#and I understand how impossible it is to get off because of how scary it is to be without it

[rileylastname]

maybe it’s because it’s “too obvious” but im surprised how few readings I’ve seen of the Substance (2024) that discuss the themes of addiction and substance (ha) use & abuse.

in moderation you can use the substance to become a better, more fun, easier, happier version of yourself. then you realize you no longer want to be who you are when you’re not on the substance. then taking the same dose that used to be enough before isn’t enough anymore, so you want to take more, and just a little bit more couldn’t hurt, right? so you start to take even more. but this is only taking away from sober you, which is painful and difficult and even scarier than what compelled you to take it in the first place, so of course you can’t stop now. now you want to take even more, you NEED to take even more. sober life becomes harder and harder to bear, especially compared to how much easier everything is on the substance. now you’re not only using it to enjoy that feeling anymore, you’re using it to hide from what you’re turning into without it, from what you’ve already turned into.

every minute that you’re sober is spent counting down the days until you can use again, and the ends of being high are spent dreading going back. the sober self is upset and jealous at how irresponsible the high self is. the high self is upset at how much of a buzzkill the sober self is, and wishes they could exist on their own, without requiring their sober tether to existence. but the sober and high selves are the same person, you are one, and you become jealous and angry at yourself for ruining your own life in a vain attempt to become an impossible version of yourself that you most desire to be.

you want so badly to have all—and only all—of the best parts that you milk yourself dry, until you end up with all—and nothing but all—of the bad parts. by the time you truly feel that you have indeed lost everything and know you need to stop, the damage is already done, and there is no going back. you wish you had stopped at the first chance, you wish you had never started to begin with. and even then for many people the only way to deal with this terrifying, painful reality is to use even more, because you have made this terrifying, painful life without your substance feel unliveable, even scarier yet than what had made you use in the first place. there is nothing left to do but to hide from your own life, and the only ways to do this are to stop, to love yourself and take care of the person that you are now… or to keep taking more and more, using until there is truly nothing left, not even yourself.

[afterheese]

That Uneasy Feeling - Sim Jaeyun x F!Reader

He was your boyfriend’s best friend—meaning avoiding him was impossible. Wherever Sunghoon went, Jake followed. So when Jake moved in after his breakup, you smiled politely… even as he made your skin crawl.

cw: dark!jake, noncon, hair pulling, degradation, creampie, lots of dirty talk and physical violence.

word count : 4.5k

This was requested.

You always felt uneasy around Jake.

Not in the overt, scream-and-run kind of way..no not like that, it was subtler than that. Insidious. Like the way a locked door rattling in the wind feels terrifying at night. Jake never said anything outright. He didn’t do anything that could be pointed to and named. But he had a way about him. A stare too long, a smile too slow, and always a laugh like he was in on a joke you didn’t get.

He was your boyfriend’s best friend. Which meant avoiding him wasn’t just hard—it was impossible.

Where Sunghoon went, Jake followed. They'd been tight since high school, the kind of bond that lived on inside-jokes and loyalty forged through years of chaos. So when Sunghoon said Jake was crashing with him “for a while” after his breakup, you had to smile and nod—even though something about Jake always made your skin itch beneath your clothes.

Maybe it was the way he talked to you. Like you were a little girl who needed things explained. “You wouldn’t understand,” he’d say, brushing off your thoughts with a smirk, like he was being playful. Only it didn’t feel playful. It felt like being pushed into a corner while he grinned and waited for you to break.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You’d catch his eyes on you across the room, pinned to you like a wolf eyeing a rabbit not with hunger, exactly, but something more disturbing. Like you were something fragile he was just waiting to crack open and ruin.

Still, you told yourself it was in your head. Because Jake was charming. God, was he charming. To everyone else, he was the golden boy handsome, funny and magnetic. That perfect blend of street-smart confidence and wounded vulnerability that made people trust him even when they shouldn’t. Sunghoon worshipped him. Your friends liked him. Even your dad said, “Now that’s a guy who knows how to take care of himself.”

But behind his smile, Jake was all sharp teeth.

It had started small. Off-hand comments. Too-long hugs. That night he stood a little too close in the kitchen, his hand brushing your hip just a second too long. You wanted to say something to Sunghoon, but how could you explain it without sounding paranoid? Jake’s just friendly, babe, Sunghoon would probably say. You’re overthinking it.

Except you weren’t. Something was wrong with Jake.

And last week, you were alone with him for just twenty minutes while Sunghoon ran out for beer. Twenty minutes, and Jake barely spoke he just sat there on the couch, flipping a lighter open and closed, open and closed. But he watched you the entire time, smiling.

And that smile hasn’t left your memory since.

Because it wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t even flirtatious.

It was scary.

"I'm so sorry, babe. I got this last-minute gig in Japan for a photo shoot—and I have to leave tonight," Sunghoon said, voice breathless with excitement, his hands gripping yours like a boy with good news and no idea what it costs.

You blinked. "Tonight?"

He winced with a soft laugh, that apologetic smile of his that always worked on you. "I know, I know, it’s crazy. But it’s big. Like, Vogue Asia big."

You should’ve smiled wider. Should’ve jumped and kissed him and squealed like a supportive girlfriend does when her boyfriend’s dreams are coming true. And you did smile just enough. You hugged him tight, felt the beating rush of his heart through his chest. You buried the flicker of unease in the soft cotton of his shirt.

Because there was no way you could say what you were really thinking. That being alone here... with Jake... made your stomach twist in slow, cold knots. "That’s amazing," you said, voice low into his ear, forcing the words through a throat that felt too tight. "Really. Go kill it. You’ll be amazing."

Sunghoon leaned back, grinning, touching your cheek. His eyes were soft, full of love and ambition, and so oblivious. Then you pulled away from the hug—and saw him.

Jake.

Standing at the kitchen doorway. Watching.

You didn't know how long he had been there. His arms were crossed over his chest, the low light casting sharp lines down the side of his face. That damn lighter of his just flipping open, click, closed again then resting in his palm. His eyes didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just pinned you where you stood like you were something caught in the light.

You felt your body stiffen before your mind could react. The air changed. He didn’t say a word. Just looked. That same stare you hated. That quiet, crawling tension that made your skin feel too tight, your breath too shallow. That same sick little smirk, just barely curled at the edge of his mouth.

"Japan, huh?" Jake said at last, slow and smooth, like dragging a knife across velvet. Sunghoon didn’t notice the tone. He turned to his friend, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Crazy, right? You're gonna have to keep an eye on her for me." Jake’s gaze never left you. "Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else."

There was something about the way he said it. The way his eyes lingered. The way you suddenly felt cold, like the house was no longer yours. Sunghoon laughed. "Don’t look so worried, babe. Jake’s got you." You smiled. One that didn’t reach your eyes.

But inside, you felt a slow scream building. Because tonight, Sunghoon was flying to japan. 

And you’re stuck in this house alone with Jake.

"Call me when you land, babe," you said, brushing your fingers through Sunghoon’s hair as he pulled you in for one last hug. "I will," he promised, smiling, and you kissed his cheek—soft and lingering—trying to press all your fear into that one gesture, hoping he’d feel it, see it, ask.

But he didn’t. He turned to Jake instead,“Keep her safe for me, yeah?" Jake’s eyes flicked toward you, slow and unreadable. “I’ll try,” he said. You watched Sunghoon laugh, slap Jake on the back, grab his bag and vanish out the front door with the same lightness he always carried. 

The door clicked shut. A final, casual sound. And then the silence came. A slow, awful silence that crawled over the walls like mold. You didn’t look at Jake. You turned on your heel the moment Sunghoon was gone and walked—fast—down the hall. Every step felt like it echoed too loud. You didn’t run. You didn’t want to show anything. But your hands were already cold.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. You locked it. Not just the knob—you slid the chain bolt, too. You stood there, forehead resting against the wood, listening. Nothing.

The hallway creaked. The house felt like it was breathing wrong. You backed away and sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, but you didn’t text Sunghoon. You couldn’t. What would you say?

“I’m scared of your best friend?”

He’d tell you to talk to Jake. He’d tell you it’s just your imagination. He trusted Jake. But trust was dangerous. Especially when it was misplaced. Your eyes moved to the window. First-floor. You could leave. Go to a friend’s. Say you weren’t feeling well, or your mom needed you—something. Anything to not be here. Not alone with him.

But then came the sound. Tap. A soft knock on your bedroom door. “Hey,” Jake’s voice came through “Everything okay?” You didn’t answer. A pause. “You don’t have to lock the door, you know.” Your heart climbed into your throat. You still said nothing.

Jake gave a soft laugh. No amusement in it. Just that same low, grating undertone that made your skin crawl. “I’m not a bad guy,” he said. Another knock. Gentler this time. Almost coaxing. "Unless you want me to be."

You stood from the bed, moving backward toward your desk, pulse thudding in your ears. Your phone was trembling in your hand now. You glanced down at it. No signal. You didn’t remember it going out. But there it was.

No Service.

Another knock. Slower this time. "You know," Jake continued, "it’s just us now. No need to keep pretending." You looked to the window again. It wasn’t a question of if you were leaving. It was how fast.

You backed farther into the room, one hand still gripping your phone uselessly while your other instinctively checked the window latch. “C’mon,” Jake’s voice slid under the door like smoke, “don’t be like that. You’re making it weird.” You didn’t answer. You were too focused on how fast you could yank open that window.

Then came the click. The doorknob. You spun around. He was trying to get him. Softly at first. Testing. Like maybe you’d changed your mind. Like maybe this was a joke between friends. Then—Rattle.Harder. Rattle-rattle-rattle.

"Okay," Jake said, voice dropping now, quieter—but heavier. “You wanna do this the hard way?” Your pulse hit your throat like a hammer. You lunged for the window, unlocked it, shoved it upward. It screeched in protest.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” he shouted suddenly, his voice exploding through the hallway. You gasped. Fumbling with the fucking screen. Yanking it free with a horrible plastic crunch and threw it across the room. He slammed into the door. BOOM. The entire frame shook. "Don’t run from me!" Jake bellowed from the other side. “You don’t have to run!”

Another BOOM. A crack now—wood splintering. The chain bolt was holding, barely. The cheap bedroom door whined.

Every second felt too long.

Jake slammed into the door again. The chain bolt rattled in its socket, groaning under the pressure. "Come on," he snarled through the crack in the door. "Don’t make this ugly." Cold air met your face, and for a split second, you thought you were going to make it.

Then—CRACK. The chain bolt tore from the wall. The door flew open behind you, slamming into the drywall. You got one leg through the window. Then fingers—hot, fast, and furious—clamped around your ankle like a bear trap. “No!” Jake barked behind you. "Don’t you dare." You screamed, twisting, your bare foot kicking at nothing, at air, at him—but he held on, hard, digging his fingers into your skin like he wanted to snap it.

He yanked. You slipped back into the room, your chest slamming into the window frame with a bone-rattling thud. The wind knocked out of you. One leg still dangling out into the night. One pulled back into the dark. "Get OFF me!" you shrieked, kicking again, heel smashing wildly toward his face. He grunted, then lunged, grabbing your thigh now, wrapping both arms around your waist like a python.

"You think you can run from me?" he hissed into your ear. “You think that little window was gonna save you?” His breath was hot and right next to your face now. You could feel the heat of his skin on your back, the tremble in his grip—not from weakness but from restraint. Barely held-back madness. His heart pounded like a war drum against your spine. “I didn’t want it to go like this,” he whispered, dragging you away from the sill, your nails scraping uselessly across the hardwood. “But you just had to play hard to get, didn’t you?”

Your fingers clutched at the rug, trying to grab anything. You kicked, fought, clawed—but he was stronger. So much stronger than he looked. He pulled you farther from the window like you were nothing. Like a doll. “Let me GO!” you screamed, twisting, your elbow striking out blindly. You felt the connection your arm slammed into something solid—his cheek? His temple?

Jake reeled back, howling, and his grip loosened just long enough for you to scrambled forward. Not out the window—no time. No second chance. You made a break for the door. Bare feet slapping against wood. No thoughts left. Just escaping. You hit the hallway.

Behind you, Jake’s voice wasn’t yelling anymore. It was laughing. “You can run,” he called. “But you’re already mine.” Your feet hit the hallway floor like gunshots, every step a breath closer to freedom, to a door, a weapon—anything. You darted down the narrow hall, every picture frame on the wall blurring past you, your heart pounding so hard it felt like your ribs burst open.

Jake wasn’t running. He stalked. Like he knew you weren’t going anywhere. You veered toward the living room. The front door was there—locked, maybe—but a lock could be broken. You could scream through the windows. Draw attention. A shadow swept across the wall ahead of you.

You turned too late. Jake was already there. You barely had time to shriek before his arm slammed into your side like a battering ram. You were airborne for a second—then your body crashed down across the couch. Pain shot up your spine. The cushions collapsed beneath you, the wind knocked from your lungs. You gasped, clawing to roll off—but before you could even breathe, Jake moved.

He stepped around the couch like he had all the time in the world. And then his fingers twisted into your hair hard. You cried out, arms scrambling for purchase as he yanked your head back, forcing you down, bending you forward over the backrest. The room spun. His grip was like iron, knuckles grinding against your scalp. "You really thought you could get away from me?" he whispered against your ear, breathing heavy not with effort, but excitement. “I told you… I’m not the bad guy here.”

He leaned in closer. "You're the one who locked the door." You tried to speak, to plead, but your voice was just ragged noise. His other hand grabbed your wrist and twisted it behind your back, forcing your chest against the couch, pinning you like prey. “You should’ve just opened the door,” he murmured. “Could’ve been nice.” He paused. His lips ghosted near your temple. You could hear the shift in his breath.

“I can still be nice…” But it was a lie. You could feel it in his grip. In the shaking tremor beneath his. Your eyes flicked again to the fireplace. The poker. Jake’s hand pressed harder against the small of your back, forcing your body further over the couch, locking your spine in place like a hinge about to snap. But he made a mistake—just for a second. He shifted his weight.

You exploded into movement. Your leg shot backward, kicking wildly. Your free hand reached out—scraping against the couch, the floor, then cold iron. The poker. You closed your fingers around it. Jake saw. He snarled like an animal, releasing your wrist to grab at your arm, but you swung the poker blind, with everything you had. Metal met something solid—a shoulder, maybe his ribs—and Jake let out a sharp, surprised grunt.

You ripped yourself free, stumbling forward off the couch, half-falling, half-diving toward the hallway again. But Jake was faster. He caught you mid-sprint—arms wrapping around your waist like a vise. He lifted you off the floor, dragging you back, the poker slipping from your grasp and clattering uselessly to the hardwood. "No, no, no—you don’t get to do that!" he growled in your ear.

He threw you down. Your back slammed into the floor beside the coffee table, the pain blooming bright and hot. You tried to crawl, to kick, to do anything—But Jake was already on top of you, straddling your waist, both wrists pinned beneath his knees. His face hovered inches from yours now. The mask of charm had vanished.

This was something else. His expression was twisted, not with rage—but pleasure. The satisfaction of having you exactly where he wanted you. Of winning. "You put up a good fight," he whispered, his voice raw and low. “I love it when they do that.” You thrashed again, but he didn’t even flinch. His hands slid from your wrists to your face, cupping your cheeks with mock gentleness. "You’re scared," he said, like it was something sweet.

You turned your head, spitting at him. It landed just below his jaw. His eyes darkened. The hand that had cupped your cheek struck you—fast. Pain bloomed across your cheek. Your ears rang. Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, breath hot, and said:

“I was trying to be nice.”

Then he smiled. He grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head back as he flung you over the couch. You landed hard on your back, the wind knocked out of your lungs. Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you, straddling your hips and pinning your wrists above your head with his strong hands.

His face hovered inches from yours, the mask of charm completely vanished, replaced by a twisted expression of pleasure and dark satisfaction. "You fight dirty," he whispered, his voice raw and low. "I like that."

You thrashed beneath him, trying to buck him off, but Jake didn't even flinch. His hands slid from your wrists to your face, cupping your cheeks with mock gentleness that belied the cruelty in his eyes.

"You're scared," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "I can see it in your eyes. But you're also turned on, aren't you? I can feel it in the way your body responds to mine."

To prove his point, Jake ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the thick, hard length of him straining against his pants. His thumb brushed over your lower lip before he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue forced its way inside, claiming your mouth.

Jake's lips trailed down your jaw to your neck where he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin, no doubt leaving marks. "I'm going to ruin you," he growled against your throat. "Gonna fuck this tight little pussy so hard, you'll forget your own name. The only thing you'll remember is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, filling you up completely."

Jake's hand slid from your breast down to the waistband of your pants. With a wicked grin, he ripped them off you, not bothering with buttons or zippers, just tearing the fabric until he could expose your most intimate places to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at this pretty little pussy," he growled, fingers trailing through your slick folds. "So wet and ready for me already. You can't deny how much you want this."

He pushed two fingers deep inside your tight heat, pumping them in and out as he used his thumb to rub firm circles around your aching clit. Jake leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered filthily:

"I'm going to destroy this pussy. Ruin it for anyone else. You'll be my personal slut, always ready and eager for my cock. I'll use you whenever and however I want."

To punctuate his words, Jake thrust his fingers harder, faster, curling them just right to hit that sensitive spot deep inside you. His mouth found your nipple, biting down hard enough to make you cry out before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Such a good little cock sleeve, so tight and responsive," he purred, switching to your other breast to give it the same treatment. "I bet you've dreamed about this, haven't you? Being at the mercy of a man, completely under my control as I fuck you raw?"

Jake's hand left your breast to fumble with his belt, quickly unlatching it and shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his large, thick cock. It slapped against his stomach.

"Beg for it," he commanded, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance teasingly. "Beg me to fuck this needy pussy. Let me hear how much you want it." His eyes blazed into yours, a dark and dominant force that demanded submission. "Now."

“Jake… I-I’m begging you… please stop this…” you whispered, eyes wide, body trembling beneath him, voice barely hanging together. But he only laughed—low, cruel, and unbothered. “Nah, baby,” he murmured, leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You were made to be used.”

"Fuck, your pussy is so tight," he groaned as he pushed forward, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt inside you. "Such a perfect fit for my cock."

He started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. The couch creaked beneath you with the force of his thrusts, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"Take it, you dirty slut," Jake snarled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other found your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. "Take my fucking cock like you were made for it. This is what you needed, isn't it? To be split open, right?"

He leaned down to capture your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss, all teeth and tongue as he fucked into you harder, deeper. His hips snapped against yours, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful thrust.

"Gonna...fuck...fill this cunt with my cum," Jake grunted between clenched teeth, sweat dripping down his face from the exertion. "Pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days. Everyone will know you're my personal whore."

His fingers dug into the meat of your ass, pulling you harder against him as he rutted into you like an animal in heat. The obscene wet sounds of your coupling filled the air, joined by Jake's filthy words and your desperate cries.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, you cock-hungry whore," he panted harshly, increasing his pace even more. "Gonna make you fucking cum on my cock, scream my name while I ruin this pussy. Let everyone know who this pussy belongs to now."

“N-No… g-get the fuck… off me…” you choked out, the words shaking, barely holding together—half sob, half breath. But Jake didn’t even flinch. He didn’t pause. He just kept moving, like he hadn’t heard a single word… or like he didn’t care. 

Jake angled his hips, making sure to grind against your clit with each thrust. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around him, knowing you were close. His own release was fast approaching.

"Come on, slut, cum for me," Jake demanded, his voice a low, dominant growl. "I want to feel this pussy milking my cock as I fill it with my seed. Show me what a desperate, cock-craving whore you are."

He punctuated his command with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit as he bottomed out inside you. The intense stimulation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. “P-Please, Jake… s-stop… I-I can’t take anymore…” you try to say but he wasn’t listening.

Jake could feel your walls starting to quiver and clench around his pistoning cock, your body instinctively trying to draw him deeper. He smirked down at you, eyes dark with lust and triumph. "That's it, fucking take it. Take every inch of my cock like the needy little slut you are."

His fingers moved from your clit to your nipple, pinching and tugging on the hardened peak roughly as he continued his relentless assault on your pussy. The mix of pleasure and pain only heightened your arousal. “Why—Jake, why are you doing this? P-Please stop…” you tried again, but the word “stop” was just a shiver of breath, almost nothing.

"I needed to...ungh...fucking breed this cunt," Jake grunted, his rhythm growing erratic as his own release approached. "Pump you so full of my cum, you'll be dripping with it."

“N-no… Jake… not in… don’t…” the rest broke off into a whimper 

He leaned down to sink his teeth into the side of your neck, marking you as his as he slammed into you one, two, three more times. 

“Don’t… please don’t… I’m not—Jake, not inside…” you tried to say it stronger, but it faded into a breathy cry. And with a harsh groan, Jake buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he started to come.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" he roared, his hot seed erupting from his cock and painting your insides. He ground against you, making sure every last drop took root deep inside your spasming cunt.

"Milk it, babygirl," Jake commanded, his voice ragged and spent but still demanding. "Squeeze out every drop of my cum like a good little cock sleeve. Show me how much you love being bred."

He ground into you with the weight of obsession, ensuring every last drop was claimed. "Milk it," he snarled, teeth brushing your ear. "Fucking take all of it, you filthy little thing. You wanted this—don’t you dare pretend you didn’t." You couldn’t answer. Your mouth was slack, your breaths shallow and wrecked. You were gone, floating in the dark. 

He pulled out slowly, watching the slick spill of cum drip from between your thighs. A low, satisfied sigh escaped him. “Look at you,” Jake murmured as he sat back on his heels, sweat streaking his chest. “Fucking ruined.”

The kitchen light buzzed faintly overhead as Jake stepped across the tile, muscles still twitching from the aftershocks. His phone lit up on the counter. One message. 

Sunghoon: So? How was she?

Jake’s lips twisted into a dark smile. He stepped back into the living room, grabbed his phone, and snapped a picture—your body sprawled on the couch, legs still parted, his release glistening between them.

Jake : She put up a fight at first. You were right—she’s fucking magic...

Another ping.

Sunghoon: Told you. She was made for this.

[jellyfishsthings]

The Gravity Between Us

navigation , dc navigation

Summary: Dick yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions, he doesn't understand shit and they have to look stuff up constantly trying to keep up with her

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick didn’t believe in love at first sight.

He believed in proximity. Shared moments. Laughter over mismatched socks and long nights spent brushing teeth in silence. He believed in the slow build—accumulated glances, casual touches, the way someone’s name sounded when said too softly, too often.

But if there was ever a moment that could challenge that belief, it was the first time he saw you.

You were arguing with the Dean of Gotham University’s Applied Sciences Department in the hallway. Over orbital velocity.

You weren’t angry, not really—your hands moved too freely for that. You were passionate. Bright-eyed. Electric. You rattled off calculations like poetry, numbers and terms Dick didn’t understand but wanted to memorize anyway.

She’s speaking Latin, he thought. No. Star-language. This woman is built of solar flares and syllables I don’t know how to pronounce.

He was there for a guest lecture on criminology. You were late to a meeting. You brushed past him, eyes distant, your bag slamming into his side without apology.

Dick fell in love with the sound of your thoughts.

He asked Barbara who you were.

“She’s scary smart,” Babs said, smirking over her coffee. “Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson. I tried to get her to help me debug something once and she built a better algorithm in ten minutes while eating a croissant.”

So of course he pursued you.

Like any normal person, Dick decided to attend your public seminars. Which meant sitting in the back of overcrowded rooms next to grad students who whispered things like Did she really reverse-engineer a nuclear model for fun?

He didn’t understand 70% of what you said. But he liked the way your eyes lit up when you talked about gravitational wave detection or microbial communication. You swore like a sailor when you explained things and always had chalk on your hands, like your mind spilled out of you faster than you could contain it.

He wasn’t your type. That much was obvious.

You liked brilliant, slightly aloof, lab-coated types who forgot to eat dinner because they were too busy decoding the genetic memory of fungi. Not acrobats who carried grappling hooks and read crime scene reports for breakfast.

Still. He wanted to know you.

You met properly during a blackout in the city.

You were in the lobby of your building, trying to coax a neighbor’s ancient cat out from under the vending machine with a laser pointer and tuna.

“Need a hand?” he asked, half-laughing, crouched beside you in the dark.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Something shifted.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said. “You’re the guy who keeps showing up to my astrophysics lectures and pretending to take notes.”

Dick flushed. “Guilty.”

“You looked very confused during the part on dark matter.”

“To be fair, I was still trying to figure out what the Standard Model was.”

You smirked, tugged the cat out gently, handed it off to a grateful neighbor, and turned to him.

“Buy me coffee and I’ll explain it to you.”

He did. He also fell in love with the way you dunked your biscotti and talked about string theory like it was a romance novel.

Dating you was like orbiting a star.

You were radiant. Intense. Impossible not to be drawn to. You had ten books on your nightstand and a half-finished whiteboard formula in your kitchen. You wore socks with chemical structures on them and got distracted mid-sentence to scribble ideas on napkins.

And Dick—he tried.

God, he tried.

He watched documentaries. Asked Babs for help. Subscribed to every science podcast with a halfway decent host.

You’d curl up beside him, humming as you flipped through papers, occasionally whispering things like, “Did you know Venus rotates backwards?” or “There’s a protein in tardigrades that basically makes them immortal.”

He didn’t understand half of it.

But he loved listening. Because you came alive when you spoke. And every time he saw your hands moving, sketching new ideas in the air, he swore the rest of the world went quiet.

It wasn’t all stardust and poetry.

Dick had his own shadows. Long nights. Bruised ribs. The part of himself that couldn’t always talk about where he was or what he saw.

You didn’t push. But sometimes he saw the questions in your eyes. And sometimes, when you were halfway through explaining a recent breakthrough in bioluminescent engineering, you’d stop, tilt your head, and say:

“You’re not really here, are you?”

“I am,” he always said. “I’m trying.”

You’d nod, but the distance would settle in like fog.

One night, you found his emergency burner phone in the couch cushions. The message on it: “Warehouse raid at 2 a.m. Bring backup.”

He expected you to yell. Or leave.

Instead, you said, “You’re him, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze.

You looked calm. Tired, but calm. “I’ve cross-referenced your injuries, time away, and your avoidance of any real explanations. You’re either a spy or a vigilante. And given your gymnastic abilities and the way you keep bruising your ribs…”

He blinked. “You figured that out from my rib injuries?”

You shrugged. “The pattern matched a common trajectory of reinforced police batons. I ran the math.”

He laughed. Then kissed you. Then cried a little into your shoulder when you said, “I still want you to be safe. But I’m not leaving.”

One night, you were on the phone with your lab while cooking stir fry with your free hand and explaining CRISPR to Damian, who’d just dropped by to borrow a biology textbook.

Tim was there too, sitting at the counter with a furrowed brow and an empty notepad.

“Wait—wait, can you say that again?” Tim asked, already flipping through his calculus workbook.

Dick walked in and stopped in the doorway.

There you were—hair messy, glasses askew, hoodie half-tucked—and two of the smartest people he knew were hanging on your every word.

Tim scribbled notes while you corrected a theorem. Damian asked about mitochondrial DNA. You didn’t even pause while plating dinner with your foot.

And Dick?

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you—half in awe, half jealous.

Because he used to be the one who lit up when you talked. He used to be the one who asked all the questions, tried to keep up. Now the boys were stealing your brain, your laugh, your look at this cool thing I just discovered!

He sighed a little too loudly.

You turned, eyes wide. “Hey, babe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Tim looked up. “She just explained the Schrödinger equation using scrambled eggs.”

“Of course she did,” Dick muttered, kissing your temple. “Because that’s sexy now, apparently.”

You grinned. “Oh? You jealous?”

Dick looked at your two very eager pupils.

“…Maybe a little.”

Later that night, you found him in bed with a beginner’s book on astrophysics.

You laughed. “Babe.”

“I need to catch up. I don’t want to lose you to Tim and Damian.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“They understand your brain.”

You crawled into his lap, took the book from his hands, and kissed him softly. “You don’t have to understand everything I say. You just have to listen.”

“I do listen.”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

Dick paused. Blinked. “You love me?”

You smiled. “Was that not obvious?”

He pulled you into his chest and whispered, “I’m in orbit, sweetheart. Always have been.”

And you?

You curled up against him, heart steady, mind quiet for once, knowing that no matter how fast your thoughts spun, he’d always be right there—trying, listening, loving you through it all.

[cosmopretty]

꣑୧ What happens when class 1A finds out about you— Katsuki Bakugo’s secret girlfriend that no one knew about

Today was the one day class 1A had the whole day off, not a single class all day since most of them passed the Hero License Exam. The class well mostly Mina and Uraraka planned a whole day trip to go to the mall and the park, mostly everyone was going besides the one and only Katsuki Bakugo.

Not only was he disappointed after he failed the test, but he hadn’t seen his girlfriend in weeks because of training. So today was his day off to spend with you and only you.

———

“Come on Bakubro the whole class is going it’s gonna be so manly” Kirishima exclaims his arm slinging around Bakugo’s shoulder, trying to convince the angry blonde to come with them today. Bakugo shoves him off growling something no one could understand under his breath.

The whole class watches as the explosive boy walks out the door to leave, slamming it on his way out. Kirishima scratches the back of his neck “Well guess we should leave soon guys” he says after a few seconds of awkward silence.

———

You stand waiting at the gates of UA for your boyfriend until a pair of arms circle around your waist “Hey” Bakugo grumbles his head falling to your neck.

A smile adorns your lips “Hi baby” you whisper moving your head to the right and kissing his cheek. He gets up slightly and starts leading you down the street his arm around your waist. You tilt you head looking up at him for a moment the fall breeze flowing around you both “Soooo where we going baby?” you ask him while admiring his features.

His eyes turn to look at you “I was thinking we could go to my house, the hag wants us over or something” he scoffs before continuing “We could watch some movies in my room, then go to the park I don’t know” he mumbles his eyes refusing to make eye contact with you.

The Katsuki Bakugo being romantic was not something you see everyday but it was sweet so you choose not to tease him about it. You smile turning away from him to watch some birds fly with one another “That sweet Suki, I’m excited I miss your mom” you tell him your eyes not looking at him but you feel how he squeezes you closer to him.

The walk to his house went by quickly and soon enough the two of you were eating lunch with his parents. Bakugo was being well Bakugo and arguing over everything with his mom, even going as far to argue over how spicy the food was. You couldn’t help yourself but laugh at the two of them it was like a copy paste of one another.

After lunch both you and Bakugo went up to his room to watch some new scary move that came out. That didn’t last long because your attention span was not strong enough to just focus on the movie in-front of you both.

Climbing on top of the blonde boy you straddle his waist blocking his view of the movie. Your hands come up to hold his shoulders “M bored Suki, entertain me” you whine your head falling into his neck leaving small light kisses all over. He groans his head falling back into the pillows to give you more access.

“Needy little thing aren’t you” he says his hands grabbing to hold your hips pulling you impossibly closer to him. You bite down on his neck lightly causing him to groan once more. The heat between your bodies grows as you kiss down his neck pulling down his shirt to reach more places in his neck.

His hand slides into your hair and pulls you back hard, but not enough to hurt you for real “Not the time baby, my parents are in the next room” he tells you slightly out of breathe.

You pout “Fine but that doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you” he scoffs at your words shaking his head. Before he can speak your lips are on his hungrily. He kisses back almost immediately his hands squeezing your hips, one gliding up your body to hold your neck. His lips fit yours perfectly like they were made just specifically for you.

The two of you made out for almost a hour just kissing each other, everywhere you could before getting tired. The two of you ended up falling asleep tired from the food, the movie and the neediness between you two..

Hours pass before Bakugo wakes up rubbing his eyes before looking down at you on his chest. He smiles, a real smile he doesn’t show people his hand coming to rub your back slowly waking you up from your slumber. He waited a few minutes patiently before getting tired of waiting and got up with you in his arms. Looking down at you for a moment he laughs throwing you down on the bed watching as you gasp landing down on your stomach.

“WHAT THE HELL?” You squeal staring wide eyed at the boy who was holding himself up by the wall laughing at you. Groaning you throw a pillow at him before getting up and fixing your clothes that you fell asleep in. Still laughing Bakugo throws your shoes towards you, catching them with a glare on your face you growl “Your mean ya know that Bakugo” his laughter stops immediately at the use of his last name coming out of your mouth.

Katsuki walks towards you slowly “The hell did you just call ya damn lazy nerd” he growls out at you. He stops right in front of you his arms crossed across his chest “Huh you gonna speak on you gone mute?” he snaps.

You look up at him “Sorry I ment bitch” you blurt out before your eyes widen. Before he can even comprehend what you just said you’re running out the door shoes in hand yelling a quirk bye to his parents before rushing out the door. He chases you, hot on your heel as you run towards the park near his house.

Bakugo jumps on you, taking you both to ground him on top of you “Think you can run away? I’m gonna be the number one hero you can’t out run me even in your dreams” he growls his faces inches away from you. Air catches in your throat as you breathe heavily looking up at your boyfriend with a smile on your face.

Grabbing his face with your hands you laugh “I love getting you all angry” you admit to him as he gets off you, holding out a hand to pull you up.

“Tch I could never be mad at you-“ his words stop as he sees his class sitting on benched staring at you two wide eyed, mouths agape.

You follow his eyes to see the class and you happily walk away from him to go rush up to Mins. She squeaks hugging your tightly “I MISSED YOU BOO” she yells spinning you around as Bakugo walks over confused to see you hugging some extra in his class.

Kirishima looks at the blonde smirking “So this is why you didn’t wanna hangout with us” he laughs as Denkis eyes nearly bulge out of his head “HOW THE HELL DID YOU PULL A GIRL THIS BEAUTIFUL” he shrieks. You pull away from Mina and walk towards your boyfriend to go hug his arm.

He looks at you then at Mina then back at you “Why the hell you hugging Pinky?” he asks jealousy bubbling in his chest. He didn’t want anyone but him to be touching you.

“Oh me and Mina met when I was waiting for you outside of school a while ago, she said I had pretty eyes and I liked her hair and we started to hangout and texting sometimes we became friends” You tell him happily as Mina nods her head “Don’t worry I didn’t tell anyone you guys were together- well the class all knows now anyways” she says giggling.

Bakugo groans and walks away going back home as you let go of his arm. You smile sheepishly at his classmates “Nice meeting you all hopefully I can again soon— bye Mina” you say smiling before turning spring and running to catch up with Katsuki.

The class all looks at the two of you leaving in shock, especially when Bakugo wraps his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer to him.

“That’s- how- are you kidding me! No far Bakugo gets a girl that nice and pretty and that body oh god that-“ Before Mineta can finish his sentence Mina slaps the back of his head “Shut up” she tells him.

The next day the entire class couldn’t stop talking about you.

Authors Note:

SO I POSTED THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I LOVED IT SO PLEASE SEND IN SOME MORE

[heartyluv]

Note: Literally after I thought about this and after Ivy said that I need to do it, I had to deliver. So everyone, kindly thank @asiatic-apple because she is a phenomenal motivator. The day I take a break from Tumblr fr will be a day for the booksss LOLL. Also, forgive me if this is not the best. Ideas were rushing and I did this under an hour. 🙏🏽

Creds to @/dollywons for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut (Not too detailed), Caleb is toxic and a baby trapper…

ToxicBabyFather!Caleb/Reader

✦ Okay, so you and Caleb have been together since like high school. He was in several of your classes and the first time you two had a conversation, he knew that he would forever be wrapped around your finger.

✦ The behavior he portrayed that caused you two to break up in the first place was not something he’s ever kept hidden from you. Truthfully, because you loved him so much and loved how he loved you, you believed that you could tolerate it enough until he fixed it. He never did.

✦ Possessive, obsessive, overly protective, crowding, overwhelming—just the definition of too much. But unfortunately, you were with him for almost a decade and in that time, you two had a baby girl that he and you love to death, but it wasn’t enough to keep you together.

✦ He’s definitely tried proposing to you several times, before and after you got pregnant, but you always said no. And you believed your pregnancy was an accident, a broken condom. But you thought it could be a good thing—that a baby would fix him.

✦ You never knew the man had gotten you pregnant on purpose the night you two had one of your more serious fights. He got on his knees and apologized over and over until you caved in and let him fuck you stupid. So drunk on dick, you never noticed when he sneakily took the condom off after he pulled out to swiftly change positions.

✦ “You can’t leave me, please don’t leave me. I’m everything you are…you’ll always be where I am.” His strokes would’ve been deep and forceful, oh my gosh…He had you bent over, back arched, and you had those sheets balled up in your fists while you’re fucking DROOLING!!!

✦ Despite the nasty words exchanged and his intense gaslighting in that fight, you stayed long enough for your daughter to be four years old before you actually called it quits, “for good”. But Caleb never relented. Because of that little girl, it was the only reason he had access to you. Just like he wanted, exactly how he planned.

✦ He was always on time to pick her up and to drop her off, but you’ve always known that it was just so that he could get under your skin, to make your body hot and your cunt hungry for him. You were weak with him.

✦ He makes sure to slide in his little threats, too. Even does it with a smile.

✦ “I hope you haven’t been bringing anyone in here. You wouldn’t want to make your future husband angry, would you baby?”

✦ You’re not allowed to date. He made that clear. I know what you’re thinking. How the hell could he control that? Simple. He has you obsessed with that COCK!! It has become physically impossible for you to even think about fucking or being with anyone else because of him. And you refused to say it out loud, but the fact that you let him fuck you RAW EVERY SINGLE TIME, tells him that you’re just as addicted.

✦ Never did you think you’d be a woman hung up on a man’s dick the way you are with Caleb’s, but if you’ve never had it, you’d never understand.

✦ Caleb’s dick is thick and it’s long, but not to where it’s scary. In fact, he fills you up so perfectly. Y’all are like a majorly fucked up puzzle. The way the tip of his cock always kisses your cervix like a threatening promise, making you feel how he’ll always be this deep in you is INTOXICATING OMG….

✦ And Caleb will literally come back to see you the same day he picks your daughter up. He’ll drop her off with his mother or something, and you hate that because it’s supposed to be his time with her. But when he has you spread wide for him in your bed, your pussy sucking him in so desperately, it becomes quite difficult to focus on anything else.

✦ “For someone to hate me so bad, you love begging me to fill you with my cock, don’t you pretty?” he mockingly coos, your legs over hooked around his arms. “Maybe I should get you pregnant again, hm? I already own you. Why don’t I just do it again so I can make sure everyone sees how much?”

✦ Your bodies mix and work like perfect fucking chemistry. YOU KNOW BED CHEM BY SABRINA CARPENTER?!?!? YEAH, YEAH THAT’S YOU TWO!!!!

✦ He’s always whispering the filthiest things, too. And you hate love that you clench around him tighter when he threatens imaginary men you’ve never even met.

✦ “Gonna take a picture of my cum dripping out of you before I leave. Maybe I’ll come back to stuff you again so you won’t forget that I was here, hm?”

✦ “If I ever find out you let anyone else touch my pussy, step foot under the roof I put over your head, I’ll blow his fucking brains out.”

✦ “I’ll wait till you come back to your senses and you’re begging me to come home. I’ll keep having you like this until then, yeah? And my cock hungry princess is gonna let me.”

✦ “You’re so pretty for me, baby. So, so fucking pretty. You feel me in your stomach? Wait until I put another baby in you. You’ll be feeling me for a loonngg time.”

✦ Should you stop fucking the man you were supposed to have left? Yes. Should you stop letting him come over and fuck you whenever he wants to? Absolutely. But could you give up that euphoric buzz he grants you every time his dick pulses inside your walls? Fuck no.

Tags 🏷️: @obeythebutler @honeymoonfleur

[mercifulstate]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IT'S SO SIMPLE, IT MIGHT SEEM COMPLICATED.

That title? Relatable. Over the years, I’ve seen so many guys, gals, gays, and theys overcomplicate something that is literally so simple at its core. And honestly? Same. I get it. I used to be stuck in that mindset too—thinking I had to jump through hoops, follow a formula, or limit myself because what I truly wanted felt impossible to manifest.

But let me tell you right now: That. Is. BULLSHIT.

Limiting yourself? Nope. Not anymore. You can manifest literally anything you want. And how? Girl you don’t even need to stress about the “how.”

Just assume. Persist. BE. That’s it. That’s the tea. That’s the secret.

Wanna use methods? Go off, girlie! Use whatever feels good to you. But always remember: you’re the one in charge. Not the method. Not the trend. Not the step-by-step thread you saw at 2AM.

YOU are the power. YOU assume. YOU decide. YOU make it real.

None of these methods would even exist without people like you, me, and the community. Everything starts with YOU.

Now go. Be unstoppable. Be that bitch that you already are.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ AN ANNOUNCEMENT

HEY HEYYYYYY GALS, GAYS, AND GUYS <3 Gather ‘round for a quick life update from your girlie

So I know I haven’t been super active lately (okay, not ghosting but definitely quieter than usual), and I wanted to give y’all a little heads up: I’m going on an indefinite hiatus. I’ve been feeling a bit burnt out, and honestly? I’m running out of fresh things to post. LOA is super simple at its core, and repeating the same concepts over and over when the info is literally everywhere—especially on Tumblr—feels a bit.. meh. I don’t wanna post just to post.

Alsooo… I’ll be keeping my asks off. I get overwhelmed easily when my inbox piles up, and I’d rather step back than burn myself out further. Hope you all understand!

Now for my classic TL;DR because I love y’all and want to keep it simple:

LOA = Assume. Persist (in the knowing). Be. That’s it.

Having doubts? Doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

Intrusive thoughts? Doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

Spiraling? STILL doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

That’s why it’s called the Law of ASSUMPTION. Not the Law of Perfection, not the Law of Never-Think-A-Scary-Thought. It’s that simple.

I’ll be focusing on myself for a while—recharging, resting, romanticizing life again. Love you all so so much <3 Keep glowing, keep manifesting, and don’t forget that you’re the key.

[ta-ns]

Arguing with Jason Todd

Synopsis: fem reader and Jason getting into an argument no angst just fluff ~ enjoy (approximately 1,170 word count)

————————————————————————

You don’t remember how it started at this point, what you had even argued about before it spiraled out of control because yes Jason is stubborn but so are you. Words were said and eventually you tried to leave, packing things up in a backpack and heading to the bathroom to grab your personal hygiene items which led to an even more upset Jason who was currently blocking the doorway of the bathroom like a damn troll to the secret passageway that demands a price.

His broad shoulders covering the doorway easily, the low moonlight outside casting a glow against his back that honestly makes him that much more horrifying. How criminals and crooked people even try to run from him escapes you because the man looks scary when he’s mad. Those beautiful jade green eyes narrowed into slits, locking onto your own unyielding gaze.

“Move Jason.” The words leave your lips like daggers, daggers dipped in poison with a viscosity rivaling the thickest sludge known to human kind. Jason for his part is unperturbed. “Watch it princess, don’t get smart with me.” His words are the opposite of yours dripping in venom, no his are cold and as sturdy as the Himalayas themselves.

As immovable as Mount Everest. “Fine. Watch this jackass.” And with that as quickly as you can manage you’re ripping open the window of the bathroom and yanking away the screen cover and grabbing the window sill with greedy fingers.

You’re quick but Jason Todd is a hell of a lot quicker, warm and large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling. But that stubbornness running in your veins is not to be taken lightly, no not when you’re like a cat with the curtains caught between your claws. Jason is firm in his pulling but you can tell he’s using hardly any strength out of fear of hurting you.

“Let go Y/N, this isn’t a fight you’re winning.” His voice rumbles through your chest and usually this would be nice but today the anger in you is about as vast as the Pacific Ocean is large. “I’m ganna scream.” You threaten and Jason scoffs at that not believing you in the slightest.

And that is probably what sent you over the edge and so you scream. Screaming bloody murder at the top of your lungs, the sound shrill, high, and bouncing off the bathroom walls and into the quiet of the night. You can’t see but Jason’s eyes widen impossibly and quickly he clamps a thick hand over your lips. “Are you crazy?!”

He bites out as he exerts a bit more strength and shifts positions, pulling himself between you and the window sill and now you’re fighting against his weight which is like fighting a wall but that doesn’t deter you even as your grip wanes and you’re pulled from the window, no you start thrashing and wiggling and flipping and pushing like a fish out of water.

Doing anything and everything to get his grip to loosen, curses and profanities that would make a sailor look like a saint, the murmured words unintelligible against Jason’s hands but the intent and meaning not disturbed.

Jason’s own anger is swirling like a c5 tornado as he expertly manipulates your body gently but firmly to press you against the wall and keeping you from moving with his weight. Pressing against you till all the fights drained from your body. Your chest heaving as you glare at him over his hand over your mouth.

He can feel the way your body goes limp and lax and glares down at you. “If I move my hand and you start screaming and cursing I’m going to gag you babe. Understand?” Of course you nod cause there’s really not much other choices and when his hand is removed the profanities and illicit words are spilling from your beautiful lips but this time in a whole other language and Jason’s hand is right back around your mouth waiting till you settle down again.

His determination is unwavering, a part of him is honestly in admiration over how stubborn you can be sometimes. Your sass like no other sometimes. “Still being a smartass?” He voice is like whiskey as it rumbles through you and he removes his hand, his gaze pointed at you. “Still being a dick?”

You bite back and at this point all Jason can do is gaze at you in almost awe, who knows how much time has passed since you two started almost wrestling and here you are physically exhausted but that fire or rather inferno in your eyes is still roaring. The corners of his lips curl up slightly in amusement.

He can’t help it as he starts softly scoffing. A scoff that turns into a chuckle that somehow makes you start giggling. Both of you egging eachother on till you’re both laughing out loud, laughter bouncing off the walls of the enclosed bathroom, laughing till you can’t even try feeling angry, laughing till there are tears in your eyes and your stomach feels like it just developed abs and he’s leaning into you against the wall not because he’s trying to pin you but simply because he’s laughing so hard.

And so the argument passes away, the embers dying in the breeze of laughter because neither of you remember how it started anyways. You’ll probably argue again in the future because unfortunately you’re both still imperfect people but just like this one it’ll be snuffed out, that’s what love does.

Love bears all things and by golly Jason would rather dive into the depths of that wretched Lazarus pit than let an argument become an impediment in your relationship. And you love him more than enough to swim into the depths of that pit just to pull him out. And that will prove true time and time again.

[leighsartworks216]

Nyctophobia

Sylus x gn!Reader

I still have to sleep with some sort of light on at night and I was like well what would Sylus think about this. And now here we are

Warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, kissing, nyctophobia (fear of the dark), embarrassment, fear, pet names, swearing, implied sexual content, established relationship

Word Count: 2,153

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You feel so fucking stupid. Not because you did something wrong or made a fool of yourself (yet), but because this dumb problem you had was so childish. Even a 10-year-old is braver than you, a literal fucking Hunter!

You pout at the nightlight on your laptop. Sylus’s black card sat on your coffee table, just waiting to be used. And yet, the thought of using a card with access to millions of dollars (perhaps billions), just to buy a nightlight, halted you in your tracks, He hadn’t even said much about anything else you’ve bought before, and what he did say usually encouraged you to buy more expensive, lavish things. Surely, he wouldn’t flinch at this at all.

But that stupid, unrelenting voice in your head made buying the light impossible.

Which sucked.

It really, really sucked.

‘Cuz every time you stay in the N109 Zone in Sylus’s manor-slash-base, your room is so dark. Being in the lawless area doesn’t help, either. All the violence and danger you’d seen walking in the streets at night painted visions of stalkers in the corner, murderers with knives under your bed, and worse, just waiting for you to close your eyes and sleep.

But you don’t want to impose on the nice atmosphere Sylus has cultivated in his home. So you sleep with the light off, clinging to your blankets and telling yourself over and over again that nobody else is in the room.

Your phone buzzing interrupts your pity party. You shut your laptop and place it on the table next to the card. It buzzes again as you pick it up.

What’s wrong, sweetie?

I’ve only seen you make that face when a plushie falls out of the claw

You look up at your window. Sure enough, Mephisto’s red eyes greet you.

Stop spying on me >:(

Fine

The mechanical crow disappears from sight. You can just barely hear his caws as he flies off back to the N109 Zone.

But my question still stands

It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it

Sweetie, if someone says not to worry about something, people are going to worry about it

Damn him for giving you a chance to tell the truth. And damn your brain for reminding you that if you tell him the truth, he’d probably laugh at you. What does he have to worry about when he sleeps anyway? He’s already a light sleeper, but he also sleeps during the day, when creeps skitter from shadow to shadow. He wouldn’t understand.

Like I said, it’s nothing

Nothing happens for a few moments. The little dots to signify he’s typing don’t even show up. You can’t help wondering what he’s doing. What he’s thinking.

Maybe he’s getting ready to start the night, getting into his car so Luke and Kieran can drive him around to his many business dealings. Or maybe he’s picking out a vinyl from his shelf, taking it from the paper casing with a delicacy only shared with you, and setting it up on his phonograph. Or maybe he’s mimicking you: sitting on the couch, staring at the phone, wondering what to say next.

The dots appear, finally.

Come to the N109 Zone, kitten

Let me cheer you up

If Mephisto was still lurking around, he’d have seen just how fast you packed your things and hopped onto your bike.

Yes, the N109 Zone is dark and scary and extremely dangerous at the best of times. Yes, you’d be forced to sleep in the dark once again. Yes, your mind would play tricks on you and you’d probably stay up all night anyway.

But Sylus is there. And you haven’t seen him for almost a week. Who could blame you for jumping at the opportunity to spend time with him now?

-

Sylus greets you at the door with an amused smirk. “You got here fast.”

You playfully glare at him, smacking his chest as you pass by. “There wasn’t any traffic,” you tease.

The manor is as dark as usual. If it’s not black, it’s dark red. If it’s not dark red, it’s the occasional white furniture or golden accent.

Sylus trails behind you as you beeline it straight to your room to drop off your stuff. He leans in the doorway as you toss your bag onto the plush bed. “You seem to be in a better mood now,” he hums.

“I always feel better when I get to see you.” You smile up at him. It’s a soft remark. Genuine. Not the usual joking, back-and-forth banter you’re usually all too happy to supply during your visits.

His expression melts into something just as tender. Just as honest. He casually pushes himself off the doorframe and crosses the few steps it takes to get to you. His hands cradle you like one of his precious antiques, tilting your face up while he cranes his neck until the world has shrunk to just this moment.

He grins. His eyes keep glancing down at your mouth. You grab onto his waist. Your fingers curl into his soft red sweater, desperate to keep him this close. His lips brush against yours, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Then let me make it worth your while.”

-

It’s still dark when you wake up. The navy blue behind the curtain carries no hint of light, reassuring your sleep-addled brain that there is still plenty of time before day.

You roll over, silk sheets caressing your bare form, fully intending to go right back to sleep. Cold air slips underneath the blanket. You shiver and pull it tighter around you. Without thinking, you reach out toward the other side of the bed. It’s too large for just one person. The bed is cold beneath your fingers, even as you reach out farther.

You blink open your eyes, blearily staring into the darkness, searching for some answer you can quite grasp yet.

What are you reaching for…?

You turn your face into your pillow, determined to ignore that strange feeling in your gut and enjoy the last hours of the night. The rich scent of bourbon and vanilla catch on the edge of your senses. It smells just like Sylus…

You open your eyes again. Where’s Sylus?

Your fingertips brush the edge of the bed as you reach out. A discordant chord of terror strikes in your heart as you quickly pull your hand back. Thoughts of something reaching out to grab you flood your mind. Your heart races, chasing off the last ounces of sleepiness from your body.

You pull the blanket even tighter around you, curling it under your feet and tucking it into your sides until you’re in a cocoon of safety. No matter how hard you strain your eyes, you can’t see anything. But in your mind, everything can see you.

You curl up into a pitiful ball.

You could get up, but you can’t. What if something grabs your ankles?

You could grab your phone, but you can’t. What if something is waiting in ambush and your phone is the bait?

You could do a thousand things to get out of this darkness. But you can’t, for a million reasons.

The door knob slowly turns. The only indication the door has opened at all is the sound of the lower edge brushing against the carpeted floor. No light comes in from the hall. It’s all pitch black. The door clicks shut.

You hold your breath.

Footsteps. Large, heavy footsteps. They don’t stomp. You’re not sure if it would be better if they did. They creep around the side of the bed.

You don’t move.

Weight shifts the mattress. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You strain to hear anything else.

Something slides over your blankets.

You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you see spots. You bite your lip to avoid making sound.

The something - a hand, you think - wraps around your waist.

You flinch.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. They’re gonna know you’re awake. They’re gonna cover your mouth or stab you or put a pillow over your face or-

“Kitten?”

Your body shudders as you finally let yourself breathe. You grab your pillow as you quickly sit up and swing it at the face of your lover.

“I thought you were gonna fucking kill me?!”

Sylus laughs, chucking the pillow back onto your side of the bed. You can’t see him in the dark, but your body can’t stop taking in every ounce of him that it can. His smell - the bourbon and vanilla tinged with a natural musk. His voice - that rich, lively sound of his laugh and the breaths he takes. His touch - his hand, trailing patterns over the blanket at your hip.

You crawl toward him, clinging to his chest like a koala. He’s still shirtless from your escapades. His hand slides to your back, pulling you in tighter to him. You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. You press your ear against him to hear more.

“Why would you think that?” he asks once he’s gathered himself.

You don’t answer. You squeeze him tighter.

“Sweetie?” The amusement is replaced with concern. His other arm wraps around you. The muscles tense with the slightest effort. He says your name.

Relief settles heavy in your bones. Tears prick at your eyes, while you remain utterly powerless to stop them. “It’s too dark,” you whimper. It’s all you can think to say.

His arms tighten around you as he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him like you weigh nothing. He begins playing with your hair. “Does it scare you?” he asks softly.

You nod. You pull one of your hands out from around him to wipe the tears off your face and his chest.

God, you feel so fucking pathetic.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You don’t answer. His chest rises and falls with you on it, moving with his sigh. He pulls your hand away from your face and replaces it around him. You want to fight it. Complain about how gross it is to get all your tears on him. But he shushes you gently and you can’t find the strength to try.

“Do you want to go downstairs?”

You nod again.

The world shifts as he sits up with you. He pries you off of him so he can stand up, but he doesn’t go far. He grabs his sweater off the ground and helps you put it on. Then he goes through your dresser for some clean underwear. He helps you stand and slides them on. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to see the darkness. So you hold onto his shoulders. You put all your trust into him, and he refuses to betray it.

He lifts you into his arms like you’re a damn princess. Usually, he’d throw you over his shoulder, but not this time. This time he’s careful, treating you with the utmost care as he carries you down the stairs and to the living room. With a wave of his fingers, the lights turn on, black and red left in its wake.

“It’s not dark anymore,” he promises as he sits down. You keep your face safely tucked into his neck. He rests his cheek on your head. His fingers go back to your hair. His other hand rubs patterns against your bare thigh.

After a while, your terror finally dissipates completely. You can see the light shining through your closed eyelids. Feel its subtle warmth against your skin. When you find the strength to open your eyes, the warm, comfortable ambiance of Sylus’s home greets you once more.

You use the sleeve of his sweater to wipe at your face. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks. You cringe with embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I know.”

He hums noncommittally. “Is this what you were telling me not to worry about?” he asks instead.

You nod. “I was looking at… at nightlights,” you admit in a murmur.

“What kind?”

“Hm?” You pull back to look up at him. He lets you, meeting your gaze with a soft seriousness. “What d’you mean?”

He smirks slightly, eyebrow quirking upward. “I mean, what kind of nightlight would you like, sweetie? Fairy lights, a wall light, one of those animal-shaped ones that glows…”

You frown and look away. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m asking,” he cups your cheek and guides your face to look at him, “so I can buy you one. Now, will you tell me, or do I have to buy every single nightlight on the market?”

You laugh despite yourself. “I have it pulled up on my laptop…”

He grins. “Good.” He pulls you into a chaste kiss. “Don’t hesitate to buy it next time. Or to tell me what’s wrong. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a sad kitten.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[revelboo]

it’s my birthday today and I turn 22, got to celebrate with lots of presents, loads of keychains and themed sticky notes for my cubicle at work 😄

Can we get some more tarn! I need that evil sociopath 👀👀 how’s reader holding up anyway 😂

Happy birthday! Reader is very carefully feeling him out now that they can understand each other

L.G. FUAD Pt 18

Tarn x Reader

• Stunned speechless that he can understand you, that you can talk to each other and aren’t limited to very bad charades anymore, you’re half tempted to go off on him. To scream about the bath, the food, the soap. Every atrocity he’s unwittingly visited on you. But it’s not escaped you that your survival is dependent on him. And while he seems to like you, it’s the affection of a pet owner for their pet. You’re not sure if he’ll tolerate being told off by the equivalent of his space gerbil. “These are coverings and human food?” Tarn asks, attention on the bins as he slides you into one hand and just grabs stuff. Apparently confiscating stuff for you and the little guy doesn’t even try to argue as he takes what he wants. Now that he knows you’re not a pet, he has to take you home, right? You can talk to him, he knows you’re sentient. He seems reasonable for a giant, alien robot, so he has to listen.

• “Big guy?” You ask and he glances at you in his palm, wide eyes staring up at him. That’s what you’ve been calling him? ‘Tarn,’ he corrects gently, watching Swindle fetch an empty container for him, scrambling to help because he wants him off the ship and far away. Dumping his handful of human things in the small bin, he stares the smaller mech down daring him to protest as he grabs more things for you, especially food. “Tarn, right,” you say and he hesitates, surprised that he likes the sound of his name on your lips, that it does wholly inappropriate things to him. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.” Amused, he slides a servo against your jaw, grabbing the bin in his other hand and turning. Heading back to his own ship without a word. Knowing Swindle will be terrified the whole time that the DJD’s ship will fire on his and he smiles slowly behind his mask. A little fear will be good for the mech.

• Leaning against him as he goes through the airlocks back into his ship, he glances at you, red optics brightening slightly behind his mask. “I appreciate that you didn’t mention the accidental poisonings,” he murmurs and you wince. Though, the unwanted bath and unintentional groping had been worse. “For something so small, you’re surprisingly difficult to keep alive.” Smiling thinly as your jaw works, you inhale. Reminding yourself that you need to stay on his good side. Still need his help. Can’t tell him what you really think of his ‘care.’

• “And I appreciate that you did your best,” you say, expression strained to make him clear his vents with an amused huff. Do you not realize how expressive your little face is? How easily he can read you? “But I really need to go home.” And he rumbles, optics narrowing. ‘We are going home,’ he says, purposefully misunderstanding, because he likes having you around. Doesn’t want to lose your warmth or your affection. You’re his. And now that he can understand you, he has someone to talk to, because the rest of the DJD can be exhausting. ��Not your ship, my home. My planet? Earth?” Venting, he uses a servo to tip your chin up.

• “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he growls, striding through the halls of his ship and you see one of his scary buddies turn to give him a look, because he’s speaking your language. “Your home is here.” Yeah, except it’s not. Emotional support space gerbil to a giant, alien robot isn’t at all appealing to you. But there’s a look in his red optics when his head tips to stare at you that makes your argument die a swift, trembling death when you just want to argue. Remembering when he’d snarled at you and you’d stopped breathing. That he’d done something to you.

Previous

Next

[hanasnx]

rafe wld so get off on u being scared. like you’d be watching a scary movie together and he’d have his hand down ur pants to calm u down when u get scared and jumpy

-🎀

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: u don’t know what this did to me .. maybe it’s a lil different than your original idea but it’s where the voices took me

It’s not that you don’t like horror movies, it’s just that you have a hard time handling them. When your boyfriend expressed passing interest in a certain film, you didn’t want to tell him no, there’s hardly anything that earns his attention. But the entire time, you haven’t been able to sit still. Susceptible to every jump scare and every surge of music, you act like a child. Even his gentle chastising doesn’t get it through your head. After a sudden movement on screen and a blast of noise from the speakers, you squeak, clutching onto RAFE CAMERON’s shirt as you curl into him.

“Thought you said you could handle this.” he mutters, unresponsive to how you cling onto him. The arm draped behind you on the back of the couch remains there as you silently wish he’d wrap you in it.

“I can, I can.” you insist. “How are you not scared?” Your face buried in his chest means you can’t see how he eyes you up. Darkened pupils and rolling his tongue between his lips as he watches you peek at the screen every so often.

“C’mon. Could see the boom mic like five minutes ago.” he replies, but that’s not the real reason. It’s because he’s been too busy with his attention on you. Every time you’d jump, and scream, and claw at him… sure, it was annoying, but it was also getting him hot. It’s not something he fully understands, but his hips shift forward anyway when he adjusts in his seat. His free hand subtly rearranges himself, letting his halfie get some breathing room. Your temple lays on his upper chest, and your fingers fidget with your lower lip uneasily, finally working up the courage to peer at the television again. While you’re captivated, his arm discretely winds around you, and you’re so locked in you don’t even notice.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, and you listen to him, shuffling impossibly closer into his side you’re practically on his lap. “Yeah, that’s right.” A mess of tingles travels up your spine, but you’re sure it’s the fact your hair is already standing on end when in reality it’s his low voice whispering praises in your ear. “Wanna be my brave girl?”

A hand wedges in between your bodies, in between your legs, and your temperature rises with every inch he gains. From your thigh to the inside, down and over, long fingers stroke at your sex through your pants. Your attention torn between the movie and where his hand is, you’re not sure entirely what’s occurring. At least not until his fingertips dip into your waistband and you unconsciously adjust to make room for him. To reward you, his arm curls up from your back, cradling your head as the hand pets your hair. You relax as he rubs you in two different places.

The pads of his fingers apply pressure to the skin above your clit, screwing sweet little circles. You whimper through your nose and you shift.

“Keep your eyes on the TV.” he tells you. Those fingers slide down, pinching your clit between them, collecting a little moisture from your slit to bring it up, and smear it on your bud. “Yeah, baby, doin’ good. Jus’ like that.” he breathes, commending you for sitting pretty for him and taking it. You can barely keep your eyes open, fighting them not to squeeze shut. Curiously, his middle finger traces your hole, and sinks in to the first knuckle. Sharply, you inhale through your nose, and he holds on to you a little tighter. “Not even here, princess, don’t worry about me.” he whispers against your forehead, drawing his finger out only to dip back in, introducing you to more this time.

You’ve been watching, like he told you to, and a jump-scare does its job, jolting your whole body with fear as you scream. The movement causes his whole middle finger to plunge into you, and a groan he’d been holding releases from his throat. It’s visceral, and something snaps. He gives you two whole fingers, then three. Shoving them into your cunt over and over again with vehement as you writhe. His hold on you keeps you where he wants you while he relentlessly finger-fucks you. Out of instinct, you try to hide your face, but that hand that had pet your hair grabs onto your scalp, fixing you to face the television again. He grips onto your head, raising your brows as if to force your eyes open himself, “Keep your fucking eyes on the movie.”

[saidrabbles]

hey, idk if you’re taking requests but can you write about y/n comforting gd when he’s feeling anxious??? please and sorry to bother you

in her presence

a/n: hello anon 🌼 your request was no bother, thank you for being so sweet. i’m not sure about how i feel of the writing style, but i hope you like it!

pairing: jiyong x reader warnings: none summary: kwon jiyong was making a comeback after seven years, as the iconic g-dragon. he knew he would get the nerves, but he didn’t realize how new and scary the nervousness would be, and he definitely didn’t understand why you were the only person who could effortlessly dissipate all of it away.

.

.

it’s been 7 years since he was surrounded by countless cameras, hands invading his personal space to touch up his makeup, fix his clothes. he thought he was ready, but his body was acting otherwise. he had an old habit of chewing on his nails when he gets nervous, but his hands slightly shaking, his eyes involuntarily avoiding cameras and people for that matter — that was new to him.

you were also new to him – you recently became friends but your presence makes him feel the calmest he’s ever been. not even youngbae, his best friend, could get him to shake off the nerves in the first few interviews he had.

today was an important day, as he’s appearing in the first radio since a long while, to greet his fans after such a long time. he asked for you to be there, covering the real extent of his nerves by telling you that he’d love it if you came and supported him on his first show.

.

.

you exited the cab, pulling your leather jacket closer around your body as you stepped into the windy weather. you came earlier than when the show airs so that you can see jiyong before he goes on live. it was his first appearance that will be aired live in a long time. and when he asked you if you wanted to see him off, you knew that he meant he wanted you to be there. he didn’t want to impose on you but you felt that it would mean a lot to him.

you were nervous yourself, sensing the growing fondness you have for him. you didn’t want to show that in any way because you knew that he just saw you as a friend, especially when seeing how he acts the same way with his other friends. you put your hand on your heart silently wishing today goes well, and went into the studio.

.

jiyong was impatiently waiting for you when he heard your voice, greeting the staff in the lounge area. he stayed in his place, even when his body almost jumped up to greet you. as your figure became clearer coming his way, he smiled widely, flashing you his signature gummy smile. stay calm, my heart. you shook the butterflies that were forming, and greeted him. “you’re early, the show doesn’t start until 30 more minutes.” jiyong tried to shrug off the giddiness he felt inside with the thought that you wanted to see him before going on air as the gdragon. “i thought we could hangout before the show, you know get those nerves off” you smiled knowingly.

“you would think it’s impossible to feel this nervous when you’ve spent almost all of your life in front of cameras” he huffed out a laugh. “no, i think feeling nervous is very valid. you haven’t been voluntarily in the public eye for about 7 years. if it was me, i’d be running out the door right about now.” his laugh echoed throughout the studio at the image of you running away. “seriously, how are you so effortlessly funny?” he was giggling at this point. “woah there, can’t tell you the secret to my humor! wouldn’t want you to do well in that too, considering there’s almost nothing you’re not good at.” he felt his cheeks become heated at your compliment and he prayed it wasn’t visible.

“10 minutes until we go live!” was all it took for him to feel his hands shaking again, his soon to be reality becoming closer by the second. he was lost in thought before he put his hands in his pockets, not wanting you to sense this weakness of his. but you saw. you noticed how he stopped meeting your gaze, how his hands shook before he hid them, and you felt this tug at your heart. you felt helpless with this boundary that you can’t cross.

but when the same voice called for the remaining time, and jiyong became too nervous to notice his hands out of his pockets, still shaking, you pushed the alarms in your head away from the forefront of your mind. your hand reached out to his, wrapping it so that your thumb was resting over the top of his hand, as you give his a gentle squeeze. jiyong looked up, eyes unable to focus on you. “focus on my voice only, ji.” your voice was gentle yet firm, and that’s what slowly brought him back to focus again, his eyes searching for yours. your thumb drew soft, reassuring circles on his soft skin, his body slowly relaxing, feeling safe.

“i’m…i..” jiyong tried to start. “it’s okay, i’m here. we can always talk about it later, just focus on your breathing for me, alright?” how you immediately knew what he wanted to say, he will never know. just like how he never knew why his mind and body never felt this safe with someone, why you felt like the home he’s always longed for. he’s dated before, fell in love before, but not quite like this. he could give you his everything and would do it willingly.

he got up, still holding your hand, and looked back at where all the cameras are. when he turned to you again, you were standing in front of him, arms open, like you are his to hold and he is yours to hold. then he suddenly got this frightening feeling that you might not feel the same, not in the slightest. but as his worries set its claws around his mind, you wrapped your arms around him, and the claws disappeared. you had one arm over his shoulder, the other arm under his arm, nuzzling your head just under his jaw, choosing the most intimate embrace known to man.

he felt the tight knots of his nerves coming undone in your warm embrace – and melted into the hug as he heard a tiny, almost inaudible relieved sigh coming from you. he didn’t care about who was looking and who was not. all he cared about in that moment, and probably for the foreseeable future, is the way you fit perfectly in his arms, like they were made for you. “don’t leave me…please?” you weren’t sure if he was asking about leaving the studio before him, or leaving him at all, but you allowed the fuzzy feeling take over you. “i won’t…” you held him closer, if it was possible “come back to me…will you?” you wanted to make sure that your feelings we mutually growing for one another.

he let go of the embrace, afraid of carrying you and running back home to relish in your warmth, but he pulled away just enough to look at your (e/c) eyes. “if you will take me, then i will go anywhere with you, (y/n).”

you tried your best to hide your flushed cheeks with a distracting smile, but you knew that he’s noticed everything when he returned the smile. “i want to hold your hand and go everywhere and anywhere with you, jiyong.”

[kairismess]

ushijima wakatoshi: your shy secret admirer.

ushijima wakatoshi had this weird knack for being interested in things, concepts, and people he couldn't exactly understand; and this is where you come in—the object of ushijima's accidental affection, affection he hadn't realized he harbored for you until, after probably three years of tendou pointing out how strange his interest with you was—that was kind of on the level of him loving volleyball... it was like you casted a spell on him to not want anything or anyone else, but to do volleyball and... to see you everyday.

ushijima wakatoshi has a hard time understanding others' feelings, let alone his own. he struggles to show how he really feels about you, so he tries to be subtle and ultimately straight up asks the guys on the team about what it's like falling in love.

ushijima wakatoshi is catapulted into unfamiliar territory; what he understands of 'falling in love' is kind of like that feeling one gets when they receive a perfect spike, or pull off a kickass service ace, or feeling that burning passion that erupts in your chest when you finally realize that what may seem fruitless at first, if you dedicate enough time to it, will yield fresh, ripe fruits in no time—no matter how barren the land is.

ushijima wakatoshi is the barren land in this case; he's the clueless, hopelessly in love, yet unaware of it, loverboy that's so into you. it might be a little ridiculous to say that the super ace ushijima wakatoshi is a loverboy when he's not always that expressive—but if you only knew how much and how often you occupied his mind, you'd be convinced he was as dense as a boulder, because his feelings were so obvious... yet he never realizes it.

ushijima wakatoshi used to be able to only talk about one thing, and it was always volleyball—everything else was the about what the others wanted to talk about, but he never really felt engaged in those conversations... until they were about you. about how cool you were, how interesting of a person you were, and about how... "their eyes always look so full of wonder. it's like... you feel gravitated towards them." "...pretty sure that's just a you thing, wakatoshi." "that can't be right. well, anyway, i'm a bit concerned about the chest pain i've been feeling recently. whenever they come into mind, a sort of... strange feeling rises up my chest and lingers there, i don't know why, i haven't been lifting recently, but—" "wakatoshi, i'm your best friend so i'll just spell it out for you, you're in love, big fella."

ushijima wakatoshi feels the feeling surge up and rises to his cheeks. for the first time in ever... the shiratorizawa boys' volleyball team witnesses ushijima wakatoshi, their super ace, all flushed and embarrassed, red in the cheeks, because of how much he loved you and being confronted with the fact that he did, indeed, love you.

ushijima wakatoshi wanted to do something about these feelings, he didn't want to be burdened with eternal chest pain and a heat in his face that felt feverish, but in a good way, whenever he looked at you, heard you speak, or thought about or even dreamed about you. he wanted to make the first move... no matter how impossible that seemed for him to do.

ushijima wakatoshi no blocks could ever stop ushijima wakatoshi from spiking, nobody could ever stop this man when he was on a roll... except in terms of love, only you could stop ushijima from thinking straight and sending him in into tunnel vision, thinking about and focusing only on you.

ushijima wakatoshi blushes at the notion tendou encouraged him to go through with, clutching the bouquet he arranged on his own with flowers fresh from his family's garden, and with a lump in his throat he could never swallow down. "hey," he says in a low, rumbling voice. the thought of him being scary or intimidating never entered his head—all that he could think of was how adorably tinier and sweeter you seemed in comparison to him; making him love you all the more. he hands you the bouquet, maintaining eye contact with you as the feverish flush came back. "...you're beautiful." he mumbles, the red in his cheeks becoming more and more evident the longer he spent around you. he was whipped for you, he was smitten with you—ushijima wakatoshi wanted to let you know... "...and i love you."

[crsssie]

pretty blonde curls

word count: 11.6k || College Frat AU || banner by @temmmry

warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from reader or curly), depictions of violence (reader beats jimmy up), smut (2 scenes)

summary: "Me or him, Grant?"

Curly would say it takes quite a bit for it to get through his head that someone likes him.

He recalls an early moment in college when he had only been part of the frat, four drinks in before he had been raising a brow at one of the girls who had detached from Jimmy and found him, her frustration evident when she had whined that she was trying to ask him out — only to be met with a quiet "oh" from him and an apologetic shake of his head.

He's not stupid when someone's trying to sleep with him, though. Playing stupid when someone wants to hook up with him is always easier than saying no. It's the same as dressing baggy on campus to avoid attention.

"Too attractive," Jimmy tells him.

Curly doesn't see it, remnants of his health problems evident on the stretch marks on his shoulders, insecurity creeping down his sides and across his stomach onto his thighs — but it's all easy to hide. It makes him less scary to approach when he's on the board by his second and third year of the frat. He had been tugged along by Jimmy — which he's thankful for, really. But Jimmy complains about how much easier it seems for Curly to move up the ranks when he brings a different chick home every other day.

So, when the discussions for the next president creep out, it comes to no one's surprise that Curly is president, but everyone's shocked that Jimmy's the VP.

It's easy for Curly to be elected as the face of the frat, clean record, and everyone's favorite from none else but hard work. His professors appreciate his sincerity, and he had been in contact with many of the executives of the school since he was elected as VP. It's easy for it to be him simply because everyone knows he's reliable enough for it — and he knows when to stop. A clean slate — impossible to break and crumble down the name he has built. False accusations of sexual assault never lasted long. Curly was simply too clean for it.

It was almost always Jimmy's fault when it came to it.

But some people steer clear of the frat and its members in general, and while Curly has been dense when people liked him, he understood. Someone who refuses all advances and plays stupid the same way he does at the parties is agitating. He can't complain but, really, he wishes he'd be at least given a chance.

"Not with you alone, no." You click through your schedule. "I told you, Grant. I don't want... you know."

"He won't—"

"It never ends well. You know the rumors spreading about your vice president. You've not got bloodless hands just because it wasn't you, you know? A friend who does nothing to help is just as guilty." You slide your books into your bag, looking around.

"Not under the law—"

"Maybe." You wave bye to him after class, calling at your friends who have come to pick you up.

Curly understands your hesitation. You don't dislike him — visible from the way you're still friends with him, but you refuse to go out with him to hang out or anything else similar unless he could guarantee you wouldn't bump into any of his brothers. You refuse to be out with him even if all of the professors like him because it'd be terrifying to put yourself at risk of being so close to someone on campus who was known to be a sleaze. The election of Jimmy into the frat board threw you off more when he had called you one night.

You'd built more distance when you had found out.

You know he's not the same, but you didn't ever want to be on Jimmy's radar, and Curly had done a good job not showing you at all to anyone he knew so far, and you only prayed it would continue like that.

Curly understands what you mean. His hands aren't bloodless. Jimmy's smeared blood onto his palms and he's washed it off more times than necessary — dried skin from the bleaching far too many times. He can't count how many times he's had to step in and tell Jimmy that taking home the plastered girl from the party wasn't a smart idea and how people had to get checked for drugs because while getting high would be pleasant, someone coming for the frat because one of the members had slipped in a date rape drug to assault someone would not. He's stern about that, and not even Jimmy is allowed any wiggle room.

But it doesn't matter how much he does to make sure that the parties thrown are safe for all. You still refuse to associate with him too much.

At least the frat's name is growing thanks to his effort.

"Presentation night in three weeks." He mumbles to himself as he texts the board groupchat, fingers quick on his phone as he dabs at the sweat on his forehead with the towel.

"Oh, look who it is." You hum, head tilted as you start the treadmill next to him. "Presentation night? What are you presenting on?"

He beams at the sight of you. "Every single time I've had a complaint from the school addressed to me about the club since the start of the school year. Surprised to see you here. Thought you didn't like hanging with me in public."

"Jimmy's in class." You stretch your arms above your head, humming. "Just gotta make sure I don't bump into him."

"Yeah, he is— how'd you know?"

"A friend shares a class with him." You hit the treadmill twice, speeding up. "Warming up or cooling down?"

"Cooling down." Curly hums. "It's getting dark. I could walk you—"

"It's alright. Anya's class just ended." You wave at him dismissively. "See you in class tomorrow."

"See you."

You don't share a major with Curly. You had one class first semester of freshman together and then exchanged numbers — Curly had looked quite nerdy at the time, tall but lack of muscle evident on his face, and over the 15 weeks of instruction, he had lost the majority of his weight after you had told him you'd be down to be gym buddies with him. By spring, he had joined one of the frats and met Jimmy, and the two had stuck close since.

Gym with you is rarer these days, but still.

He claims you helped a lot early on, completely relaxed when you had mentioned casually that you'd be checking out the gym and were scared to do it alone — and the rest was history. He bulked up much faster than you reached your goal, and by the time that the semester came to an end, you couldn't count on two hands how many people had oogled at Curly when he passed them. You couldn't blame them. His biceps were museum-worthy.

The streaks of white on his back and shoulders that you caught wind of when he walked around in made him insecure. You'd caught it once when his shirt soaked through, and he had thrown his hoodie on almost immediately after. The stretch marks on his skin are oftentimes attributed to his height and muscle — never to his past.

He stares at himself in the mirror longer on some days, your voice in his ear as the two of you call. You do care, Curly knows. You just find Jimmy a bitch and hate him with a passion reserved for no one else.

"It'll be hot tomorrow." You hum. "You gonna go around in a long sleeve again?"

"Might wear a t-shirt." He glances at his back as he flexes, staring at the lines on his back.

"Won't you wear a tank so I can drool over those arms?"

"You and your obsession with muscles."

"Hey, it's not horrible."

"Says the one who took a whole digicam photo of my biceps back in year two."

"Hey."

"I'll tell you. You down to study on Saturday?"

"As long as you drive."

"You wouldn't go if I didn't."

"Maybe." You mumble. "Keep Jimmy away."

"And if he wants to come?"

"Tell him to kill himself."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Sure you can, big guy."

Curly likes you. He thinks it's painfully obvious. His brothers in the frat find it painfully obvious. When he smiles at his phone there's an 11/10 chance that you're texting him, and it's much easier to ask him a question and get away with things when he's on call with you because he's barely listening to their question and wants them away from his door as soon as possible so he can continue to talk to you.

It's just a matter of fact that no one knows quite what you look like or what you sound like.

Curly keeps you in his ear at all times, and you never videocall him.

And if some of the frat brothers try to follow him to a coffee shop, Curly's got the sixth sense of a hawk and everyone's location, so as long as one person's by him, he refuses to let you out of the car, even if it means he goes in to grab your orders and you both sit on the car to study. Refuses to let you out or you refuse to get out. The frat just assumes that it's the former, so they stop trying to follow him out to the study sessions.

"They're not here." Curly offers you his hand, and you hum.

"Thank you, Grant."

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why they call you Curly?"

"Don't you think my last name sounds like my first?"

"Hm... I could see Grant as a last name, yeah." You pause. "You got a preference?"

"You get to use Grant 'cause you don't need t' treat me like a president."

"I suppose so. The professors like your last name better, too."

"I suppose." He lets you order first, glancing up at the menu as you finish grabbing your usual.

He thinks it's unsurprising that he likes you this much. You're easy to like and easy to take care of. The fact that you haven't left him despite his best friend's awful reputation was probably an act of mercy in itself. You never fail to remind him that he's part of the problem, though. Really. Truly. You're very much aware that Curly is constantly on thin ice when it comes to Jimmy, and there are lines that you draw to make sure that Curly can never quite get as close as he'd like to.

You refuse to let him do anything that would give anyone the wrong idea, and the furthest that Curly has managed to push you was the study sessions that you only allow on weekends and only go with him after he makes sure no one follows him out.

You refuse to be made public with him.

And it's not that you worry about your reputation or that you don't seem to like Curly — it's really as simple as how much you despise his best friend. Curly seems to have caught on early, never pushing much further than what you allow him. He lets you initiate everything so that you feel like you have more control. He understands how awful it can get when you feel as though you have no control over anything.

He knows what it feels like to have none.

So you're allowed to boss him around, he really doesn't mind it, and dare he say it, it's almost nice. It makes him feel all warm and domestic when you do. Sometimes you bring him back to your apartment when your housemate isn't home and study there, and he likes it. He likes the way you kick him under the dinner table as you swing your legs to focus. You prefer it to tapping your pen, but you also have the habit of biting the back of your pens and darting your tongue out to lick your bottom lip when it gets dry, and Curly can't help but notice the way your lips glisten with your saliva and wonder what it'd look like wrapped around his— not that he would ever actually do anything about it! The most he'll do is adjust the strain in his pants and let out a sigh.

Someone save him.

He likes you, painfully, though. His heart races when he sees you pass him and he thinks he lights up like the sun when you wave back. It's a little bit concerning. Maybe that's why he insists on studying with you despite the fact that your schedules barely match up and why he slots out his Saturday brunches to hang out with you to study and grab brunch because you never seem to have breakfast. He wonders if you do it on purpose or if you just have the worst eating habits on earth.

You don't let him pay even when he insists.

You draw a line between the two of you that gets painfully clearer and clearer to Curly, and he wonders if he's just somehow really into someone who could lowkey crush his heart if given the chance. He gets it to some extent. You don't like his friends, so by proxy you wouldn't be able to last with him anyway if the two of you could start dating. No. Not friends. Just Jimmy. You despise his best friend, and it's almost as if you're just waiting for him to slip up.

But you let Curly get away with more and more as the semester progresses. You bring him home once without checking if your roommates are there, and you blink as Anya stares back at you, waving slowly at Curly as he nods. Another time you pass a couple of his brothers while passing by the frat, and Curly has to cover up and tell them that he was just walking a classmate because it was late. It wasn't out of character for him to play it off as that. Most of his frat understands to respect his private life. After all, despite how reliable Curly was, most of the frat still didn't like burderning him all that much. It was easier to let things be and stay out of trouble.

Not that Curly gets any less complaints from faculty.

Jimmy's failing this class, this other brother is, and another, and another... Curly finds that it's quite annoying, and soon, he calls for the club to start hosting study sessions so that at least the professors wouldn't be complaining about how the frat life was getting in the way. He suspends nonessential parties for the time being and texts you that Saturdays aren't free anymore, and you laugh.

"They're grown ass men and can't study on their own?"

"Happens to everyone." Curly mumbles, glancing at the study group. "We're in this together."

"Anyone got their girlfriend over?"

"You... miss me?"

"Miss your muscles, gorgeous." You laugh from the other side, voice cutting off as you mute yourself.

Curly shakes his head, glancing at the guys in the room.

"You wanna come over?"

"Is Jimmy there?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"I still don't get your problem with him."

"Maybe you'd have to be a woman to find out." You hum. "If you wanna come over just let me know."

"You don't mind your roommates knowing?"

"Everyone's out for the weekend."

"Ah. I'll text you."

"Alright. See you around, big boy."

"See you around, sweetheart."

Curly doesn't think about Jimmy much. He's as much of a friend and maybe even more since he had introduced him to the frat, and although Jimmy's got a questionable reputation, Curly chooses to trust his friend. Jimmy isn't horrific in his eyes. He's just a guy who might come off as a sleaze, and maybe he's definitely questionable because of how seemingly little he cares for women, and maybe he's just... yeah, maybe Curly isn't understanding because Jimmy could never treat him the same way he treats the girls at the parties. Though, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Jimmy barely cares.

"Hey." Curly grabs a guy's shoulder, and the poor girl scurries off into the crowd of the party.

"Curly. Really?" He groans.

"No fucking the girls who look like they're terrified."

"So I can fuck someone who isn't?"

"Don't go harassing them."

Curly gives the guy two pats on the shoulder as he spots you at the door, grinning at one of the other guys.

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "Didn't realize the place was so big."

"I love it." The guy laughs, raising a brow as Curly steps over. "Curly."

Curly tilts his head at you, and you tilt your head to the side.

"Our president. Curly."

"Grant's fine." He holds his hand out for yours, and you take it, nodding as you shake on it. "New here?"

"Got invited by this nerd."

"ey."

"Affectionately, of course." You hum, patting the guy on the chest twice.

"I'll take her from here."

"Of course, prez."

Once you're far away enough, you meet eyes with Curly and laugh.

"You drink yet?"

"Wanted to experience one sober." You press against Curly as someone squeezes past you.

"Sober makes it boring, sweetheart."

"Well I can see someone certainly has gotten a drink or two in his system." You pinch at his cheek, and he brushes noses with you.

"Maybe."

"Where's my charming gym buddy?"

"Still here, sweets." He hums.

"Maybe." You push yourself off of him, glancing at the rest of the crowd. "Smells awful in here."

"It's why I don't invite you. Outside of you not caring, of course." He fistbumps a guy that passes, flicking his chin at him as you stare.

"You look real good, Grant." You tap his chest, humming as you glance in the corner of your eye.

"Why are you here? You hate being here because of..."

"Heard he'll be late. Wanted to come see you." You brush your nose up his jaw, and his eyes flutter as he hums.

"This is nice."

"Of course." Your palm finds his chest, and you hum quietly. "I'll head out in a bit. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Not staying?"

"Not for too long. Heard Jimmy would be late. Not gone." You tap his chest gently, and he presses his forehead to yours. He opens his phone and looks for Jimmy's location, humming as he buries his face in your neck.

"See you around?"

"My place tomorrow? Heard there was no study sesh tomorrow."

"Eleven?"

"Mhm."

"See you." He sends you off with a quick nod, and you're off past the door.

It's a quick call. He would have liked for you to stay longer, but Jimmy walks in five minutes after you're gone, and it's back to being friends with Jimmy.

It's a constant dichotomy - the difference between being friends with you and with Jimmy. You're so tame even when you kick him under the table, and you're in little to no trouble. Jimmy gets allegations every now and then at the parties, and Curly is always stuck cleaning up after him. Sweep them under the rug. It's fine. It wasn't anything — alright, maybe he's starting to get your point. He doubts he'd want to hang around Jimmy if he was a girl, but he isn't, so he gets a little leeway, maybe.

He doesn't even notice that you've settled between his legs on the floor, and he blinks down at you as you bare your teeth and smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He swallows. "Something wrong? Dropped something?"

Your palm makes contact with his inner thigh, pushing them out as you prop your elbows to free your hands to work at his belt.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey—"

"Quiet." You mumble, poking at his dick through his boxers as you pull at the waistband, and Curly panics. No way you're doing this. You barely even like it when he holds open doors for you and offers to walk you home. You're definitely drunk or maybe you got your hands on some drugs or whatever because surely you're not—

You're taking him.

You're sucking him.

He blinks owlishly at you, your lips parted and skin glistening under him, lashes fluttering as you wrap a hand around his base, and he thinks he's going to pass out. Your mouth is painfully warm, and he reaches his fingers to thread through your hair, head thrown back in bliss as he—

His alarm rings, and Curly heaves, hand over his chest as heart threatens to break past his ribcage. God, fucking hell. He needs to fix his mind before you turn around and leave him for good for even thinking about you like that.

He'd argue that you probably know from the way you raise a brow at him on occasion, but better safe than sorry.

You're knocked out on the coffee table, eyes closed as you sit across him, and Curly adjusts the strain in his pants. It'd be rude to rub one out in your bathroom, but it'd also be uncomfortable for him to just let it sit there. He taps his fingers on the table as he stares at the drool that slides past your lips, humming to himself as you mumble to yourself.

He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and your lashes flutter awake.

"Was I drooling?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." You mumble.

"I should be sorry." He swallows. "You too tired for this?"

"Not too tired. Just tired." You mumble, yawning as you smush your cheek against the glass and blink at Curly. "You've got blonde lashes."

"Sure do." He stares back down at you, shifting his legs again.

"Do I gotta make a joke about how you're hard or are you just restless today?" You look away, staring at the blank screen across from you.

"Restless." He mumbles. He's sure the red on his ears is giving him away.

"Well, at least the GE will be out of the way." You kick at his leg from under the table, and you click your pen twice. "Don't got all day, big boy. Still have gym later."

"Yeah." He mumbles.

He doesn't see you for a while after that.

You go and flounce around and hole up in your room afterward, and Curly busies himself with the things of the frat and preparations for the pre-finals week party. It's never a smart choice but most people are going to find a party to go to anyway, so he might as well host one. Reputation has to be upheld anyway.

He texts the groupchat and everyone gets the drinks, and Curly checks the whole house for hard drugs, raising a brow at one of the younger boys who pulls out a sheet of LSD. It's shoved in the vault for safekeeping, and Curly assures him he'll get it back after the party when everyone sobers up.

Then people are invited and the house fills right up. Curly leans against the wall, just enough alcohol in his system to be warm, but not enough to cloud judgement — at least not according to himself. He glances around at the party, nodding at people he knows, chatting idylly with people he recognizes, the music and yelling making it hard to hear. Curly learns to read lips, and he sends almost everyone off with a quick flick of his fingers.

It should be fine. It's usually fine. It's the biggest party of the year that he had the trouble of going through planning in his third year, but this year is a lot more relaxed now that he isn't struggling to count club funds. Treasurer was not a fun position if you didn't like it all that much. At least he isn't going through it again. Also, the alcohol makes it hard for him to really keep to his weight. Too much sugar. Not good for his health or—

"Grant!" You call, squeezing past a couple making out as you tug on his collar and have him bend down for you, lips brushing his jaw as you grin. "There you are. Brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

"Sweetheart." He hums, hand finding your cheek as he squeezes gently. "What brings you here?"

"Boredom. Also alcohol."

"Didn't want'a get drunk at your apartment?"

"So much more fun when there's a man around."

"And Jimmy?"

"Heard he isn't coming tonight."

"You seem to know whenever he isn't coming." Curly brushes his nose against yours, and you hum.

"Don't want to catch his eye."

"You're already catchin' everyone's by bein' here." He eyes one of his brothers that stares, the poor guy looking to the side at Curly's glance.

"I think it's cuz their precious president is all up on some girl they've never met." You whisper, pinching his cheek as he leans back up. "Hm?"

"Well, not that they haven't met you."

"People are nosy." You glance to the side, winking at one of the girls that pass.

"How much d'you drink?"

"Pregamed at home. Three shots? Horrible for my sugar intake, though." You mumble, hand resting on Curly's chest as he pulls you in by the waist.

"Makes two of us." He mumbles, hand finding your forearm as he rubs. "You stayin' the whole time?"

"When's it end?"

"1:30 we start yellin'"

"Then until y'all clean up." You hum. "Not completely drunk."

"Can tell."

That's the fun thing with you, though. Your alcohol tolerance runs the same as Curly, so he finds that it's a lot easier to know when you'll knock out in his arms. It's not the first party you've been to. You joined once back in freshman when Curly first joined, and you had met Jimmy — and immediately decided that it was not worth it. You patted Curly twice on the chest and left that night, and never came back. It was surprising that you'd show to a party in year four of all times. He's not complaining, though. Always nice to see your pretty face.

Curly keeps an eye on Jimmy's location when you're around just because he'd hate to see you actually meet the guy. Met him once years ago and decided to stay as far away as you could.

"Don't get why you can't just drop him."

"Maybe after college." He mumbles. "He's our VP."

"Would you kick him if an allegation was serious enough?"

"How serious?"

"Expulsion serious."

"I'd have to. Otherwise I'd go down with or without him."

You brush your nose against his jaw, humming quietly as your chest vibrates against his.

"Good to know."

"Don't be going getting yourself assaulted. Won't let that happen to you." He mumbles.

"Me or him, Grant?"

"Don't do that to me." He groans, watching as you bat your lashes at him. "You're both important."

"Don't go testing me, blondie." You hum.

Curly glances at his phone, sighing as he rests his forehead on yours. "Jimmy's headed our way."

"Thought he left."

"Texted an hour ago sayin' he'd be back." He mumbles. "Wan' sit in my room, sweetheart?"

"You know the rules. He's here? I'm off." You whisper, closing your eyes as his lashes brush your skin.

"See you after finals?"

"Text me before you go?"

"Of course."

You hang out with Curly in between semesters during breaks. When he's free from the frat for the most part and planning things, he finds himself in coffee shops with you to catch up on gossip of all things. You ramble about tea you hear while working for your professor, and it makes Curly see a whole new side of some of the people on campus. It's like you have eyes and ears everywhere since you're helping the professors out.

"And then she ended up taking a break." You tap the keyboard, humming. "She'll be back next year, but we'll be gone by then, so, you know."

"Because the dude knocked her up?"

"I'm surprised she chose to keep it, but I mean, if she wants it, then so be it." You press the straw to your lips, humming to yourself. "Lovely tea place. How'd you find it?"

"One of the guys' girlfriend. Told me this place has great tea." He hums. "Not overbrewed at all, huh?"

"Nice and aromatic." You kick your legs under the table. "How've you been? Survived finals?"

"Yeah. The usual."

"How dependable."

"Yeah?"

"Shame no one knows how you really are." You hum. "Quite charming, nonetheless."

"You're speaking in book again."

"Alright, Grant. Sorry I wanted to be poetic for a sec. My condolences for my use of language."

"Now you sound even worse."

You click your tongue at him. "I like you this way."

"Rude?"

"Honest." You hum. "You've always got that goody two shoes smile on your face when you're on campus. It's strange. I know you want to sink those hands into my neck and choke me out every now and then."

"In public is insane."

"Your fault for taking me here. I offered my apartment."

Curly raises a brow at you, and you hum. "Complexity builds character."

"My brothers beg to differ."

"Where's Jimmy, by the way? He's usually around during breaks."

"Decided to take a solo trip. Builds character, or something." Curly hums.

"We should do a road trip." You glance at your phone. "Go around the area. Find a national park and go camping."

"Aren't you gonna get cold?"

"We'll survive." You raise a brow at him. "We could huddle for warmth, even."

"You implying sex?"

"You pervert..." You gasp, holding a hand over your mouth. "No. I was implying cuddling, but considering that your brain went straight to the gutter, I vote no road trip."

"A day trip down south would be nice."

"We could go to the city."

"Oh, that too." You scroll on your phone. "Tomorrow?"

"How about the beach?"

You glance at Curly, and he laughs.

"Please?"

"I hate you, Grant."

"Love to see you with your tits out."

"Oh, god. Fratboys."

But the truth is that Curly knows exactly what's going on at all times. You admit he's part of the problem. You keep him around because he's fun to be around. Down to do most things. Not a horrible person — a person. Not morally good or bad. There exists no pure saint or pure sinner. Anyone who presents that way is suspicious enough to warrant questions. You keep Curly around because he's not a horrible person. Only issue is with his best friend.

He's sure you'd try to cling onto your best friend if it was all allegations and no charges too, but you can't afford the same for Jimmy. The gender difference and lack of security you felt whenever he was around was more than enough to scramble any sense of security you felt with Curly. He understands that.

He wonder if it's the lesser of two evils — friends with a liar or abuser?

You'd choose a liar, but he supposes for himself it's one foot in both.

Well, not that you're the accuser.

Curly starts the new semester without you but makes time to study with you nonetheless, humming to himself as you invite him into the apartment, scrunching your nose when he smells of a workout and kick him out to come back another time. He complies, frowning at you when you shoot him an apologetic smile, and he nods. He understands. He has a persona to keep up around your roommates, and he also has an image to upkeep for the school, or whatever.

It makes him crack a little. Seep under the mask just a little. He doesn't know where the ego comes from, but he doesn't appreciate it.

He scrubs at it in the shower, and he reminds himself that it is not who he is.

He had to work to get where he was. He doesn't get to act like he's better than people.

"Ego is really only for... people who have nothing." You mumble, stirring your drink.

"Yeah? I mean sometimes I get egotistical, but I have to remind myself that I'm not who I am." You hum. "I worked to get here. Everyone works to be who they are. If they don't... then they aren't who they are."

"Now that's something new."

"I have never had an original thought in my life." You glance at the girls that step up to the table and go quiet.

Curly deals with them. He knows you can hold your ground, but they're not people you know, so they're not people you should have to deal with. He prefers to keep you away from them, even if they come knocking to the table the two of you have in the coffee shop. He's seen her at a party or two. Probably a second year looking to date a hot fratboy so she can say she dated one in college. Nothing Curly hasn't seen.

"Why are you here with her again? Curly, I really did expect you to be better at choosing... study dates." She eyes you, and Curly watches you smile.

Inhale, exhale, stare.

"If you wanted a date you could have just asked." You offer, voice light with mirth as she blinks at you.

"You! I'm not some cheap whore, you know?!"

"Didn't say that." You hum. "Unless you'd like to sit with us? Don't see a bookbag, though."

"In my car!"

"Want' come study with us? You can pull a chair—"

"Speaking of chairs. This one's uncomfortable. You mind if we switch spots?" Curly offers you a way out, and you hum.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"I'm kind of hungry, so I vote the diner."

"Wanna camp there?"

"Too late to camp."

"Fair." You mumble. "We can figure it out when we get on your car."

"Come on." He offers you a hand, and while you raise a brow, you still take it, letting him squeeze your hands gently as he ushers you off.

"If that reaches Jimmy's ears I'm shooting him point blank."

"It won't. Jimmy wouldn't touch what's mine. He's not stupid."

"Sure feels like he is sometimes." You mumble. "What's yours? Am I yours, Grant?"

He squeezes your hand. "Are you not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Cuz you're not getting anywhere close to me with that shitty best friend of yours."

Curly finds that maybe you really are just dangling him on a string. Swing him close on some days, swing him out on others. You cancel a study date for girls night with your housemate and Curly tells you to send photos (you never do). But it's fine because when you do finally meet up it's close enough to Valentine's that the coffee shops have all of the heart decorations up and Curly's got his hand over yours and he's asking you if you'd like to be his date to the party on Valentine's.

"I don't know, Curly." You mumble.

"Please? You mentioned your roommate would like to experience a full-fledged frat party at least once, so it'd be nice to bring her to our biggest one."

"I'd have to chaperone her."

"I'll keep an eye out for her." He mumbles, tapping the back of your hand.

"Will you?"

Curly does not.

The party rolls around and he keeps everything organized, searching everyone, and patting Jimmy down, going as far as raising a brow at his hat and swiping it off to shake a little. He lets Jimmy go with two pats to the back and then tosses everything into the safe, humming. He loses track of some things as people roll in, and he welcomes your housemate. He gets distracted with you, though, your lips brushing his under the lights as you tilt your head and ask him what's going on in his pretty head.

"Just you, sweetheart."

"Just me?"

"Just you." He sighs, resting his forehead on yours as you hum. "Does it always take a party to get you so vulnerable like this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm your date tonight."

"Or maybe you're just irresistable in the awful frathouse lighting." He whispers, thumb finding your bottom lip as you part them for him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You gon' kiss me, Grant?"

"God, sweetheart." He mumbles, lips brushing yours as you lean in, and he swears he's gonna get his fill of you until—

"Prez! Couple stumbled into a room."

"God, fucking hell." He groans, straightening up as he looks to the side. "Couldn't have picked a worse time."

"Sorry 'bout the cockblocking." The guy glances at Curly make his way up the stairs, and you shake your head.

You wonder where Anya's wandered off to.

Curly kicks the couple out, and he glances at Jimmy's locked door.

He knocks twice.

He thinks he hears a muffled cry when he knocks, but the music downstairs makes it hard to tell.

He knocks a third time.

It's silent.

A fourth.

Nothing.

Then, he heads downstairs.

Maybe you're still here— if you haven't stumbled off while half drunk, that is.

Curly never fully got the story from you afterward. You had stumbled home and found your housemate missing, calling Curly to check the house, and Curly had found your housemate in one of the spare bedrooms in the house, knocking and entering, letting you know where she was.

"You alright?"

Your housemate, closes her eyes, holding her head as he grumbles.

"My head feels like it's splitting open. I don't remember anything..." She mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Just sore all over." She mumbles.

"Want me to walk you back?"

Your housemate squints at Curly, and then checks her phone.

Curly assumes she dials you.

"Hey... yeah, just sore. Everything hurts. Is that supposed to happen? Curly's offering to walk me home. Should he— alright. Yeah. Yeah. I'll let him know. See you in a bit."

Curly tilts his head, and your housemate nods.

"Mind driving me instead? My legs really hurt."

"Of course. You need me to help you?"

"Should be... alright." She mumbles.

You thank Curly for taking her home, brows furrowed, giving him a pointed look that he seems to understand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." You mumble, holding her forearms as you lead her in. "Thank you for driving her here, Grant."

"Anytime. You two stay safe."

You nod.

And then you go MIA.

You stop responding to his texts and calls, distance that he had tried closing in on back between the two of you seemingly gone overnight. You tell him weekends are off limits again, and you offer limited explanations for why. Maybe you're just busy. Or, you've finally become fed up with the fact that Curly can't really pick and choose and drop people that he should really drop. Either way, he doesn't really judge you for it.

He can kind of see it.

Yet, life moves on, and he busies himself with his own things.

Maybe time can heal this.

But he texts you updates — parties hosted by the frat, and you tell him you'll show to the next one.

He asks even if Jimmy's there — you tell him especially if Jimmy's there.

He doesn't really want to know why exactly you've gotten a specific change of mind, but he doesn't pry further. It's really not his place. Besides, he should be happy that you're agreeing to to his best friend of all things.

You show up different, though. Low cut dress and makeup done — Curly doubts he's ever seen you put so much effort into meeting up with him.

"New hair?" Curly pinches at the wig on your head, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"I'll talk to you in a bit, Grant." You hum, patting his chest twice and disappearing into the crowd. "Be good, now."

Curly nods, letting you wander off as he continues to greet guests at the door.

Most people don't cause too many problems. You learn to figure your way through the crowd, quiet sauntering as you spot Jimmy, smearing your lipstick as you tug your dress a little lower, reaching to trace your fingers down Jimmy's arms, distracting him immediately from the girl he was previously talking to.

You glance at the back door before batting your lashes at Jimmy.

"And who might you be, doll?"

"Just wanted your number." You hum, mustering a smile as he raises a brow.

"It's usually the other way around. Haven't heard the rumors?"

"Maybe I'm just into a good fuck, not a good man." You tap his bicep gently, and he hands you his phone.

"Do me a favor, would you? Save your number as doll in my contacts so I remember. Password's six sixes."

"Oh, of course." You hum, clicking on his phone as he goes back to chatting with the other girl, and you scroll through his photos. You send a handful to yourself, deleting the chat history, and check your phone for the photos. Close enough.

"You figure it out, doll? Or did you accidentally lose the page?"

"Seems like I did..." You mumble. "Sorry, not super good with electronics. Such a clutz move of me, huh?"

"I'll help ya, doll." He wraps a hand around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand brushes your lower stomach, free hand clicking through the apps on his phone. "There y'a go."

"Thank you." You jut out your bottom lip, clicking in a random phone number, Jimmy's hand sliding higher and higher until they practically grope at your tits, and you pause for a second.

Alright. Seems drunk enough.

And then all you see is red.

Jimmy's dragged by his hair as you throw him out the back door into the empty parking spot, your knuckles cracking with each punch as he fights back, the tip of your heel digging into his thigh as his screams catch the attention of the rest of the party. You don't know how many punches you've reached but it's five whole minutes where everyone is stuck watching in horror as you practically crush his jaw under your fist and Jimmy is stuck there crying. He's too drunk to know who you are, and you don't care if this gets you jailed, you're taking the chance.

The satisfying crunch of his jaw under your fists and the blooms of red on his face only feed into the satisfaction, and you wonder if he'll ever think of this when he drugs the next poor girl to approach him thinking that he's not as bad as the rumors make him out to be, and it gives you this sick sense of satisfaction. You can ice your knuckles and wear gloves because it's still cold enough for it. Jimmy can't hide from his classes forever, and it definitely helps that you've got a wonderfully glued wig on that you could just burn when you get home and no one would fucking know that you were laughing while beating the frat's vice president to the ground.

Your knuckles are bloody when you're halfway through, and there's a fight outside the party that Curly has to rip through the crowd to get to.

He's surprised to find that it's you, and he pulls you off of Jimmy before stepping to ask you what happened, and you pant, fistfuls of Jimmy's hair weaved through your fingers as your chest heaves, and there is so much red in your eyes that Curly wonders if you're seeing anything at all, and he runs his hands down your bare arms as you breathe.

Jimmy stays on the ground.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Asshole grabbed a fistful of my tits."

Jimmy scoffs from the ground. "You're the one who—"

You curse him out as your heel reaches to crush his balls, and Curly holds your thigh to stop you.

"Hey!"

You look up at Curly, eye twitching as you breathe, taking two steps back and glaring at Jimmy.

"Sweetheart." Curly tries, and you look up at him, eyes vile as you scoff.

"Watch your mouth, Grant." You point a finger at his chest, humming with your head tilted. "Don't you go thinking you're any better because you don't do it. You're still doing nothing about it."

And you're off, knuckles bloody and hair between your fingers.

You don't receive disciplinary action because half of the party was too plastered to remember who was fighting who. Besides, Jimmy didn't even remember who was punching him.

You don't look Curly in the eye for a week, and Curly wonders really if it was at all worth it. First week of spring of all days. He understands the party is for the sake of the brothers, but he really'd rather not be stuck cleaning up after Jimmy when they were barely into the semester. And a matter of assaulting you of all things.

He apologizes on Jimmy's behalf after class, and you blink at Curly.

"If you know he's doing all these things, why do you keep him in his position?"

"I've just know him for so long..."

"That's not an excuse, Grant." You spit.

It's dark out.

Curly knows it's not an excuse. He knows that he shouldn't be excusing Jimmy's behavior, and especially not when his best friend had just grabbed you by the tits at a party while drunk out of his mind. Drunk or not, he shouldn't be doing that anyway. But Curly doesn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowleding that Jimmy was a horrible person would be like admitting that Curly doesn't have good taste in friends, and he'd really rather not be—

"I'm sorry for what he did at the party, but it really wasn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. Only one of the punches was for grabbing me by the tits." You open your phone, texting someone. "The other punches were for something else."

"What... what are people accusing him for now?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. With evidence this time, though."

Curly raises a brow at you, unimpressed as you raise a brow back.

"What kind of evidence?"

"Roommate got pregnant, evidence."

"And you think it's Jimmy because?"

"Tracks with the frat party we were at."

"You just think it's Jimmy because you hate him."

"My emotions have nothing to do with how shitty of a person he is."

"He's not the type to take it that far—"

"Is that all that matters to you, Curly? Is your best friend more important than the law?"

"And what evidence do you have?"

"My friend's word of mouth? The person that she was last seen with being him taking her upstairs to his room? Curly—"

"Not, Curly." He mumbles.

"You don't deserve to be called Grant if you're not gonna be a good person, Curly."

The name sounds like poison spread on your lips as you scoff.

"Are you going to defend Jimmy with your life?"

"It's just that you hate him so much, so it's easy to just assume that it's him. I know him—"

"Sure, yeah, and I know my roommate. She's not the type to lie."

"Yeah, but Jimmy isn't the type to take things that far."

"Is that so?"

"I know so."

"Alright. Alright, Curly. I should go to another party and get raped by Jimmy and then we can prove it, right?"

"He's not going to touch you. I won't let him."

"So you'll let him touch other women?"

"He doesn't do that."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart."

"Don't sweetheart me. There's nothing sweet about how shitty of a person your friend is."

"Are you sure it's not just because you hate him?"

"It's not." You swallow, gritting your teeth as your brows furrow and you take a deep breath. "I stay away from Jimmy, not hate him. I didn't hate him until he raped my roommate at the party."

"What evidence do you even have that it's him?"

"DNA? Blood tests? Timeline? Video footage?"

"It could all be made up. Why are you trying to ruin his li—"

You slap him.

The slap echoes into the night, and you breathe, chest heaving as your brows furrow impossibly more, annoyance visible as you groan. It's like Curly refuses to get the point. Curly knows you're being honest. You wouldn't slander Jimmy if you didn't have any evidence, but his mind is stuck on the feeling of your hand making contact with his cheek so harshly, and he wonders if he's really doing anything at all by just watching it all go down. Jimmy's awful but he couldn't have been able to drug your roommate. He pat him down — no. Jimmy had chosen a hat for the occasion with a compartment he had show Curly once. It absolutely could be Jimmy, but that would mean Curly made a mistake and—

Curly holds his cheek, blinking slowly as he looks at you, and you're frantically tapping on your phone, the muffled clicks of your finger against the screen the only thing until you're holding the phone to his face with a series of photos that he can only assume were taken by Jimmy.

It's morbid.

Curly feels sick to the stomach at the sight of your housemate crying into her hands and trying to hide her face, the unmistakable sound of Jimmy's voice behind the camera, and something twists uncomfortably in Curly's stomach.

"Do something." You speak, voice steady and eerily calm as Curly stares at the photos you've somehow managed to acquire on your phone, hand still on his cheek. Suddenly, the sting no longer stings and all that's left is a ringing in his ears. "You're the president, Curly. Do something before I get both of you expelled and ruin his life."

"He couldn't have—"

"His DNA was found in her. I don't know what else you want me to prove to you." You let out a laugh, looking to the side, bitterness instantly visible on your face. "Paternity test came back with an exact DNA match of the hair I yanked from his hair the other night at the party while he got his grimy hands all over my tits now Grant fucking Curly tell me if you're going to do something about that shitty best friend of yours unless you want me to end both of your university careers right now!"

"Why..." Curly mumbles, shoulders sinking as he glances at you. "are you telling me this?"

"The head of the fraternity is responsible for all of the members of its chapter. If I submit all of this evidence against Jimmy while he's in the frat, the fact that she had gotten raped at a frat-hosted party will spread and you'll get expelled for mismanagement of your frat. I know I send you mixed signals and refuse to be seen in public with you because of your shitty best friend you do nothing about, but I do care about you, Curly." You pause. "If I release all of this information while he's still in the frat, you'll have no way out, especially as the president. If you expel him first, then you'll still somehow make your way out with only your reputation taken a hit. People might even blame Jimmy for keeping it all from you."

Curly looks into your eyes and then at the picture on your phone, and he closes his eyes.

"Give me a week. Will you take nothing less than removal from the frat?"

"Nothing less. I refuse to let him continue to stay in the frat. You are responsible for them all. You only escape scathed if you remove him from the frat."

"Will—" He swallows. "I'll save that question for after I deal with this. I'm glad this is early enough in the semester, god. What about his contracts?"

"Do you think he deserves it after raping my best friend?" You bite. "What if it had been me? Would you have been able to look at me the same after his hands had been all over me and he assaulted me? That his dick had been balls deep in me while I cried for him to let go?"

"But it wasn't—"

"It shouldn't make a difference who it was. A rape is a rape, and if you don't do anything, then I suppose we're better off as strangers, Curly."

You don't text Curly back at all.

You move from your seat next to him in class, and while he knows you most likely won't talk to him until the vote to remove Jimmy from the frat goes through, but it's a painful handful of weeks without you. It hurts him to call the other board members and tell them of the situation, evidence presented as he presents even the DNA match, and it becomes apparent that no one is going out unscathed of this situation of the frat. A lighter blow is better than a total blow, they seem to agree. Then Jimmy is contacted about the situation — Curly knows him better than anyone, so the board had to know before Jimmy, and when Jimmy's calling upon their friendship of the entirety of college, Curly shakes his head and tells him that it didn't matter if they had been friends for so long. It was either they both go down or just Jimmy on his own, and it was apparent that Curly didn't want to, but had to.

Then Curly finds out just how ugly Jimmy can get, thrashing and yelling as the other members of the board hold him back after he punched Curly, and Curly just wonders how he had stayed blind for so long.

He kind of deserved the slap from you both.

"You think just because you're hot as hell and you've got some chick slung around your arm that it erases that you were nothing before me? You wouldn't be here without me!" Jimmy yells, and Curly's shoulders sink as he stares at Jimmy. "You were nothing."

Shut down. Shut down. The same way you do. Let his shoulders sink, inhale, exhale, stare into the void.

"Jimmy. Maybe you introduced me to the frat, but I am the president because of my own efforts." Curly steps up to Jimmy, and he wonders for that brief moment that perhaps this is the kind of control that he could only have in his position. Jimmy looks incredibly small like this. And suddenly, Curly seems to kind of understand how terrifying it must have been for both you and your housemate. Jimmy looks powerless for once. "You are no longer welcome here. I'll give you a week to find somewhere to settle, but you are no longer welcome here. Rape or assault of any kind is not welcome nor swept under the rug in our frat. Get out."

"You—"

"You are no longer in power. Get out."

It'll hit the local news tomorrow, and once the local news is hit, you'll submit everything to the chancellor and then Jimmy will be done for.

Curly doesn't want to think if it's the right thing or not. It is the right thing to do, but he had thrown away one of his friends as a result. Jimmy had been important regardless of what Curly thought, but he had also been a horrible person, so the choice was coming sooner or later.

It takes two days for news of Jimmy's history of both assault and sexual assault to emerge, and it takes less than a full week for Jimmy to be expelled. First expulsion in near two decades at the university, and Curly's hand shakes when he texts you. He had done it. You had done it. It was done. He had done... the right thing.

You call him instead.

"You alright?"

Curly stares at the news on his laptop, and he swallows.

"Not really."

"You want me to come over?"

"Will you?"

"He's gone." You hum. "Or you can come over. Everyone went home for the weekend."

"Is... she alright?"

"Much better. Thank you, Grant."

There's a considerable silence on the line before Curly is speaking up, voice quietest you've ever heard it. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did the bravest thing that no frat president has the balls to." You hum. "You did great, Grant."

He rests his face in his hand, going quiet as he breathes, chest shaking. It was scary. Despite how dependable everyone considered him, Curly had never once considered himself to be dependable all that much. There is still a nagging fear that carried over from high school — the concern for his body and him from the doctor quiet in the back of his mind. Dependable. His facade had worked, but it hurt to have to actually speak up on it.

"I'm. That was." He breathes. "Can I be honest?"

"Always, Grant."

"I never want to have to do that again." His voice shakes, and he holds his forehead.

"You did great. You were very brave, Grant. You want anything to drink?"

"Can you bring me a..." He pauses.

"Two beers. I need a drink after all of that process too." You mumble. "God, those meetings were draining."

"We.. did it."

"Thank heavens we did."

You head over with two beers, bottles clinking as he holds out his car keys, streetlights flickering as he hums.

"Wan' sit on the truck?"

"That'd be nice." You flick the bottlecap off, handing him one beer as you bite off the other.

"Your poor teeth."

"It'll live." You hum, pressing the bottle to your lips as he exhales, sitting back in the truck bed.

"You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You were... that night." He mumbles.

"You can say it, Curly. I got groped. It's not that deep." You raise a brow at him.

"Yeah." He furrows his brows. "Was it really necessary?"

"You were technically half-right to accuse me that I hated Jimmy so I was convicting him of raping my roommate, but it was really a moment where the opportunity come on its own. Besides, much better to stay cleaner as a frat. As clean as you can get, anyway." You raise a brow at the bottle in hand.

"First expulsion in over a decade..." Curly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was my best friend."

"Also an asshat."

"Yes. but —"

"No buts. He should've kept it in his pants." You raise a brow at him. "He punched you, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah. He... he was a shitty person. I do mourn the loss of a friend, though. Not necessarily him, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's fair." You lean back, glancing up at the sky.

No star in sight. Too polluted.

"Do we just keep moving?"

"Just keep moving." You kick your legs over his, and he sighs, exhaling gently as he presses his palm on your calf, squeezing.

"Join our party tomorrow?"

"Might as well sleep over in your room, then—" You pause. "No, the bathrooms are nasty."

"I'm in the master."

"Oh, in that case..." You mumble, letting Curly run his hand up your calf, hum on his lips as he leans back. "You got spare clothes?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even need to ask."

Curly wonders if you're only being so sweet now that Jimmy's gone. Maybe in a way it was your plan to ruin that man's life. Not that you'd do all that over a man. He wonders if you'd ever ruin his life like that. He might thank you for it — not that you will. You've done more than you could imagine and he's learned more off of you than he could admit. It'd be embarrassing to tell you, maybe. He might just have to get drunk enough for it.

Though, the sight of you drunk is a lot funnier.

You settle on his lap, closing your eyes with a hard seltzer in hand, tilting your head as you stare at the rest of the party.

Curly hardly knows where to put his hands, blinking slowly and quietly as you settle your head on his collar, blinking up at him, lashes fluttering over a shirt that's far too tight for his life but his brothers insisted on him wearing, and he wonders if any of whatever was going on was even working. You don't seem to notice when he's wearing clothes to show off his body, preferring to tilt your head and meet his eyes instead.

"You alright?" He looks down at you, and you hum.

"Mhm. Pregamed before the party." You trace circles on his chest, letting your lashes flutter over his chest. "Always smells awful in here."

"Always does. It's why I didn't like inviting you."

"Liar. I've gone to so many this year." You throw a glance at the rest of the party, and Curly hums. "Sure you like it better when you've got me dangling off of your arm, though."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're mine or anything. Could be..."

"So I'm a common whore?"

"I didn't say that."

"You seem to think that I'm playing you, still." You crane your neck to wave at another member of the frat, and Curly swallows slowly. Your hand moves lower and lower until your fingers are brushing his lower stomach, and Curly sucks in a breath out of instinct, earning a gentle frown on your lips. "Stop sucking."

"It's gotten soft."

"It's called a dad bod." You brush your fingers over his lower stomach, and he exhales as you hum happily. "I like you however you are."

"You like me?"

"You never quite seem to believe me when I tell you." You crane your neck upward, brushing noses with Curly as he hums.

"I can never really tell."

"I know. All your frat knows." You laugh, voice airy as he hums quietly.

"I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

"Then you'll just have to remind me." You hum quietly, palm sliding under his shirt as you brush over his stretch marks.

"You don't mind them?"

"We match... just tell me you love me in the morning." You close your eyes, and Curly finds a hand on your waist as he continues to watch the rest of the party.

Curly thinks you might actually like him.

Despite it all, Curly does like you. He doubts the world "like" would even encapsulate just how enraputred he is with you. Pretty, pretty girl. He thinks — chin resting on your head and sun peeking past the blinds in your bed. He gets why you like your bed a lot more. It's much cozier than his, and your back pressed to his chest only serves to have him groan when you shift.

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in your bed, only that he's got his head buried in your back as you stretch your arms over your head.

"g'mornin'."

"Mornin' to you too, Grant." You grumble, getting up to rest on your elbow as you turn around.

"Aren't you a sight in the morning." He mumbles into your skin, and you yawn.

"You know what isn't?"

"Me?"

"Your breath." You push him off of you, Curly's laugh rumbling in his chest as you sigh, opening your phone. "You want brunch?"

"How could I ever say no to you, sweet'eart?"

"Oh, god. Man so sleepy he reverts to his old accent."

"You love me."

"Debatable." You run your hand through his hair, watching as he rests his chin on your chest. "What'you looking at me like that for?"

"Thinkin' 'bout how you're so pretty." He mumbles, closing his eyes as you scratch at his scalp. "Brunch?"

"I'll call in."

"No, let me." He reaches behind him for the phone, humming. "Same place as usual?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, then. Get ready while I make our reservation."

You press a quick hum to his forehead, getting out of bed to get ready.

Curly likes this a lot better.

He finds that it's much better to get closer to you, and it almost feels like a reward for the years he had toiled away in college. Something sweet as nectar on his tongue when you give him a quick kiss between tasks, his shoulders sunk and relaxed as he watches you get ready for dates, humming when you complain about how he's a little unshaven. He'll do it for you. He always will. He'll let you rub at his chin when he finishes shaving, humming happily to himself when you press a quick kiss to his jaw.

Warm and cozy. He likes you quite a bit.

Quite a bit is an understatement, he thinks.

You look pretty at all angles, but he finds that some sick part of him finds contentment and satisfaction when you're under him — bare to the eye and touch.

He never lasts long with you looking like this, lashes fluttering as he rasps at the sound your pretty pussy makes for him as he slides in, breath heavy as he stills, your nails digging into his shoulders as you match your panting with his.

"God, dammit, Grant, move." You sing for him, and Curly groans in response.

"Sound beautiful singin' like that, angel."

"Don't you want me to sing for you more? Your name like a prayer on mine lips?"

"Don't tempt me." He holds your hips in place when you try to shift, brows furrowed as he exhales. "Gon' just flood that pussy if you move this quick."

"Never fucked a woman before?"

"You'd be surprised at how little I pulled up until college." He pinches at your waist, bucking his hips into yours as you squirm, stars in your eyes as your nails reach for his wrists, finding something to ground yourself as he gradually speeds up. "Loved playing dumb and watching girls give up. No one likes a dense man."

"I seem t— ah." Your lashes flutter, head thrown back as Curly practically drills into you, holding your head in his arms as your quiet pants register in his ear, causing him to twitch inside of you.

"You don't like men who play dumb, sweetheart. You're the one who," He rolls his hips, earning a particular whine from your lips, and his head spins. "you're the one who plays dumb. Stringing me along for so long. Have to thank you, though. Glad you fixed me."

"Fixed? Fixed ya how?" You pull at his hair, and he groans.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even know."

"Really?" You tempt, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, craning your neck to avoid Curly's as he lets his teeth graze your pulse point.

"Gon' bite you. Puncture wounds in your neck and leave red that clings for days." He rumbles, exhaling into your neck as your nails dig into his back. "Felt you clench right up. Would you be into that? Marked with my teeth despite your distaste of association with me just months ago?"

"It wasn't distaste of— you—" You heave, curling into his chest and voice shaking. "You know w-why."

"He's gone now, and I get you all to myself." He mumbles. "Get to bring you over... and fuck you dumb on this cock in my room."

"Hate you." You gasp, lashes fluttering as he groans.

"No y' don't."

"Hate that fuckboy talk you keep," You yank at his hair, forcing his head back as you tilt your head. "spitting out. You're not my sweet boy, now are you?"

"Not when I'm buried balls deep in you." He forces out, thumb finding your clit as you jolt. "There she is..."

You let him fuck you through your orgasm, nails dug into his shoulders as you leave marks, his quiet moaning rippling against your skin as you throw your head back and feel him pulse inside of you.

Curly thinks he's reached some kind of ascension. Raptured in the moment, head spinning deliriously at the feeling of you practically milking him for all he has. This is what he's been waiting for, he supposes. You're singing his name like a prayer, eyes rolled so far back he's worried they'll get stuck like his ma used to tell him, but, oh, heavens be dammed. If this is how he goes then so be it.

The bliss will bleed and his skin will burn, but he doesn't really mind it.

"You're wonderful, sweetheart." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours in the afterglow, and you'll call him a sap and sigh.

"You think I'm a sap?"

"I know you are." You mumble, thumbs finding his cheek as he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. "I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

Curly finds that maybe its a little twisted that he had to toss his friend for you, but really, who is he to complain when you're so pliable under his hands? You prefer him to be pliable as well. It helps the two of you communicate and work better.

"You think I can keep the stubble after we graduate?"

"Mm, don't want burns when you eat me out." You hum.

"You gon' make me give that up to keep my beard?"

"You'd just have to step up your aftercare."

"I can do that."

"Maybe focus on your job after graduation first."

Curly closes his eyes, humming into your bare shoulder. "Won't y' come with me?"

"We'll see."

"I'll make sure it's a yes." He mumbles.

"We'll see when we get there."

He'll make sure it's a yes when he gets there.

But, until then, he supposes he'll just have to stay dangled on your finger like a pretty little accessory.

[raileurta]

The sparkeater!human designs are such good body language inspo. I could definitely see an irritated “messenger” flicking their spiky tail like a cat as a threat, or any of them just wrapping themselves up in their wings to “loaf” on their favourite bot (said bot would probably be panicked as hell if their loaf spot was just a little too close to their chassis).

I like to think that the option for organic food is a major component towards self control compared to cybertronian spark eaters, so now the bots are just memorising all the drive thru’s in town specifically to avoid them getting cravings lol

It’d also be a fun idea that whenever they do start craving a spark they form a habit of chewing on metal to mimic the action of breaking past someone’s chassis to get to a spark without actually hunting a bot down. This is also a good indicator for when you gotta start taking them to get burgers or something before Miko actually tries to slip away and catch a con off guard. (Maybe other behaviours act as indicators too! like switching from nose smelling to tongue smelling because they’re subconsciously trying to track).

I can also imagine the cons also trying to get scary dog privileges like the bots, but their plan just backfires and they choose to let their sparkeater!human escape (because otherwise they’d be trapped with a sparkeater!human who is fully aggro at the cons for kidnapping them) which is how unicron gets the first sparkeater to find him in years. (Rip random vehicon no.420 used to create the sparkeater!human).

As for the thirteen aspects of chaos, the main one would be that everything can always happen once. Maybe not twice, maybe not regularly, but it will always happen once. I think freedom would be one of the more positive aspects of chaos. Order has rules. Typically they’re good rules that are understandable, but there are some pointless rules and bad rules too.

If I’m ever like….being annoying with these infodumps please tell me lol, I don’t wanna be too intrusive or anything.

Unless I state otherwise everyone should assume any creature I make is cat-coded. So I'm definitely seeing the vision here.

I'm imagining Raf un-intentionally making Ratchet extremely nervous because he liked laying on his chassis. He totally didn't realize what he was doing but once he did he was very apologetic. He now sleeps in Ratchet's neck crook. Miko on the other hand doesn't have this problem as she's the type of cat person to sleep on your face. Bulkhead doesn't need to breathe so he's not in danger of suffocating and plus he finds this really cute.

Every autobot now has “emergency snacks” on them just in case. There's also now a small kitchen in the human area packed full with lots of food. The kids can't really complain as they love all the free food but they do feel slightly guilty. The autobots would soothe them of any concerns they have; this for their comfort and everyone’s safety.

I'm just picturing Miko chewing up the railings in the base and Ratchet getting mad at her for it. 😂 Some of the other signs of them needing food could be nibbling on their hands, looking at a bot’s chest a little too long, pacing, and flicking out their tongues a lot. They do have tons of metal ball things in the base to help with this. Fowler has also given them lots of money to help with the food bill. The autobots could have and maybe theoretically already did hack easily into some big businesses to get their human money; they do appreciate the gesture however.

Since Miko now has wings it's basically impossible to keep her from the ground bridge and or running off so they have decided to get her one of those backpack leashes. She is very annoyed by this but it has been extremely successful so they aren't getting rid of it.

I think they did this with Jack. Megatron being Megatron wanted to use one of the autobots’ “pets” for emotional damage, he was completely convinced he could manipulate Jack to their side.

That obviously doesn't happen.

They had to force feed him a spark and being the decent person he is was very mad and disgusted by this. He escapes the prison they had kept him in then proceeds to terrorize the whole ship. The part of Megatron's mind that hadn't been totally corroded by dark energon was aware enough to know how fucked of this situation this was. He has Soundwave ground bridge him into a volcano which happened to be the one full of dark energon. Jack somehow manages not to be melted but he was blasted by tons of dark energon radiation. Once he passed out from the various severe burns he had gotten Jack and Unicron meet in his dreams.

“Creation. Once chosen by the last discipline of prime, now I shall take you for myself.” Unicorn says as he looms over Jack. The devourer had desired the “pink one” but this human shall work as well.

Jack once again being a decent person he is doesn't want to be involved in any of this. He knows how evil Unicron is (he's getting better but Jack doesn't know that) so he obviously refuses. Unicron doesn't care if Jack wants it or not so Jack becomes a messenger. He would represent the freedom that's in chaos. It's deliciously ironic as he's sort of a mini Optimus, the mech who is the poster child of freedom.

Trust me you're not being annoying. I love getting long asks like this, it gives me life.

Edit: Forgot to add this was beta read by @a-non-ymouswriter

[hamsternella]

Obsessive!Kenji Sato x Gn!Reader || Headcanons

tw: obsessive attitudes, violent behaviors, manipulation, minors DNI

From: Ultraman: Rising

A friend asked me to write something small about him, so here it is. It was quick and uncorrected, sorry😔

I really liked the movie. What do yall think??

GENERAL BEHAVIOR

Kenji is unbearable.

At the beginning of the relationship he was a nice guy, with a smile and a dazzling look.

But as the months passed, he began to transform into an unrecognizable man.

A scary person, if you were honest with yourself.

Forget about late nights out,

Forget about turning off your cell phone,

And above all, forget about your alone time.

I mean, why would you want to be alone?

What do you say, excuse me? 'Stress' and 'depression'? Discomfort, you say!

Kenji is handsome, wealthy, and has property at your mercy that you can walk around if you are bored and 'depressed'.

In fact, what the heck is that 'depression' stuff?

Kenji starts monitoring your moods and health to keep you up to date with routines to de-stress.

He has little patience, so you'd better be obedient.

Kenji wants the best for you. He doesn't understand what your attitude is about; but he's willing to give you as much love and understanding as he can…

... unless your needs begin to interfere with his needs.

In that case it will be impossible to make him see reason.

SPECIFIC

Kenji is the kind of partner who gets angry easily when you don't give him attention or if you don't understand his jokes. This guy has a short fuse. There comes a point in the relationship where you feel like you're walking on eggshells; and eventually it's hard to even enjoy the quiet moments without thinking that all of a sudden he'll be upset about something, taking it out on you.

Still, Kenji is not the kind of person who is violent to a fault. He would never hurt you physically - he'd rather be dead than have to hurt you that way. Instead, his way of handling you is with words: he manipulates you emotionally and psychologically all the time, or when he thinks it is necessary to keep you in line.

He knows all too well how vulnerable you are because of your mental state - depression and anxiety eating you up inside. So, in addition to not understanding, or not wanting to, he uses it to scare you or make you feel guilty; as well as responsible for his emotions and needs.

Other than that, Kenji is a person who likes to provide for his partner. At your disposal, if you have been good, you will have money, constant outings, as much as you want them, and purchases of all kinds in his name. Kenji also prefers to have you close by so he can easily monitor your activities; so you can live next to him and in various properties throughout his travels around the world; or in any type of home you wish. He is willing to fulfill your fantasies.

And of course, you also have to be willing to comply with his.

One of Kenji's dreams is to be able to form a strong and united family with you. He wishes to have you happy, with one or two children included. At the beginning of his relationship with you he was only looking to satisfy that voracious hunger he felt when he saw you. But as the years went by, he began to desire you with a strength that went beyond something as banal as that; and his future plans, each and every one of them, seemed to be tied to settling down and starting a family.

What could be more beautiful than to have you at his complete mercy? To have no one else by your side, and to depend on his strength, love and affection forever. Kenji is willing to sacrifice anything if he can, not only keeping the world at peace by being Ultraman, but also protecting you from yourself; and giving you something that will force you to stay by his side if the time comes when you decide to leave.

He can be very good, especially if it's for you. You just have to be obedient and do what he tells you; life is easier if you don't have to make decisions, right? Just relax, stay at home watching his games, and when you least expect it, you'll be back in his arms. You don't have to make any effort: the world will be safe thanks to Ultraman, and in the privacy of your home, you will be safe from that same world and your boring old reality thanks to Kenji.

NSFW

Thanks to the training, Kenji has a good rhythm and can stand enough to take the time to satisfy you in everything you want. He can adapt to many of your fantasies, as long as they don't involve having to hurt you too much physically.

When giving orals he prefers to receive them. He is not a person who has a lot of experience, to be honest, and that partly embarrasses him. All he wants in the end is for you to have enjoyed it, but he knows he's going to lose out if he has to put his mouth down there; so he prefers to have you on your knees, and he'll take care of the bare minimum with his own mouth before using his hands.

Anal sex? A thousand times. He loves to use your ass; he usually touches it even if you're in the living room, watching TV, or if he catches you off guard. He just rubs it with his hands or caresses it deeply with a couple of fingers as he feels the heat welling up in his lower belly. The first time you offered it to him was quite a show: the guy couldn't keep the excitement in his eyes, and it was hard for the session not to end quickly because of the pressure that threatened to make him cum immediately.

Virgins? He doesn't really care. Why would he be worried about you being one or not? To Kenji, what you did or didn't do before him doesn't matter. The only important thing is what happens when you're with him… which is funny, because he's got you under control all the time. But yeah, more or less like that.

CNC? Definitely not. He loves the idea of having you at his mercy, of course, but he doesn't like those shady fantasies at all. He worries about doing you a lot of harm, and although he himself has even admitted to having similar thoughts about you, he finds it difficult to put them into practice for the same reason.

Aftercare? You can be sure of one thing with Kenji: after any sex session, comes the best aftercare of your life. Get ready to relax in his arms, with a torrent of kisses or caresses and sweet words, barely understandable between his tired murmurs. He knows where to touch you to have you surrendered to his charms. Sleeping next to him, at least when he is in a good mood, is the glory.

[alchemistc]

catie i'm kissing your tags on this. especially the part about tommy thinking he's being horrifyingly open https://www.tumblr.com/alchemistc/780001978282541056?source=share

#complimentary to all of this is something i like to call Scorpio Honesty#when you try to relate to people with open vulnerability but you never do more rhan scratch the surface of an issue#but the moment you admit something you've gotta smooth it over because when you say it out loud it sounds INSANE#it SOUNDS like a trauma dump instead of a Fun Fact#and you gotta walk it back#turn heel and return the conversation to the other person#make a joke about it#deflect into something else#try to make it sexy instead#tommy does that shit over and over and over#its a learned response#because Someone Could Get In Trouble if you tell the whole honest truth#and you don't want to rock the boat#i don't necessarily think tommy has internalized any of that but#when you drop bits and pieces of lore it FEELS like you have overexposed yourself#but the truth is the way he goes about honesty there's an expectation (on his end) that you'll interpret twelve layers if bullshit#in order to understand him#he brushes off jealousy of the 118 and reverts to bucks jealousy#he brushes off daddy issues after admitting he barely speaks ro his father#he brushes off admiration of the 118 being there for each other#he brushes off the jealousy of the anniversary date with a 'youre hot makes sense'#any time he gets CLOSE to vulnerability he opens the door to let out a crumb and then slams and locks the door closed#he wants to be vulnerable but he doesn't know how#he thinks he IS being open when he alludes to things#and sometimes its not even that its painful or scary to open up#sometimes he thinks he's being HORRIFYINGLY open and doesn't realize he's dropping scraps that are impossible to follow to a bigger picture#he hasn't maintained Mystery Man out of any conscious desire to hide himself away#he just feels like he's exposing nerves when all he's really doing is showing a diagram of where they are

Mimi I hit the tag limit on that post and I was SO MAD ABOUT IT.

Gonna AND ANOTHER THING myself right here to add that Scorpio Honesty isn't actively trying to be deceitful or White Lying your way through life.

The ficlet I posted yesterday dove into that a little but unfortunately (for me) it's Very Close to a conversation I have had to have with my partner more than once because in my mind these tiny little morsels are the full fucking kit and caboodle and are just this glaringly obvious window into my brain and my trauma and my feelings when in reality, to most people in my life the blue curtains are just fucking blue.

Tommy drops crumbs about what HAPPENED, not what they made him feel or how he reacted in the face of them. He wasn't out on the job. He dated and was engaged to Abby. He was jealous of the 118. He IS jealous of Eddie. He doesn't have daddy issues (clearly a LIE Tommy jfc). He's a Kinsey six. He was in the Army. He has a an accountant cousin. He'd be interested in doing something with Buck on Saturday.

Like. Scratching the surface shit. Facts.

And on the other side of his Facts is a man who is HUNGRY for information, who drinks in facts and doesn't dig deeper unless there's already a through line to the Substack/Reddit thread/etc.

Tommy sees a man who seems to dig and dig and interpret and come to conclusions based on evidence, and honestly I think it's kind of a shock to him to realize that Buck didn't draw conclusions based on what Tommy thought was GLARING evidence. Yes, he's spooked by the jump from "We dated the same woman and also you're flustered by this woman's flirting on our anniversary and also you have clearly done NO research about your sexuality that wasn't dating and fucking me" to "I want to start the process that often ends with a forever kind of thing" but he's also definitely spooked by the sudden realization that Buck took his crumbs at face value. Because Tommy never offered a through line to more.

And Buck, who is and has been desperate for the kind of relationship where someone can be his Person, where he can be someone's Person (meanwhile Tommy is silently stewing over Buck already having a Person), is so fucking aware of boundaries and so fucking cautious about pushing too-hard too-fast too-much, that even if he DID want more out of Tommy's crumbs, he never pushed because Tommy's body language EVERY one of those times was so closed off he convinced himself to steer it into a joke, a tease, a flirt.

The miscommunication is juicy and wonderful and tears my heart to pieces because they're THERE. They want a future together. Even after so much time apart they are instantly drawn in, instantly aware that they want each other, but in the hookup they sort of switch: Tommy shooting for the stars with $7mil worth of eggs and Prosecco, Buck managing expectations.

And the miscommunication is such a juicy trope to work within but the point of it is ALWAYS to find a way forward. Sometimes the way is calling it, thanking each other, moving on. Sometimes it's demanding better of themselves and their partner. If we're looking at it from a rom-com angle and not a cautionary tale angle, the miscommunication is in the story to make a couple stronger.

They know each other, but they don't know each other. And for Tommy there's this hurdle, another man who knows Buck. For Buck there's this hurdle where he doesn't know how to get to know Tommy without pushing him away.

There's so much room for them to work on it. There's so much room for them to GROW, together and separately. The whump is delicious.

I just hope that we get to see some of it on screen.