been weeks behind schedule. With your reputation, you can get it done much quicker." Clark spoke as he shoved the papers across his desk.

Terry didn't want another one, especially one behind schedule. "I will pass it on to another coworker. I need a break." He answered back, fully refusing another big project.

Clark wasn't going to take no for an answer. "It's yours to finish, so no weeks vacation, and I need you to start on it tonight." He reiterated that it was his project.

Terry had enough of being bullied into the big ones. "No, I am heading home, and I will make time for my kid. You may not have a child or married, but I once was." He stood defiantly before the floor manager.

Clark looked at Terry silently for a moment. "Refusal to accept projects from your floor manager bears consequences that are worse than being fired. Are you sure you want to say no?" He slightly threatened him.

Terry wasn't budging on his decision. He stood defiant and silent, waiting to see what Clark would say or do.

Clark saw Terry's silence and inaction as the opposite of the answer he wanted from him. "Very well. I think I will give you that vacation from doing projects for some time. It will be at least a couple of weeks that you won't have to work about work." He spoke as he pulled out a cell phone looking device that had an enlarged camera lense on the back. He put in the setting and hit the flash option. Terry disappeared. He closed the cell phone looking device and put it back in his desk drawer.

Terry felt strange. He couldn't move or speak. He felt hollow on the inside. He felt vibration on the floor as though something big was coming towards him. He then heard a little laughter from above him. He felt hands lift him up off the floor.

Clark placed his new gray socks on top of his desk. "You see, I have authority to deem whatever punishment necessary for refusal of projects. Your punishment is to be my socks for the next two weeks to use as I please. So you at least get your two weeks vacation, just not exactly as you would have planned it." He laughed as he continued in his day, thinking about what all he would do with his new socks for the two weeks.

FIVE WEEKS LATER........

Clark relaxed on the couch on a Saturday evening. He wiggled his toes in his favorite gray socks. He had worn them on every workout and gym session. He sometimes had worn them to work. His favorite thing was that he would jack off in them nearly four times a week just for the fun of it. No matter what he put the socks through, they still remained strong.

After two weeks of wearing them, he didn't want to just simply give up a good pair of socks. So, he decided to keep them much longer to serve his feet. He wondered how really durable they were since they survived a full two weeks on his feet and in the most foul stench he could wear them in. He didn't know if the poor guy's mind was still intact or just mush by now. Honestly, it really didn't matter to him by this point. The guy was socks now. He himself was not married and had no children. He couldn't imagine the degradation and humiliation that the poor guy probably felt being nothing but socks on his feet while he lived the single life of no kids or family responsibility.

Terry was barely holding on to his wits after five weeks. Clark had tortured him to no end. Being walked on was painful enough, but to be trapped in the most foul stench of shoes just about every day was so humiliating. The gym sessions were the worse, because he was forced to absorbed all of his foot sweat in smelly gum shoes.

Terry was forced to also absorbed his cum almost every night of the week. Being fucked by his former floor manager's cock to his entertainment and delight was so degraded of one who had a kid and wife. He would only wash him once a week, only to go through being stinky for another whole week. There were times that Clark wore him to work. He could hear his friends there but had no means to call out for help. He would be trapped on Clark's feet inside whatever pair of shoes he chose to wear. Each of them reeked with foot odor regardless.

Terry accepted that this was his life and that Clark wasn't going to change him back as initially promised. He was Clark's property totally against his will, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Goodbye, Peter

Pairing: Tom!Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: major fluff

Summary: Football season is upon your college, and everyone gets into the spirit. The football players like to go from dorm room to dorm room getting people excited for the games. Everything changes when Peter knocks on your door.

Square Filled: natasha romanoff for @spider-man-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Your older sister pulls the car next to your dorm building with a sigh. It’s the first day of your sophomore year of college. Since you got to keep the same dorm as last year, all of your things are still inside your room. This time, you only have a few boxes that Natasha helps you with. You walk with her to her car and grab the last few pillows. She looks like she is going to cry, and you have to hold back your eye roll.

At the same time last year, Natasha behaved the exact same way.

“Would you stop? I’ll be fine.”

“College is a big deal. I wish I went.”

“You still can, you know. Age is just a number when it comes to college.”

“It’s too late for me,” she chuckles. “Listen, I’m a phone call away, okay? I’ll steal one of Tony’s suits if I have to. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“I know,” you smile. “Now go save the world and let me try and save my education.”

“Okay.” She pulls you in for a hug. “Be good and don’t do drugs.”

“I won’t,” you laugh. Natasha gets back into the car and drives off soon after. You walk back into your dorm to see your new roommate already on her bed. She wasn’t there when you moved your stuff in. “Oh, hi. My name is Y/N.”

“Sarah. Let me see your school schedule.” You pass it to her. “Ooh! We have two classes together! Awesome!” Her face falls “Oh, you have Mr. Rogers for English 101. Good luck with him. I had him last year so I’ll give you a few tips on how to pass his class.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

In spite of her persistence, you two hit it off. Classes are easy enough (thanks to Sarah’s tips for Mr. Rogers), and the students put the spirit in school spirit. A few weeks after the first day, football season takes off. This school is known for going all out for their teams, and football is no exception. Besides the classrooms, every room has at least some form of football merch to support the team for their away games.

Cheerleaders scour the campus in droves to cheer for their team and spread awareness for the games coming up. They’ve posted the schedules in every dorm and on every student’s dorm door. One of the things that the football players love to do to get people excited for the games is to go around to every dorm, girls and boys combined, knock on their doors, throw a football right when the person opens the door, catch it before the ball can hit them, say something cheesy about the games, and moves onto the next.

They did it last year but you were back home with Natasha so you weren't able to participate in it.

Peter wasn’t sure about the whole college thing since he had to take his GED in order to get in. He would have graduated had Dr. Strange not made everyone on Earth forget Peter Parker existed. He wanted to go back to his friends but they were put in danger because of him, and he couldn’t put them through that again. It was time for him to move on, and college seemed like the perfect place to do so.

He can start fresh and be anyone he wants. He can do anything he wants. Before, he wasn’t able to play sports because then people would know he was Spiderman, but now that’s not a problem. He came into college with those abilities so no one was wiser about it. He joined the football team as soon as he could and has been on the team since freshman year.

Peter and his teammates move on to the next room after pranking the last girl. He knocks on the door and uses his spidey senses to know when someone comes to the door. He nods to his friend who throws the football just as the door opens. The girl flinches back but Peter catches the ball with a huge smile on his face.

“Don’t forget to cheer for us at this week’s upcoming game! I promise, no balls will be thrown at your face.”

The girl laughs and looks at her roommate who is filming it all. Peter and his team do this for the next few doors, earning smiles and laughs. He gets to the last one at the end of the hallway and knocks on it. Peter nods to his friend to throw the ball, which he does. The door opens and Peter catches the ball before it can hit you. He has a cheesy saying on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks into your eyes, it’s like everything goes blank inside his mind.

Your eyes are so… mesmerizing. Your lips are perfectly pink. You have a sort of innocent look to you, and Peter can’t look away from you. You stand there with a slight blush and a shy smile on your face.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask.

Peter stumbles over his words as he tries to think of a response.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Dude, what are you doing?” one of his teammates asks.

You quietly chuckle and close the door behind you but not before glancing at Peter once more. Peter shakes his head and leaves with his team but only gets as far as the stairs. He quickly turns, jogs back to your dorm, and knocks on the door. You open it seconds later with another shy smile on your face.

“My name is Peter.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“Goodbye, Peter,” you grin and close the door on him.

Peter can’t get you out of his mind from then out. He even has trouble sleeping because all he can think about is the bright color of your eyes and the way your hair flows down your shoulder blades. He didn't think he’d ever feel this way about someone after MJ yet here he is, thinking of you like how he thought about her.

The next day, Peter heads to your dorm before his class. This time, he doesn’t have his friends with him. He knocks on the door before he can talk himself out of it, and you open it seconds later.

“What are you doing here? This is the girls’ dorm.”

“I know, but I can’t get you out of my head as cliche as that sounds. I have to know your name.”

You smile. “My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Peter breaks out in a cheesy grin and just stares at you. You blush under his gaze and start to close the door. “Goodbye, Peter.”

Like Peter is going to stay away from you. The next day rolls around, and you look at your watch for the fifth time.

“What are you waiting for? You don’t have class today,” Sarah says from her bed.

“No, I don’t.” You smile. “It’s almost three.”

“What’s at three?”

Right at three, someone knocks on the door. You smirk at Sarah and walk to the door before opening it. Standing there is Peter. 

“Hi, Peter.”

“I want, no… I need to ask you out on a date. Will you agree to going out with me? On a date.”

“No,” you chuckle.

Peter’s expression changes but it doesn’t fall in disappointment. “Why not?”

“You know, some girls might think it’s stalking with the way you keep showing up here uninvited.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay.” Peter turns to leave but doesn’t. “Ask me not to come back tomorrow, and I won’t come back and I won’t ask you on a date.”

You can’t do that. You find him charming and cute. There’s something about him that’s pulling you to him, but the last thing you’re going to do is make it easy for him.

“Goodbye, Peter.” You close the door on him and turn to Sarah who has a wide smile on her face. “What are you smiling about?”

“It’s like a Wattpad story come to life. You should have said yes.”

“He’ll be back tomorrow.”

And tomorrow he came. He came the day after that, and the day after that, and the following week after that. He comes at the same time every single day regardless of what he has going on in his life to ask you on a date which you always tell him no. It’s a game you two love playing. You’ll say eventually. You just want to see how hard he’ll work for it.

The first weekend that Peter’s team has an away game comes, and you’re upset you couldn’t go because of exams. You have two this next week so you’re taking this weekend to study for both of them. Sarah is over at her boyfriend’s dorm so you have the place to yourselves. You look at the time and groan from how late it is. 

Someone knocks on the door, and you look at it in confusion. Who could be here at eleven at night? You grab your cardigan and wrap it around yourself before going over to the door. One look through the peephole has you confused.

‘“Peter?” you say as you open the door. “What are you doing here?” Peter pants and holds onto the wall to catch his breath. “You just had a game. You’re supposed to be at ASU.”

“I had to see you,” he says. “We’ve been away all week and I hated not being able to see you.”

“Peter, it’s nearly midnight.”

He rests his arm on your doorframe and leans in. “Tell me not to come back tomorrow and ask you on a date.”

You have to hide your smile when you say this. “Don’t come back, Peter.”

This time, his face falls. “What?”

“I won’t be here.”

He tries not to look disappointed. “Oh, okay,” he nods.

“Yeah, I have this date with this guy who is charming and cute and looks like he ran hundreds of miles just to ask me on a date.”

Suddenly, Peter’s frown turns upside down. “Wait, you’re talking about me?”

“You’re so cute. Yes, I’m talking about you.”

“You’ll go on a date with me?”

“Yes,” you giggle.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He leans in closer to you. “Tell me not to kiss you right now.”

“Goodbye, Peter,” you grin.

You’re about to close the door on his face when he pushes it back open. He grabs you, pulls you into him, and kisses you.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[theladyofshalott1989]

"Girls' Night Out" (An HCU One-Shot)

Summary: Matty has organized a Girls' Night Out, and, as an honorary "girlie," Damien, of course, received an invitation. When Sebastian finds out he's been left off the guest list ("NO SEBASTIANS ALLOWED!"), Damien and Sebastian devise a clever plan to sneak him in. Because, well, that's just what they do.

Word Count: 1,521

Matty had invited all the seventh-year girls to what she called a "Girls’ Night Out," scheduled for a month and a few days from now. With everyone deep in their studies for their impending NEWTs, Damien figured Matty thought it would be the perfect way to offer them a much-needed break. Matty was usually right. Damien was included in the invite, of course, because he was an honorary “girlie,” at least according to Matty’s invitation, which was immaculate and beautifully designed—typical of her, really. Damien had always considered Matty practically perfect in every way. Alvin must have thought so too—or at least Damien hoped—considering the two had been inseparable for the past few months. He made a mental note to check in with Alvin, maybe even nudge him to do something romantic for her every now and then, just to be sure. Damien always looked out for his girl friends. 

“What’s this?” Sebastian plucked the invitation from Damien’s outstretched hand. 

“That’s mine!” Damien lunged forward to grab the parchment back but Sebastian darted to the side, laughing. He sprinted to the far end of the Undercroft, Damien on his tail, holding the paper out of reach as his eyes quickly scanned its contents.

“No Sebastians allowed,” he muttered under his breath. “No Sebastians allowed?” The second time was much louder. Damien even had to clap his hands over his ears.

“What did you expect, Bash? You’re not a girl!”

“Neither are you, unless you’ve somehow managed to hide that from me for the past two years.” He raised an unruly eyebrow. “Not that I would mind…” he added, trailing off, likely lost in thought, imagining just what that might entail. 

Damien, who had stomped back to Sebastian’s side, snatched the parchment from Sebastian’s hands with a flourish. He huffed prettily, batting his eyelashes. “You wish.”

Sebastian blinked, visibly thrown, and swallowed like he was trying to regain his composure. 

A triumphant chuckle slipped from Damien’s lips. He loved these moments—when he could rattle Sebastian just enough to steal an unguarded reaction.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “So, how are you going to disguise me so I can join in on the festivities?” How, indeed. 

“Is anyone hungry?” Tori asked, pulling an entire pastry out of her robe pocket. 

"Always!" Damien said. He swiped the offered pastry from her hand and promptly stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. "Thanks, Tori," he mumbled through a mouthful, grinning cheekily as he chewed.

Natty, standing beside him, didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his lack of manners. Damien gave Natty a side-long glance, narrowing his eyes. 

She quickly corrected herself. “Damien! Manners!” Hopefully her delayed reaction wasn’t too suspicious. 

Because Natty, obviously, wasn’t herself. Because Natty was Sebastian. 

Luckily, Sebastian and Damien had just enough time to brew a Polyjuice Potion before the big event. Getting a hair from Natty had been easy enough, since Damien shared half his classes with her, and—naturally—Damien and Natty were best friends. Unfortunately, Damien wasn’t the sneakiest of lads, and she’d caught on to his plan almost immediately. After a hurried explanation and a bit of his trademark persuasion, Natty gave him permission since she couldn’t attend Girls' Night Out herself. Provided, of course, that Damien promised to fill her in on every detail later. He readily agreed.

“I miss Alvin,” Matty said next, startling Damien out of his rumination. 

“You literally just said goodbye to him,” Cassie said, scowling. “Anyway, you were the one that made this a girls-only event.” 

Matty sighed. “I know, I know. Don’t you miss Alex?” Cassie shrugged. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Right, Damien?” She winked.

“Right,” Damien agreed, not looking her in the eye. Natty-Sebastian clapped a hand to her mouth, failing to stifle a laugh.

Cassie, thankfully, didn’t pay Natty’s slip up any mind. “Anyway,” she continued, “Alex and I had an argument this morning and I needed a break from him.” "Oh no, Cassie!" Jo chimed in, grabbing Cassie’s arm and linking it with her own. "I’m sure everything will be fine. What did you argue about?"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "He won’t stop haggling when we shop together. He insists on trying to negotiate everything!"

Jo snorted. 

“How industrious of him,” Natty-Sebastian piped in from beside Damien. “I’d consider that a good thing, wouldn’t you, Damien?” 

Damien mumbled something non-committal, trying to steer Sebastian away from drawing attention to himself, then quickly changed the subject. "So! Val!” He clapped his hands together. “How are you and Cal doing? Still completely head over heels for each other?"

Val, leading the pack, her round glasses catching the soft glow of the purple-pink sunset ahead, swiveled around. “Yes, of course!” she squeaked. 

Well, that was certainly suspicious. Damien sighed. “Is everyone fighting with their significant other?” 

“Not me!” Matty said from behind him. Damien should have amended his question. Matty and Alvin never argued. 

“And you’re not fighting with Sebastian,” Natty-Sebastian said. “At least not that I’m aware of,” she added, smirking. Natty never smirked. Everyone stopped walking to stare. Tori’s jaw dropped. 

“Natty,” Ellie and Alyn said in unison, “Are you alright?” They didn’t wait for her to respond, exchanging a surprised glance when they realized they’d asked the same question at the exact same moment.

Natty-Sebastian schooled her expression. “Oh, erm, yes. I’m just excited to be here with you all. It’s usually just me and Damien. Or, erm, me, off on my own exploring.”

“We’re so happy to have you here!” Jo exclaimed, an exuberant smile gracing her beautiful face. She released her arm from Cassie, and embraced Natty-Sebastian. Natty-Sebastian tensed. Ellie, ever observant, noticed. “Why so tense, Natty?” she asked, raising a perfectly contoured eyebrow.

“Erm, uh,” Natty-Sebastian glanced at Damien, floundering, “no reason?”

Damien brought a hand to his forehead. “That’s on me, everyone,” he said, scrambling to come up with an excuse. “Natty and I were playing Summoner’s Court all day because Professor Ronen challenged me to a match next week. I needed practice. She’s just sore. That’s all.”

All the girls nodded.

“How kind of you, Natty,” Alyn said, patting Natty-Sebastian on the shoulder gently. 

Everyone resumed walking and broke back out into scattered conversation. 

Phew, that was a close call. Damien was grateful he could see the Three Broomsticks slightly ahead. Once they all had some Butterbeer in them, he hoped that it would be easier to keep Sebastian’s presence under wraps. 

Boy, oh boy, was Damien mistaken. 

It turned out the boys had decided to drown their uninvited woes at Sirona’s fine establishment. So, what Matty had originally intended to be a girls-only night quickly turned into a gathering for everyone after all.

“Another!” Jaimsen shouted, slamming his empty glass on the counter.

“Another!” Natty-Sebastian echoed, mimicking his motion—but more clumsily. In her enthusiasm, Natty-Sebastian sent her glass tumbling to the floor. A loud crash followed. 

Sirona shouted, “Watch it!” from across the counter as she served another customer. Natty-Sebastian dropped down, picking her glass back up with a sheepish look on her face. She was very obviously drunk. 

Damien groaned and dropped his head into his hands. 

Alyn, who was sitting to his left, laughed. “Are you sure Natty’s alright?”

Ellie tugged at a stray strand of hair as she nodded. “She’s sure acting more…uninhibited than usual.”

“Perhaps she’s been working herself too hard,” Damien tried. “We’re all studying tirelessly, after all.”

“Not me!” Cal interrupted, raking a hand through his hair with his usual cavalier charm, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Not you,” Ale agreed from further down the counter. “Obviously not you,” he spat out, then took another chug of Butterbeer. 

“Whoa, what’s with the attitude?” Natty-Sebastian said, alighting at Damien’s side, holding yet another full glass of Butterbeer. “How many have you had?” Damien said, holding back a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s for me to know and you to…uh…not know,” Natty-Sebastian replied. 

The group had gone totally silent. You could hear a pin drop.

“Something’s not right,” Theo said from beside Tori. Tori abruptly stopped sorting a pile of sweets she had on the counter in front of her. 

“I agree,” she added. “Natty, were you experimenting with any new potions today? One time Poppy accidentally inhaled a drop of Amortentia in class and acted besotted with me all day.”

Florence, who had kept to himself most of the night thus far, laughed. “Poppy’s always besotted with you, Tori. What’s new?” 

Jaimsen gave Florence a high-five, then pecked him—rather adorably—on the cheek. “Oh, are we kissing now?” Natty-Sebastian suddenly said. Then, before Damien could get a word in edgewise, launched herself forward and planted a big, wet kiss on Damien’s lips. 

Damien recoiled, shouting out and tumbling backward off of his stool.

The entire group erupted in shouts of shock and disbelief. Jo, wide-eyed, even yelled, “Merlin’s arse!” which was extremely uncharacteristic of her.

“Oops,” Natty-Sebastian muttered under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. Damien glared up at her from the floor.

“Sebastian Sallow!” Damien growled, giving up the act entirely.

“I knew it!” Matty exclaimed, her grin wide and knowing.

Of course she did.

MCs Mentioned:

Damien (and his Sebastian, aka "Bash") are mine 🤭 

Matty, Theo, and Cal @girl-named-matty

Tori @espressoristretto-patronum

Cassie, Alvin and Alex @acslytherpuff

Jo @ravenwind-75

Val and Ale @savingsallow

Ellie @accio-bagel

Alyn @ps-cactus

Jaimsen and Florence @leaping-toadstool-caps

Thank you to everyone for allowing me to borrow their MCs. This was a blast to write! :)

[actualalligator]

Just share some Roo stuff. The world needs it. Please.

I know it's been months since you sent this, anon, and I'm sorry. I had to take a break, but I'm here now and want to share some Thanksgiving Fluff.

Eddie wakes up first. He never wakes up first. He basks in it, just getting to enjoy the warmth of sleep still trapped in the blankets and to be cozy without needing to do anything. It's nice. Their days off are always so busy these days, but today isn't.

Today is Thanksgiving. Because the flu has been tearing through the 118, they've only been running two shifts. Twelve on, twelve off. They haven't had a day off in eleven days, but that changes today, and they're going back to their usual schedule. A-shift drew the lucky straw and got it off.

Pepa was in charge of dinner and wouldn't let Buck help. She was very firm that they'd been working too hard and deserved the morning off. Buck was allowed to make two pies. He'd prepped the dough at the firehouse and put the pies together to bake as soon as they got home.

So there's nothing to do. Chris is at a sleepover with his cousins. They had nothing until dinner, which was at three, but they'd been forbidden from arriving before two.

Eddie turns his head to look at Buck. He looks so soft and peaceful in his sleep. He reaches out and carefully cupshis cheek, just gently stroking across it with his thumb. "Roo Baby," he says softly.

Buck lets out a soft sigh and nuzzles into Eddie's hand, but doesn't open his eyes. Eddie smiles.

"Baby boy, wake up," he murmurs.

First, a nose wrinkle, then one eye opens.

"Good morning," Eddie says.

"Morning, Daddy," Buck mumbles. He squirms closer to Eddie, wrapping his arm around his middle and hiding his face against his throat.

"You want to move to the couch? I'll make hot cocoa," Eddie offers. He slides his hand up the back of Buck's shirt and rubs his back. He presses a kiss over the top of the messy curls.

"Marshmallows?" Buck asks.

"Of course. As many as you'd like. We have minis."

Buck hums at first, considering it but then starts to pull back. "Fifteen."

"Deal. I'll go start it. You make a couch nest," Eddie said.

Buck's face split into a grin and he scrambles off the bed.

Eddie uses the bathroom before heading into the kitchen.

He makes his hot cocoa the way his abuela always made it for him, starting with milk on the stove. She would always keep a big bar of chocolate to chop up and add, but, thanks to Buck, Eddie always has a supply of chocolate chips in the cupboard. He adds those, a little bit of salt, and a couple of pinches of cinnamon and slowly whisks as everything comes together. He then transfers it into mugs, adds exactly fifteen marshmallows to each, and deposits the now empty pan into the sink.

Buck has truly transformed the couch into the perfect little nest with him in the heart of it wearing his oodie, and with Emily the cow tucked right there with him. The warmth of happiness spreads through him. He sets the mugs down on the side table and settles in with Buck, jostling him as little as possible before he reaches for the mugs and hands Buck's to him.

"Thank you, Daddy," Buck says softly, taking a sip. His eyes close, and he lets out a soft little groan of happiness. "You make the very best hot cocoa."

Eddie leans in and kisses his temple. "Thank you, baby." He takes a couple sips of his own, then reaches for the remote.

Buck settles against him. "What are we going to watch, Daddy?"

"I thought we'd watch the parade," Eddie replies He turns it on and scrolls through the guide until he finds the right channel. It is almost 8:30. "That sound okay?"

"Uh-huh," Buck says, fishing a gooey marshmallow from his cocoa. He stuck both it and his sticky fingers right in his mouth. Eddie was pretty sure he could put infomercials on right now, and Buck wouldn't mind. It made him feel fond.

Eddie sipped his hot cocoa as the parade started. One of his earliest memories was watching the parade with his dad. He was little. Maybe four. It was the last Thanksgiving as an only child and he and his dad had been shooed out of the kitchen by his mom and Abuela who'd arrived early to help with dinner. He'd sat snuggled up with his dad in the recliner watching the balloons and all the dancers and marching bands all culminating in an appearance from Santa himself!

It had been magical. And even the next year when Sophia had been only three months old and going through it with colic, they'd still managed to watch the parade. It was somewhat of a tradition after that. Eddie shared the magic with Sophia and then, even though their dad wasn't around for every Thanksgiving when Adriana was born, he'd shared it with her too.

He'd missed out on Christopher's first few Christmases, but they'd watched more than a few parades together over the years. After about ten, Chris didn't have much interest in it anymore, and Eddie's work schedule made it harder to watch together, so the tradition had almost died.

When Buck finishes his cocoa, he sets the cup on the table and snuggles up even closer to Eddie. "Oh, Daddy! Look at the dinosaur!"

Eddie wraps his arm around Buck. "Isn't that so cool? The balloons are very big in person. I'd love to see them in person someday."

"Me too," Buck says.

Eddie presses a kiss to Buck's forehead. "I used to watch this with my dad."

"Yeah?" Buck tilts his head back to look at him. "And with Chris too?"

Eddie nods. He combs his fingers through Buck's curls, pulling them back from his forehead. "But he doesn't really care about the parade anymore. And the last few years, we've been working on Thanksgiving anyway." He presses a kiss to his nose. "I'm glad I can share it with you."

Buck grins up at him. "I wanna watch the parade forever and ever with you, Daddy. If we work, we'll watch it at the firehouse." He bumps Eddie with his nose and kisses his jaw.

"I love you," Eddie says.

Buck smiles and kisses him again. "Love you."

They watch. They talk on and off, pointing out floats and balloons they love, but about two hours in, Buck sits up. "Daddy! Marshall!"

Marshall from Paw Patrol makes his way across the screen.

"Did you hear that? He's long as TWO New York Fire Department engines! That's so big, Daddy! Just one engine is long, but two?" Buck rocks slightly with his happiness, clapping his hands. "That's so cool!"

"That is really, really cool, Roo. I didn't know there was a Paw Patrol balloon," Eddie murmurs.

Buck settles back down when Marshall leaves the screen, but he continues to talk on and off about how cool it was for the next while. That seems to be the highlight of the parade for him because no other balloon is "as cool as Marshall though, Daddy."

"Daddy," Buck asks. It's almost noon. The parade is almost over.

"Yeah, Roo?" Eddie replies.

Buck shifts so he can look up at him. "Did that lady just say Santa was coming?"

Eddie smiled and nodded. "Yeah! Santa always ends the parade."

Buck thinks over that for a second before he nods. "It's probably a good day for it cos tomorrow starts Christmas season, and I bet he is really busy."

And his expression is so serious that Eddie almost laughs. He doesn't. He kisses Buck's forehead and nods. "You're right. He's got a lot to do the next month."

Buck nods and settles again. There are a few more cool performances, the hosts continuing to hype of Santa until finally he comes, led in by a giant reindeer balloon.

"Tiptoe is not as cute as Rudolph," Buck whispers, but Eddie can see his eyes widen as Santa comes on the screen, smiling and waving. He doesn't move until Santa has gone, and the parade has ended.

Buck rolls over onto his back, resting his hea in Eddie's lap and looking up at him. "That was really cool, Daddy," he says. "Santa is gonna come to our mall soon, right?"

"He is. We will have to go see him," Eddie says, brushing his fingers through Buck's hair. "Do you know what you're going to ask for?"

Buck shakes his head. "Have to think more. And write my letter."

"We have time, sweetheart," Eddie promises.

It is time for them to start getting ready. They both need to shower. There are few last-minute things still to do, but Eddie wants just a few more minutes of this. He leans down and kisses Buck's forehead. Yeah, they can take just a few more minutes.

Tagging some friends:

@tizniz @goodmorninglovelies42 @chaoticcurious @theotherbuckley @pimento-playing-hopscotch @laneybishop89 @the-flaming-nightmare @anewkindofme

[lilsocksiswriting]

Academic Weapon Chapter Five

Summary:

You were like a lot of humans, born with just enough curse energy to see curses but not enough power to do anything. Your greed has helped you hold in the Jujustu Sorcery program. it is this same greed that tends to blind you to the danger you are in.

Sukuan sees you as a weak pretty thing that he can hold a conversation in his class. This is what he tells him to do he falls for you, his student because the curse refuses to believe this is love.

Oh, then there is the murder.

Characters: Reader, Ryomen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto,Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime,

Pairings: Sukuna X Fem!Reader

Tags: College AU, Professor X Student, Modern Fantasy AU, NSFW

warmings: no beta lol

Notes:

.... I am so sorry for not keeping my schedule. I did not think moving, working, and going to school would make me feel so drained. And the stress acne! But anyway, here it is. I do not want to keep you all waiting. No beta and if you would like you can visit my Ko-Fi where I'm going to start posting snippets of new chapters and ideas.

Chapter Four || Chapter six || Ko-fi || Masterlist

“I need a treat,” you decided as you and Mei-Mei step out of your curse weaponry class the same day as your most recent visits to Sukuna’s office hours. You and Mei-Mei are currently following a crowd of other students down the staircase of the Jujitsu Tech Building.

Mei-Mei nods, ”A celebration is in order. Most don’t make such a good grade in Sukuna’s classes right off the bat.”

You let Mei-Mei think that is why you want something sweet as you pull your phone from your back pocket.

 As the two of you make your way across the first floor to the doors of the building you suggest, “I’m thinking of the sweet shop off campus?”

“ Sounds perfect.”

The sweet shop a few blocks off campus remains open until the wee hours of the morning because of its proximity to bars and the university. As you and Mei-Mei Walk you send off your text to the group chat to see who else wants to go.

You let Mei-Mei think that the B on your first essay was why you need something sweet. You just had a day. A day in which you found out your professor, the King of Curses has the hots for you. Not only that but that knowledge turns you on. Like a lot.

 So, you plan to drown yourself in sweets until you get sick. Then you will be too preoccupied to think about what the King of Curses thinks of your body.

After a relatively quiet walk, the two of you eventually come to the crosswalk across from the sweet shop. You jam your thumb on the button and wait for the other sign on the other side of the street to turn green. From here you can see the unmistakable top of snowy white hair. Gojo had not yet reopposed in the group chat, but it is not unusual for the man to frequent the sweet shop. Something about sugar and the brain. What is unusual is the identical pure white head of hair beside him.

“Mei-Mei am I seeing two Gojos?”

The taller woman squints her eyes. Before she can get a good look at what you are seeing, a constant stream of cars and trucks blocks your view. By the time the crosswalk turns green the other Gojo is gone leaving your Gojo standing outside looking down at this phone with pinched brows.

“Hey!” you wave your arm high grabbing the man’s attention as you jog across the crosswalk.

 You look up and down the sidewalk but do not see the tall man’s doppelganger. There is just Gojo and the bright smile that is plastered across his face. His eyes though remain hidden under his rounded shades.

“ Hey y/n! heard you made a B in Sukuna’s class. Our little overachiever.” He ruffled your head like a proud dad. You pout and smooth your hair back down. You already have one of those and do not need another.

“Thanks, you were your twin?.”

“Oh, no one special, just some family,” he says trying to wave it off.

“Clan business?”

“Ugh,” he makes, “ please no more of the C or B word. I’ve heard enough of that for the day.”

“Oh, poor you,” Mei-Mei mocked.

You know how this will end but you ask anyway, “You  know you  vent to us Gojo.”

Gojo, a grown-ass man near six feet pouts like a child,” If you two are goanna tease me I won’t buy you any sweets.”

So just straight up ignored me that time, you grind your teeth.

“Oh?” Mei-Mei lulls her lead to one side with a sly smile. “Then consider the subject forgotten.”

You go along with it as well. You do like free things. You also know what will happen if you try and push Gojo. He will become even more distant and closed off. The more you push the higher his walls will be. You could never win with him.

 But you cannot help but pit your friend who is in the middle of ordering a large slice of cake. Family drama on top of a murder had to be rough. You make a note to text Geto about it. He is the closest the Gojo out of your group so in times when Gojo was acting like everything was fine or totally under control because he was the strongest it was Geto who could get him to let down the façade.

----

“You look sick, are you hungover?” was the first thing you the head librarian asked after you walked into work at the Curse Collections for your Tuesday morning shift.

“Worse, I ate like whole cake last night,” you answer gravely.

The elderly woman laughed, a glint of fangs being shown in the overhead light’s glow. She used to be a grade 2 sorcerers who used cursed energy to manipulate her body. She could grow fangs, claws, bone spurs,  and anything else she could use to tear a curse apart. The only evidence of her past profession can be seen in her sharp canines and pointed, bony fingers.

“Then you get to be on reshelving duty. I’ll have someone cover the front desk,” she says pointing one of her thin fingers at your chest.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reshelving is a task you are used to and do not really mind as it affords you the luxury of reading materials without going through the pesky process of filling out a form and then waiting for a student worker like yourself to pull it.

Plus, this gave you unsupervised and unlimited access to the restricted Noritoshi collection, two long shelves tucked away in a back corner of the library. Because the collection was once in possession of such an infamous sorcerer, many patrons did not like to be seen researching the maternal. Besides to even be granted access to the collection one would have to have the head Liberians permission. Orrrr,  one could just be a student worker and just happen to cross by while on her way to shelve books and happen to take a gander.

Professor Sukuna has briefly mentioned the name of an author who was one of the first sorcerers who studied incantation. After some digging around in the library's online database you managed to find the one book the university had of the author’s

After you clear a cart worth of books you take a small break and slip off to the Noritoshi collection. Your docs make a soft thud against the wooden floors as you take one step at a time. such an old floor creaks under your weight in certain spots as you move along the row. Right between 234.5  and 234.7 where the small booklet should be safely shelved there in an empty spot.

 Your stomach drops. Of the few patrons out in the open reading room, none of them had requested anything to be pulled from this collection and because this was a special branch of the university’s library system no one was allowed to check out a book from here. You feel cold but flushed. Panicked. You immediately think that this was your fault. That you got the numbers mixed up again.

you make your way back to the L-shaped front desk where another student worker is typing away at their laptop. When things were as slow as they were today you all could work on classwork or at least look like you are.

 “Make you all look busy,” the head librarian expiated back during your freshman year.

 “Umm, Hey.”

You are met with a board  star, “What?”

 “We’re missing a book from the Noritoshi Collecting,” you supply.

 “So?” they scrunch their button nose as if you just asked the most bothersome question.

  “So,” you are crossing your arms. “that’s not a good thing.

 “Then go ask the old lady, it’s probably just missed filed.”

God, I hate freshmen.

And that is exactly what you do because since you do a majority of the reshelving the thought that you were the one that misfiled the book gnaws at your gut makes the need to correct it grow.

The door to her office which was on the other side of the reading room was closed meaning that she was with someone at the moment so you had to wait.

You have worked yourself into such a knot that you nearly jump out of your skin when the office door finally opens. At first, you mistake the polite-looking person who steps out as a Gojo, but no Gojo would dare dye the snow-white hair with a splash of red or grow it out to a bob.

 “Oh,” they smile at you with a hint of spores in their voice, “So you Y/N.”

 “Um-“ you noticed the book help to the person's slick dress shirt and your mind short citrus with relief. So, you had not misfiled it. Thank God. “Y-yes. Did the head Liberian tell you?”

Said elderly woman walking bout behind them and scoffs, “You ain’t got no business in our meeting.”

“Sukuna has mentioned you,” they supply.

“Oh?” something warm makes your heart pump faster.

“What do you want?” the head librarian demands.

“Oh! I was just concerned that a book from the Noritoshi collection but I see that it was just pulled, sorry I should have checked the pulled forms from this-“

“I’m actually checking this out for Lord Sukuna.”

You have to put on your best helpful smile and pay very close to your tone when you ask, “I’m sorry, checking out?”

The stranger hums in confirmation, “Yes he has special permission to do so.”

He has what. When? Does he even use it? why now-oh that son of a bitch!

“Well now that you can see the damn thing is safe and sound get back to shelving,  the head Liberian order and you have to agree. But you swear you see the white and red-haired stranger pressing their lips together like they are trying to suppress a giggle.

---

When you finally get off you are still fuming. It was not even that Sukuan had checked out the book you wanted to look at for your next essay. It was more of an accumulation if things had been piling up way before the semester started. This was just the unassuming crack that broke the damn.

The walk from the Curse Collections to Sukuna’s office is a short one because of you fast you are walking. Your mind can barely keep up with you and your blood boiling.

You were just fed up with no one telling you anything, everything seeing you as weak, everyone having already made up their mind that you would either drop out or die before graduation, and people like Sukuna taking away your education.

You do not notice the few odd looks you get as you storm through the first floor of the library then up two flights of stairs and finally down the empty hallway where Sukuna’s office is.

Your mind still clouded by anger has not quite caught up to you as you barge into his office without knocking. You did not even check if he had office hours today.

“What the hell was that?”

Sukuan actually looks like you managed to catch him off guard. He knew his plan would work, but he did not expect you to be so red, sweaty, and out of breath as anger sparks in your eyes. He calms himself before you notice.

Taking his silence as more of an insult you go on, “You wanted me back in your office so bad you took that book, which could and probably will affect my grade on your essay? Are you expecting to hold that book if I make a lesser grade? What? Do you think I’m not cut out for the program? Do you think I’m too weak to know about work or curses? This is real low for some ‘King’.”

Sukuna’s face remains calm and impassive as he simply commends,” Calm. down.”

And that is all it takes for all that bite and bravado to just, poof.

Fuck. shit. I’m going to die. He’s gonna eat me.

Sukuna feels somewhat pleased. He takes a good look at your form standing in front of the closed office door. A trembling little thing in that long skirt and your maroon button-up blouse.

“Oh? What happened to all that bite ?” he teased. “You practically shaking with your tail tucked between your legs now lie a puppy.”

 “I’m just- people have just been –“ you bumble  to form  a complete sentence, “I didn’t know you could just check out books.”

Sukuan hums like the privilege was a boring subject, “It’s one for their little attempts to keep me in line.”

 “Oh,” is all you can come up with.

“Now,” he leans his formers against the top of the desk. The way his sleeves are rolled up escapes your notice as you watch him lick his lips.

Oh god, what if he actually wants to eat me?

 “I’ll excuse your huffiness, but I will not excuse this noting that I feel so threatened by you to stoop to such means. I merely wanted you to hear because you keep cowering away from your arousal.

You have nothing to say back because he is right. You feel shameful for lusting after your professor like this. For feeling so horny for a curse, the King of curses. So instead of opening your mouth and saying something stupid you take a seat across from Sukuna’s desk.

“I’m glad, “ you begin,” that you would never do that. They are people who already think I’m stepping with you to pass this class and hate it because it is undermining all the work I put in. “

Sukuna stay silent while you gather your thoughts.

“And, If the higher-ups found out I was sleeping with one of my professors that’s all the excuse they need to kick me out of the program. I’m sure there already not happy with  such a low grade like me in a program with limited  spots.”

Sukuna took some stock of that. These damn modern times made things so much more complicated, but mostly he points out, “So you do want me.”

Your mouth opens then shut then opens again. Sukuna must find the way you mimic a fish out of water funny because a low chuckle rumbles from his broad chest.

The curse likes you like this/ Just like he likes you in any way that is near him.

“Hey! This book is centuries old, you can't just toss it around like that,” you scold the curse without thinking.

 “Read what you like then we will talk,” Sukuan tells you, his attention already on a few ungraded papers at the edge of his desk.

You still feel the urge to argue but think better of it. You were already behind schedule because he had Uraume take the book before you could have a look at it.

Sukuna picks up an ink pen and pretends to grade a paper. He watched as you rifle through your book bad for a notebook and pen. You are skin the pages before returning to a certain section of the book while jotting down notes. It occurs to him that he has never seen you use a laptop or tablet in class. Instead choosing to use that notebook to franticly write down all your notes. This observation is filed away for later because all he can think about is finally having your soft fleshed seated in front of him and all for himself.

Once you are done you put your things back into your book bag and return the book safely to Sukuna’s desk. You then take a step back, your body fidgeting, telling you that it is time to run away again.

 “Stay there,” Sukuan orders sitting down his pen and rising to his feet.

You do as told again but only because the way the curse looks at you, like he wants to do more than eat you now, pins you in your place.

“My, my,” Sukuan slides between you and his desk. He towers over you and is so close you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “So obedient…..or is it that you scared?”

“O-oh I am downright terrified right now.”

 The smirk seems to widen, “Good that’s exactly how I want you.”

Oh, that is so hot to hear.

            A pair of hands settle on your hips as Sukuna asks, “And what about me has you so scared?”

             Feeling his fingers flex and your long skirt start to ride up with your legs you squeak,  “Y-you look like you want to eat me.”

            “I would love a taste,” Sukuna admits.

Your reaction is priceless. He wonders if you actually think he wants to eat you. he has tasted human flesh in the past but it was more so an intimidating tactic than actual substance. He gathers up more of your skirt the fabric now rising above your thighs.

The thought of you poring over texts of his past atrocities biting that bottom lip and learning all you could about him like he was your obsession runs through his mind. Cute. He thinks.

“ I’m going to make you fuck yourself on my fingers then lick them clean. So,  hold your dress.”

For the first time since you stormed not his office, you do not obey his command. You just stare up at the curse who seems to not hold an ounce of shame for what he just said. And after a moment, neither do you.

Sukuan notices how it takes you a little longer but you do as told. With shaking fingers, you take your skirt from his hands. Sukuan wants you. He wanted to get you back in his office to do unholy things to you, not because he thought it was too weak to be here.

“That’s good,” his light praise sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

Sukuna brushes his knuckles across your inner thigh. They are just as he fantasizes they would be. Smooth, warm, and pliable. Your skin will be so easy to bruise and you would probably love his marks here where you can easily hide them.

You barely register spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate the back of your professor’s hand.

“Eager to aren’t ya?” he teases.

You look up at him, and oh what sight you are! Flush cheeks and needy eyes. “I feel like either answer I give will result in more teasing.”

“Think you’re so smart,” He meanly pinches the vulnerable flesh, “But I want an honest answer. Do you want this?”

 Oh, you feel stupid for not expecting that for the King of Curses to ask for consent. Something warm drips from your stomach to your pussy. For such a powerful and dark being with a reputation for being ruthless and cold, the notion of asking for consent makes you feel safe and special.

Sukuna tells himself that he only asks to get you to come back for more even if the question came out before he even thought of the idea.

 You nod,” I want you to touch me.”

Sukuan knuckle slides further up. His eyes darken as his knuckles press into the damp spot in your silk panties. You were already gone for him. He wonders just when that happens. Was it when he commanded you to calm down? Or, when he told you how he wants to make you cum from his fingers?

“You wet already,” he comments making your cheeks burn, “I guess you don’t have to tell me how eager you are. Your body does that for you.”

Sukuan presses the pads of fingers into the spot and rubs small, quick circles. You feel a tremor of pleasure rocket through you. That felt good. Such a small action over your panties makes you gush. You are done for. The curse has barely done anything and you already losing it.

“o-oh,” you moan

 “Feels good?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then you can do it yourself now,” His fingers are still and you have to bite back a groan.

You attempt to do as told,  rolling your hips against his finger. The friction is there, but you just can't seem to move the right way. You pout, so close to letting out a wine because it is not right. You are not enough to get you off like Sukuan was doing and he can see this.

 He finds this cute too. It is an obvious fact you do not know what you are doing and what that means. Sukuan has found himself a cute human whose a genius, someone worth his time, who captures his attention, and who makes his dick hard. He can feel the wetness seeping through your panties and spreading over his fingertips.

 “Are you fond of these?”

 “ Not re-really I guess? They are an old pair, but I can jus-oh fuck!”

You lean into him needing something firm. Your legs feel shaky You can feel the dark chuckle that rumbled from Sukuna’s chest. He ripped your paints! The quickness and strength that Sukuan possessed to rip the fabric so cleanly from his body like nothing was exciting. You only register that they had been torn off by the ripping sound and the cool air against your bare pussy.

 Sukuna tucks the ruined pair into his back pocket for later then retunes his eager fingers to between your spread thighs. You feel two digits thicker than your own slip easily between your folds. You're so wet right now Sukuan has no trouble sliding his fingers around your inner lips, teasing you by stroking over your entrance.

With his other hand, he grabs it tightly, forcing you to look up at him while holding your skirt up. You make a pathetic little sound that goes straight to his dick already staring against the zipper of his slacks.

You can feel his hold is not tight enough to hurt or leave marks, but firm enough to keep your head in place staring up at him.

“You a messy one aren’t ya?”

“Y-yes?”

You really did not know. You have never gotten this wet before even while masturbating

Oh my god, have I been doing it wrong?

Or was it just Sukuna, his dark presence, his calloused fingers, and the hungry way he looked at you?

He laughs at you,” What? No one ever touched this sloppy cunt?”

 When you advert your eyes Sukuan swears he feels his cock jump. His voice turns serious base he has to know,” Tell me y/n, who has touched you here before me?”

“M-me?”

He meanly pinches your clit making you cry and shift your hips.

“Yes me,  the one who is making you look like some wanton whore. I want to know before me.”

“N-no,” you let. breath as he eased the pressure off. “I mean me…I’ve been the only one to touch myself.”

Oh, yes, Is Sukuna’s gleeful thought.

“Really now? Look at me.”

His demand brings your eyes back to his.

Sukuna watched every little detail of your face as he pushed two fingers into you. Your eyes go wide and your mind fills with nothing but an obscene pleasure as you feel Sukuan slip inside you and then stretch his finger out like the tightness was nothing to him.

It burns, but not in a bad way like that one time, brain fogged by lust, you try to fit your vibrator and the end of a push inside you at the same time. It feels so good, so good. Like an itch, you never even knew needed to be scratched and scratched hard. Because your hands are full you have nothing to hang onto, nothing to steady yourself.

Luckily Sukuna’s firm body I there for you to fall into. Sukuna then curls his fingers and draws a moan from the little sorceress who catches his eyes. He is suspired how much he’s enjoying seeing you like this. Your body pressed up against his means that there is no way you cannot feel how hard he is right now.

Sukuan said he expected you to fuck yourself, but that was before he knew how novice you are. So, he graciously does it himself. With your face still craned up look at him with dilated and needy as the curse begins to move his finger in and out of you.

And holy shit, just when you think you have gotten used to the pleasure Sukuna does something to cause any new wave to come over you. In the back of your mind, you wonder how he was so good at this but you are too far gone under his touch to care.

Sukuna moved his hands to grip the back of your neck. He smiles at you like this languid pace is a gift. It is almost too serene.

“It feels good?”

You nod, “Yes, s-so good.”

“I’ve barely even done anything yet. Be ashamed if I stop now would it?”

You feel your stomach drops even though he does not stop moving his fingers in those sinful motions.

“Pl-please don’t, “ you plea. “Please don’t stop, not now when it feels good. “

“Then you better get to moving those hips again.”

A small whimper escapes your lips as the playful threat. You know he is serious. The gleam in his red eyes tells you so and just the thought of having this pleasure taken away for you has you shyly rolling your hips. Sukuna is graciously patient with you. He keeps his pace steady and lets you find a rhythm that makes you see stars.

It was worth hearing his name come from your mouth, breathless and wanton. There was no looking away from the cursed dark and hungry gaze. The firm hand at the nape makes sure of that. You can’t see what Sukuan is so enraptured in but you know your cheeks must be as red as a tomato.

You were enthralled by the King Of curses. His dark need for you, the clever ploys to get you alone in his office, and this respect he holds for you when other would never even give you the time of day make you feel so special.

“God feels so good,” you huff.

Sukuna laughs, “God has nothing to do with this. Just me playing with this dripping cunt and watching how I’m the one making you come undone like this.”

“Sukuna I need more, please.” You ask but should have known it would not be that simple.

“More?” he lulls his head to one side, “Are you not pleased with what I’m doing already? That’s a pretty ungrateful brat.”

“n-no! I just neehhh- need more.”

“More what exactly.”

 “I-I need you to do more.”

Sukuan was having too much fun with you. “If you aren’t going use your words brat I will stop and I can already tell you won’t ever be able  to make yourself feel like this.”

 “More everything!” you wine bucking your hips,” I wanna feel you deeper, and faster, and harder. Please. I wanna cum but it’s not e-enough, fuck.”

Sukuan can get used to hearing your plea like that. He can’t wait to see how far he can push you till you snot your nose and cry. But for now, this will have to do while in the confines of his office.

 “Like this?”

 You cry curse, and even thank Sukuan as he jackhammers his into so deep his palms grange done against your clit. The sudden change should be jarring but something about the way Sukuna gives you exactly what you wanted and more that you did not even know you needed has you moans louder. If any student were in the empty hall outside they would surely hear the loud noise emitting from the professor's office.

“Shit, your cunts really clamping down on me y/n.”

“Sukuna, Sukuna, agh, fuuuuck ” Your hips freeze and you let the curse ram his fingers inside you since there was no way you could keep up with him.

            “That’s y/n, keep saying my name like it is. God damn prayer. Fucking love, the sound of you and the sloppy pussy like this. Making such Lovely noises just for you professor.”

The reminder that this is not just the King of Curses finger fucking you but your professor, in his own office, that sends you over the edge. Sukuna does not look away as your walls convulsive around his fingers. Your eyes roll back, then flutter close. You most hangs open and the only the only sound to come out is a choked moan.

 surely would have fallen over.

Sukuna keeps working you through your blissful orgasm only pulling his fingers out when your quick breathing slows.

His form grip on the back of your neck is still there as you blink on your eyes. It is just in time to see him licking his two fingers that gleaming with your wetness clean.

Was it possible for you to feel any redder and wetter?

 “Now open your mouth.”

Your lips part and Sukuna bends down meeting your mouth his. Whatever smell you try to make is stopped in the back of your though as Sukuna moves his tongue against yours. you only let go of you skirt when you need to breath. All it takes for Sukuna to pull away and let you catch your breath or a small push against his chest.

“Y-you hard,” you state the obvious.

“We can take care of that later,” Sukuna says before pulling you into another open-mouth kiss.

[bridgyrose]

Weiss found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror as her heart pounded in her chest. She was supposed to be getting ready for her first day of class, something she had done plenty of times before while living in Atlas. So why was she so nervous today? Was it the fact that she was finally wearing a skirt? Maybe it was that the longer she stared at her reflection the easier it was to find imperfections in her looks like the little facial hair that was missed when shaving or how her makeup didnt look as even in the light. 

Her eyes moved from her face to her chest as she tried to adjust the bra she wore under her shirt. This was the first time she’d worn something more than just a sports bra under her clothes and she couldnt seem to get it to sit right. Maybe her chest and shoulders were just slightly too wide for the size she picked or maybe the type of bra she had wasnt quite right. Either way, it made it difficult to focus on being prepared for classes. 

Still, it wasnt like there was much she could do about it now. She was already dressed, classes were going to start right after breakfast, and she still had to worry about her skirt. Her hand ran down to make sure she didnt have any unsightly bulges, only for her to stop as she saw the bathroom door swing open with Ruby standing just outside with a syringe, decanter, her clothes, and a towel wrapped around her to be ready for a shower. 

Ruby quickly closed the door. “I-I didnt know you were in there!” 

“And I had thought I locked it,” Weiss answered back as she cleared her throat. She took a moment to compose herself as a blush started to cross her cheeks. If she was going to be living with three other girls while at Beacon, she was going to have to find a way to keep her own secret from coming out to them. The last thing she wanted was for them to think they were living with a boy. First, she’d have to make sure the door locks to keep anyone from walking in on her. A bathroom schedule could work, though there was no telling how long it’d take Yang and Blake to shower or brush their hair with how long they kept it. Not that she could complain, she had always kept hers long too and she knew it took her nearly an hour for all the upkeep on it-

“Do you know how much longer you’ll be in there?” Ruby asked. “I do still need to shower.” 

Weiss quickly brushed her hair to pull back into a ponytail. “I-I just need a few more minutes!” 

“Alright,” Ruby answered back. 

Weiss took a deep breath and ran her hands down her clothes once more to make sure everything sat right and to give her one last attempt at adjusting her bra before heading to class. Once she was sure everything was in order, she opened the door with a smile. “All yours.” 

“Great!” 

Weiss huffed a bit with how quickly Ruby seemed to shove her aside to get into the bathroom, and then flinched when she heard the door slam right behind her, hair almost getting caught with it. She walked over to her bed and sat down to make sure she still had her book bag packed for classes, a habit she had formed ever since she realized she wasnt much of a morning person. 

“Are we getting breakfast as a team, or just heading down while Ruby finishes getting ready?” Blake asked. 

“She wont take too long,” Yang answered. “She’s usually pretty quick, so it wont be too much longer of a wait to head down together.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

Weiss quietly watched Blake and Yang to try to figure them out more. Yang seemed to be the easiest of the two to understand. Ruby’s sister, protective of those she cared about, and she almost seemed to have an endless supply of energy to her. She was the first to rise along with Ruby to train, didnt  seem to tire out no matter what she did, and she only seemed to like to be around gatherings if she was around anyone she knew. 

And Blake almost seemed like a mystery to her. The bow she wore never seemed to come off, even while she was sleeping, which as far as Weiss was concerned, had to mean she was hiding something. Though, there wasnt any proof that she was and Blake always stayed up late into the night reading, so it was possible that she took it off right before bed. Beyond that, she seemed to get along with Ruby well since the two had been talking ever since the party after initiation. 

Then there was Ruby. For being the youngest of the team, she seemed to know her way with her weapon. Which was better than most from what she saw in the highlight reel during the party. Most of the other students looked as if they had never faced a grimm before. But beyond that, Ruby at least seemed like someone she could get along with even if she was the one who was supposed to lead their team. 

However, none of that really eased Weiss’s mind. The thought of them finding out she was trans was still a terrifying one. If her family was any indication on how most people would take it, then she’d rather keep it a secret for as long as she could. 

Weiss finally stood up and stretched. “I’m going to make my way to the cafeteria and save a table for the rest of you.” 

Yang shook her head. “We really should wait for Ruby. She wont be much longer.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Weiss said as she finished putting on a pair of heels and hoisted her book bag over her shoulder. “I wont eat until you’re all down there, all I want to do is make sure we have a table we can sit at. There’ll be nothing worse than trying to find a table when there isnt one.” 

“Alright, we’ll be down there shortly.” 

Weiss nodded and started to slowly walk through the halls as she tried to keep her balance. It may not have been her greatest idea to wear thinner heels than what she’d practiced with, but it was a bit too late now. She was still waiting for Klein to send the rest of the clothes she’d asked for including the wedges she preferred to walk in. Until then, she had to work with what she had and the shoes she normally wore for her combat gear were certainly not suited for classes. 

Once she caught her stride, she started to walk a bit quicker to the cafeteria in hopes to snag a table for the rest of her team. Her speed started to pick up with each step as she used a few glyphs to keep her balance. 

And yet, it wasnt enough to keep her from missing a step down the stairs. 

Weiss’s heart raced as she felt herself start to fall, losing concentration with her glyphs. Her eyes started to glow on instinct as she put a hand in front of her to create a wall in front of her to catch her fall. At least until she felt someone grab hold of the back of her collar. 

“Are you okay?” a girl’s voice asked from behind Weiss. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Weiss answered as she calmed herself enough to let the fire in her eyes die. She used a glyph to help herself get her balance again before turning around to see another student behind her, amber eyes and black hair. “Thank you.” 

The girl almost seemed to look Weiss over before nodding and walking down the stairs. “You shouldnt run in heels like that.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you… uh…” Weiss paused. “What’s your name?” 

“Cinder,” Cinder answered. “And something tells me that we’ll be seeing more of each other.” 

“What makes you say that?” Weiss asked, though her question fell on deaf ears as Cinder continued without answering. She tried to follow her out, only to lose track of her in a crowd of students. She paused at a window when she saw a blush on her cheeks, almost tracing it with her fingers. She needed to find her again.

[captain-daryn]

I have a picture of me during finals week my second year of college where I had stayed up for like 3 days straight working on a project because it had been my first semester working while in school. I learned very quickly that I do not have the stamina to work 30+ hours a week & have a full time schedule for school (I'm in marching band and concert band too so that is a huge time commitment).

I had mini power naps, but nothing more than 2-3 hours at one time over about a 4 day period. And the week after I did it again. I remember just listening to a semi-sad song and bursting into tears because I was so deliriously tired.

Omg and I just remembered about the time I stayed up for 3 days straight working on another final project like right after I started my job (my first week was the week before finals in the spring). It was the week Endgame came out so I was binging all the marvel movies up to endgame the week leading up to it + working on my project. I remember going to work. But then it was a fog and I was on auto pilot after about half way through my shift, and then I don't remember the last half of my shift or coming home. I think I crashed for like 10-12 hours after that.

And I was 19 at that time... I'm almost 25 now and staying up for longer than 18 hours throws me off so bad forever afterward, it's like jet lag.

It's obvious that not sleeping for over 24hrs is awful and really difficult, like it's common sense, HOWEVER I just went 27hrs without sleep and omfg the levels of insane that that is is truly unexplainable, is so fucking insane

I’ve done it. The thing is, once you hit around 20 hours you stop feeling tired and you just experience various intervals of terrible. You can mitigate this by eating, drinking coffee etc, or never sitting down. But yeah, it’s a mental game at a certain point. You have to acknowledge that you’re working far below normal capacity and plan from there to accommodate sluggish thinking, delayed reflexes, etc.

The fic I wrote about the JL/Batfam not sleeping because of a curse was inspired by a week of work where I slept maybe 18 total hours. My Apple Watch died every single night. I ate and drank so much and didn’t gain any weight because I was burning it all off trying to stay awake and semi-functional. At the very end I was finally dismissed and promptly burst into tears in front of all of my coworkers for no particular reason.

So yeah. Please sleep. And if you can’t sleep, be realistic about what you can do.

[pokemonedits-outofcontext]

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[monstrsball]

every month like clockwork i start to feel incredibly insecure about all of my friendships and then begin to engage in unhealthy thought patterns and then my period hits and im like. Ah.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

When you might have popped your arm out of its socket a few months ago but you didn’t realize that a partial dislocation was a thing so, since you could move your arm and popped it right back into place, you just thought it was nothing, but now when you lift stuff a certain way or lay on that side in bed or move it a certain way while swimming it does that thing again and you’re like “would seeing a doctor about that make any difference if you probably already healed wrong? Can they even do anything at this point?”

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

*dusting off this old blog* Well it's been a while, isn't it?