#being with my thoughts right now i can't stand this

[doodlyyna]

RAW FEELINGS ― R. SUKUNA

♯ content. ― chef!sukuna, college!reader, fem!reader, small age gap (sukuna is 28, reader is 23), likely incorrect use of culinary terms and michelin stars again, ooc!sukuna me thinks, ooc! everyone actually. wc. 5.3k

✎ summary. — When Ryomen Sukuna announces a meet-and-greet event, you sign up, not thinking anything of it. That is, until you're on a flight to LA to attend a cooking class with a michelin chef. Only problem is.. you're a terrible cook.

⤷ note: soso sorry for the wait! the last week has been so busy </3 (credit to my discord kittens for the title, poetic geniuses🙂‍↕️)

The meeting room smells like coffee and pure exhaustion. The table is littered with empty cups, half opened laptops, and scattered papers filled with notes. A whiteboard sits at the front of the room, the ink of half finished thoughts smudged and erased. It's silent, aside from Uraume's exasperated sighs and Sukuna's fingers drumming on the edge of the table.

The past hour has gone something like this:

An idea is proposed. A signing event, a merch line, discounted meals, anything you could think of. Sukuna leans back, pretends to consider it, and then shakes his head. By the third suggestion, Uraume can sense an oncoming headache. Despite how badly they want to intervene as his manager, they can't force Sukuna to participate in an event. He simply won't show up.

His PR team's leader, Kenji, is worn thin. "Oh," he lifts his head, "we can sell his apron. Or one of his knives."

Sukuna scoffs. "Who the hell is buyin' that?"

Kenji takes a breath, doing his best to channel his inner patience. "I don't see you offering any ideas."

The man does nothing but shrug, leaning back in his seat. "That's your job. 'm not allowed to pitch ideas anymore, remember?"

At times like this, Uraume wonders how he made it this far.

Thinking back, they've been there to watch his entire career develop. He went from a broke college student posting gourmet instant noodle recipes to a michelin star chef with a successful restaurant. Uraume was the one who encouraged him to start posting in the first place. He never lacked passion. If anything, he just needed a small nudge in the right direction.

He started off as a line cook, quiet and dedicated to his craft. It wasn't often that he actually spoke to his coworkers outside of work. Back then, Sukuna didn't care where he was as long as he was cooking.

Uraume still remembers the night they met as if it was yesterday. It was late at night, in a small convenience store near their school. They were standing in front of the instant noodles when Sukuna walked beside them, nudging his chin towards the pack in their hand. "Don't get that one," he'd plucked the noodles from their hand, tossing it onto the shelf. "Get this. It's healthy but it still tastes good."

Looking at him, messy pink hair and tribal tattoos, Uraume only had one thought — he was weird. Especially after he went on a rant about the levels of MSG in instant foods as of late. Without a word, he took their bowl and made his way to the microwave. Uraume couldn't do anything but follow behind the stranger, watching in awe as he put such care into something so simple. In the end, curiosity won, and they tried the food. For convenience store noodles, it was the best thing they'd ever tasted.

In the past, he was just a college student with a brash personality Uraume could appreciate. Now, he's the main reason for the dull ache in Uraume's temple.

All things considered, Sukuna has never been easy to work with. Between his snarky comments and dry attitude, most people didn't like him. He wasn't one to express himself clearly, but he wasn't so bad if you bothered to look close enough.

He's weird that way. But people say some things presents itself in mysterious ways. It seems that Sukuna's way of showing he cares is by being insufferable and annoying his entire team.

Speak of the devil, his voice interrupts Uraume's thoughts. "I'm a chef. I cook."

Someone scoffs, "You have fans, Sukuna. That basically makes you a celebrity."

That's it. How could they forget? Ryomen Sukuna is a chef above all else.

He sucks his teeth. "The hell do you people take me fo—"

"Be quiet," Uraume interrupts. "How about a cooking class that doubles as a meet-and-greet?"

A beat passes. Slowly, everyone's attention turns to Sukuna.

He stays silent. Uraume takes it as their cue to continue. "We can keep it small, ten people at most. Sukuna gets to cook, and his fans get to meet him. Win-win."

The room watches him with bated breath. This is their best idea so far; if he rejects this, they're out of luck.

After what feels like hours, Sukuna finally turns to face Uraume. "I have full control of the menu." He pauses, then adds, "And I want to choose the winners."

The entire room seems to release a breath. Now that he finally agreed to an idea, the hard part is over. All that's left is to figure out details and announce the event.

From there on, the meeting room is the image of controlled chaos. With so many things to figure out and so little time, everyone is moving quickly. Even Sukuna is put to work, much to his dismay, assigned with deciding on a menu and the event type.

The setting sun shines through the windows, casting a warm light on the aftermath of today's work. Papers are still scattered across the table, now filled with notes and tasks. The sounds of pens scratching across paper and clicking keyboards have died down into relaxed jokes.

The room gradually gets empty, until it's just the two of them left. Sukuna leans back with his legs spread under the table. He seems to be lost in thought when Uraume looks up. After a moment, his head jerks up, his brows furrowed. "They're amateurs. Probably can't even hold a knife properly. How am I 'posed to teach a cooking class like that?"

Uraume doesn't even look up this time, still focused on the pile of papers in front of them. "We're choosing two students from a local culinary school." They glance up, commenting dryly, "Try not to suck the life out of them."

Sukuna hums, then grins. "Always a step ahead, huh? Smart cookie."

They don't respond, but Sukuna doesn't miss the faint smile pulling at their lips. Even after nine years, the two of them haven't changed.

When you see the announcement, you're sprawled out on the floor in your friend's dorm. While everyone else is scattered around the room, Shoko sits beside you with her feet on your lap, turning her phone every few minutes to show you another stupid post. Suddenly, she sits up, shoving her phone in your face. "Look! Isn't this that dude you're always drooling over?"

You sit up, confusion painted across your features. "What dude?"

9 Year Anniversary Event: Meet-and-greet cooking class with Michelin Chef Ryomen Sukuna!

The room falls silent. You stare at the screen for a few seconds too long, and Shoko stares at you as if you're malfunctioning. To be fair, you are.

Maki leans forward, peeking over Shoko's shoulder. "A meet and greet? That has to be a scam. I heard he's an asshole in person."

"Yeah," Utahime chimes in, "But he looks better in person. I think you should sign up!"

You glance between them, weighing your options. On one hand, it's a great opportunity. You've been watching Sukuna since your freshman year of high school. You remember binging his videos when you were supposed to be studying algebra. He was only nineteen then, still adventurous enough to try whatever weird combination fans recommended. His thumbnails were what caught your attention, always pictures of the food at weird angles. However, his blunt personality is what kept you watching for so long.

So, there's plenty of reasons to sign up — there's one thing that cancels everything else out. One tiny, irrelevant problem.

You can't cook. Not only that, you're terrible at it.

Shoko clicks on the post and scrolls. She hums contemplatively, then shrugs. "It looks fun. I don't see why not."

Nodding in agreement, Utahime moves to sit on your left. She snatches the pillow under your head, grinning when you swat at her. "You've liked him for a long time, right? As long as you don't faint in front of him, you'll be fine!"

After a moment, Maki speaks up. "Are you going to be upset if you don't win? There's probably thousands of people signing up." Maki cares about all of you, it's just.. subtle.

You purse your lips, mulling it over. She's not wrong; there's no telling how many people will sign up, so it's better to stay realistic.

"Okay," you murmur, glancing over the details. "Yolo, I guess." Mumbling a half-hearted prayer that you aren't selling your soul, you reach for the phone.

Shoko immediately gasps, slamming her phone down. "Yolo? Whenever I say it you act like it's a crime!"

Laughter fills the room. Maki snorts, "Only because you say it whenever that douchebag calls you."

She opens her mouth to speak, glancing around for a moment, then closes it. "It doesn't hurt to be curious. Maybe he wants to get back together."

"Curiousity killed the cat," you tease, plucking the phone from her hands. "I think you're out of lives, missy."

Shoko rolls her eyes, but she's already smirking. "It's nothing serious, okay? I'm just.. gathering information."

"Information about how pathetic he is," Utahime mumbles, peeking over your shoulder.

Maki tosses a pillow at her, sighing loudly. "Can we stop talking about exes? I'm getting a headache."

You chuckle, tossing Shoko's phone onto her lap. "Deal. No more reminiscing tonight."

The dorm settles into a low hum, AC rattling in the window like it's trying to escape. The form sits forgotten on Shoko's phone, confirmation email sitting in your inbox. As you lie there, surrounded by crumbs and laughter, you can't help but smile.

A week later, you get the email.

You're sitting in the library, laptop half open in front of you as you pretend to study. You nearly drop your phone and scream.

Congratulations! You've been selected to participate in Ryomen Sukuna's 9th Anniversary Meet-and-Greet!

You stare at the email for what feels like hours. Is this real? Thousands, maybe more signed up for this. What are the chances that you got picked?

Eventually you close the email and brush it off as a scam. They've gotten more and more realistic lately.

Deep down, you're a little disappointed. But you weren't expecting to win. It's enough to live through the few people that did win.

At least, that's what you thought — until your phone is displaying a call from an unsaved number. You usually don't answer calls like that, but something in your gut told you to answer.

"Hello?"

Uraume's voice comes through the speaker, soft and flat.

"Hi. This is Uraume, Chef Sukuna's manager. We sent an email yesterday and didn't get a response."

You blink, fumbling for words. "I— That was real?"

The line is quiet for a moment, then a soft huff of laughter. "Yes, that was real. You were selected as one of the winners."

"...Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Uraume reassures. "Ryomen picked the winners himself."

Your heart nearly drops through the floor. Ryomen Sukuna himself picked.. you?

Uraume continues at your silence. "If you're unable to attend—"

"No, no, I can!" You blurt, scrambling to gather your things. "Um, I might need some time to figure out transportation and such."

"Everything is paid for. It's an all-inclusive trip."

"Oh."

The realization sinks like a brick. You're going to meet someone you've admired for nearly ten years. You're meeting Ryomen Sukuna.

And then it really hits you.

You're meeting Ryomen Sukuna.. at a cooking class.

And you're a terrible cook.

"Are you there?"

Uraume's voice brings you out of your thoughts. "I'm here. Um, is there anything else I need to do?"

"No. The rest of the details will be emailed to you. Have a nice day."

The call ends soon after, leaving you in a calm silence. It lasts for a total of ten seconds.

You're already frantically tapping at your screen, excitement bubbling in your chest as you all but sprint out of the library. You can't dial the numbers fast enough.

You call Shoko first. She gets less than ten words out before you're cutting her off. "Yes, my buzzy beautiful sunshine nug—"

"Sho, the email wasn't a scam! I actually won!"

"Won? What are you talking about?"

You falter mid step, staring ahead incredulously. "Sho.. the event I signed up for last week."

A beat of silence. Then: a gasp and squeal. "Seriously? Oh, don't forget me when you marry him and get super rich and famous."

You click your tongue and shake your head, smiling. "You're the first one I'm forgetting if that ever happens."

You call Utahime and Maki next. Utahime talks so fast that you have to remind her to breathe, and Maki sighs exasperatedly in the background.

The next two days are a cycle of rereading the email, packing, and questioning your sanity.

You and your friends gather in your dorm the day before you leave, huddled around your suitcase.

"It's a cooking class, not a trip to the Bahamas. Why would I pack a bathing suit?"

Shaking her head, Shoko shoves it into your bag anyway. "You're probably going to some snotty hotel. It's obviously going to have a pool, so you need a bathing suit."

Surprisingly, Maki nods in agreement. "Think of it as a vacation. It's not everyday that your whole trip is paid for." She ignores you even when you glare at her, turning to look at Utahime rummaging through your closet. "What are you looking for?"

She turns, holding out a dress. "An outfit for the event. This is a michelin chef we're talking about. My dear friend, you will turn heads."

When Utahime gets like this, it's best to let her be. Maki sighs, turning to find Shoko elbow deep in her chips. "I dunno. He's not all that— Maki!"

Shoko whines, clutching her arm where Maki pinched her. She pays the girl no mind, snatching the bag of chips. "Don't overthink it. You should worry about being comfortable."

"Don't listen to her," Utahime mumbles, pulling out another mini dress. "You'll get a chance to have fun at some point. Best to be prepared."

You wave her off and shrug. "I guess. Nothing too.. racy. I'm still going to be surrounded by strangers."

Staring down at your suitcase ― packed to the brim with clothes and everything unnecessary. It almost feels bittersweet. You won't be gone for long, but it's still going to fee weird not having your three closet friends around. You'll have to learn new faces and names, get acquainted all over again. It's a little daunting.

Maki, ever the observant one, pulls you from your thoughts. "We'll call every day for updates. Bring back some souvenirs, too."

Utahime pouts, wrapping her arms around you. "Text us when you land, okay?"

You nod, looking around at the mess you'd made in your dorm. "I'm going to miss you guys."

Shoko hums, batting her lashes at you. "You'll miss me the most, right?"

The rest of the night is filled with laughter and comments about your husband waiting for you. And even though you're nervous, afraid of what will greet you tomorrow, it feels a little less scary with them.

The next day goes by in a blur. Airport lines, irritated TSA staff, and overpriced coffee that tastes like dirt.

By the time you land, you're running on spite, two hours of sleep, and a lukewarm red bull.

When the shuttle finally pulls up to the hotel, marble floors and staff that get paid enough to be this nice, one thing is clear.

This is real. You're here, in California, meeting Ryomen Sukuna.

Staff dressed in sleek black and red uniforms greet you with practiced smiles, taking your bags before you can blink. You're escorted to a lounge area where you wait for the other participants.

"Hey," a voice calls out, startling you from your half-asleep state.

A man comes into view, long dark hair and a ridiculously handsome face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to introduce myself." He extends his hand, "Geto Suguru."

You sit up, extending your hand to shake his. It's warm, his fingertips slightly calloused from use. You offer your name, sitting a little straighter when he repeats it. "Nice to meet you. Hopefully, we'll run into each other outside of the event."

Before you can respond or ask what he meant, Uraume is stepping into the room behind the last two participants. Once everyone is seated, they introduce themselves. "Good morning. My name is Uraume, but you all probably know me as Sukuna's manager."

A staff member comes around to distribute keycards. "These cards will get you into your rooms. First, we'll let everyone get settled, and then go over details of the event. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask any of the staff members. Also, feel free to make use of all the amenities."

With that, Uraume steps out of the room, leaving the rest of you to converse amongst yourselves.

The man from earlier is nowhere to be found. But, there's plenty of time to figure out what he meant. In the meantime, you may as well get to know the rest of the participants.

A boy with salmon-colored hair approaches you, another with dark, spiky hair trailing behind him. "I'm Yuuji!"

His energy is somewhat startling, yet refreshing. You nod, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you introduce yourself. He suddenly turns, pushing the other boy forward. "This is Megumi! Don't mind him, he's just a bit grumpy from jet lag."

Megumi stares at you, offering a tired wave. It seems like that's the most you'll get from him tonight.

The rest of the participants introduce themselves: Satoru, Nobara, Todo, Inumaki, and Nanami. It's a diverse group, for sure.

With introductions out of the way, everyone splits up to find their rooms. When you arrive at your room, the hallway is still full of people gathering their things. Satoru is on your left, and Yuuji is across the hall. As if the two of them aren't lively enough, Todo is only a door down.

You glance around, the man from earlier is still nowhere to be found. But, the room beside yours has luggage sitting untouched outside the door. When you peek at the tag, you find a familiar name is scrawled across the paper.

Geto Suguru.

You keep the information in mind.

When you finally step into your room, it smells like citrus and clean linen. It's spacious, to say the least. Floor to ceiling windows, king-sized bed, and a bathroom that looks straight out of a movie. A welcome basket sits on the desk, stuffed with trinkets, snacks, and a schedule for the next few days. A handwritten note is attached with your name on it, stamped with Sukuna's logo.

You drops your bags by the closet door and sink into the plush mattress. The last few days are still catching up to you ― the email, the call from Uraume, the flight, this hotel ― it's exhausting. Everything here is the picture definition of quiet luxury.

Your mind drifts back to the stranger from before, Geto Suguru. You say his name on the luggage next door, but where did he go? And what did he mean by "see more of each other?"

For now, you decide to drop it. There's still plenty of time to play detective. The first thing on the schedule is right around the corner.

Standing from the bed with a heavy sigh, you reach to open your suitcase. Since it's only the first day, it's better to start with a simple outfit. Just as you're applying finishing touches to your outfit, there's a knock on your door. Satoru's sing-song voice sounds shortly after.

"Princess, it's time to go! They're calling us for the event debrief.. or whatever it's called."

You snort, walking to pull the door open. You find Satoru, Yuuji, and a less grumpy looking Megumi standing outside. "Oh, did you guys wait for me?"

Yuuji grins. "Yeah, we figured we could all walk down together."

You smile, touched by the gesture. "Thanks. Let's go before we're late."

The four of you make your way downstairs, quickly finding the meeting room. The energy in the room is a weird mix of nerves and excitement, everyone murmuring in anticipation. The table is decorated with small treats and drinks, as well as name tags for each person. When you sit down, you notice Geto's name tag across from you.

Uraume stands at the front of the room, stoic as ever. To your surprise, Suguru is standing beside them, along with Todo. They're both introduced as culinary students that are there for experience.

When you look up again, you catch Suguru watching you. His gaze lingers a moment too long to consider casual, then he looks away.

The debrief continues smoothly with a short presentation covering kitchen etiquette and safety rules.

The rest of the evening moves quickly. Dinner with the participants, a tour of the kitchen, and a reminder to get enough rest. Tomorrow, the real event begins.

When you make it to your room, it feels like you've been awake for days. You fall into the nest of blankets and pillows without bothering to unpack the rest of your suitcase. You can deal with that in the morning.

For now, you sleep.

The next morning moves fast. Breakfast, small talk, and outfit changes feel like a blur. Before you know it, the sun is high in the sky and you're being led into a kitchen that probably costs more than you can comprehend.

The room is decorated with sleek appliances, dark wood, and soft lighting. Stations are set with prepped ingredients and polished utensils, each marked with a name tag. Glancing up, you find Suguru standing in front of your station, a smile stretched across his lips. "Looks like we're station buddies."

You laugh, nodding. "I guess so."

Staff members float through the room, making final adjustments, but your attention is drawn to the banner hanging in the front.

Ryomen Sukuna's 9-year Anniversary

You're barely settled when the door swings open, and in walks the man himself. You imagined this moment over and over in you head, but none of it looked like this. If you thought he looked big on the screen, there's nothing to describe how he looks in person.

He stops at the front of the room, crossing his arms as he introduces himself. "I'm Ryomen Sukuna, owner of Malevolent Shrine. Thanks for comin', and.. uh, nice to meet you all."

There's something attractive about the casual confidence he exudes, like he owns the room without trying. And he does. All eyes are on him.

"Today's going to be simple," he starts, voice low and rough. "We're going to cook, eat, and you might learn somethin' if you're lucky."

A few chuckles sound throughout the room and Sukuna grins, almost sharp enough to feel dangerous.

He makes his way around the room, learning names and faces. When he reaches your station, he grins again. Only this time, it's slower. Flashing his canines, he extends his hand towards you. "'m sure you know my name by now. Mind telling me yours?"

You blink, slightly flustered from seeing him so close. You give him your name, watching as he tests it on his tongue. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

You thank him, all smiles and pink cheeks. Sukuna only smiles, leaning against the counter. "You excited?"

"Of course! I mean, I've been watching you for years."

This time, Sukuna blinks. "Years?"

You nod, glancing away. "Oh.. well, yeah. I still remember your garbage ramen—"

He immediately straightens, his ears tinted pink. "The fuck? Why do you remember that? I was, what— nineteen?"

"It was what made me start watching you."

He looks back at you, tilting his head. Before he can respond, Uraume is getting his attention, gesturing for him to move on.

He sighs, pointing at you. "We're finishin' this later." Sukuna walks off, returning to his spot at the front of the room.

Suguru turns to look at you, grinning as he teases. "Someone got his attention."

At the front of the room, Sukuna speaks up, now to standing behind his station. He's already rolled up his sleeves, revealing the black ink curling along his forearms. "Alright, we're making two dishes today. Gyoza and donburi. It's simple enough, so try to make it look good, at least.

Sukuna gestures to the ingredients laid out in front of him. "We'll start with the dough and filling for the gyoza. Watch me first, then I'll come around and see how bad you're screwin' it up."

You glance up, peeking past Suguru to see him separating ingredients.

Leaning forward, you speak loudly enough for him to hear. "You've made this before?"

He shrugs. "Once or twice."

He falls into a rythym: chopping, mixing, portioning the filling and dough. The kitchen is full of motion and soft chatter, broken by the occasional comment from Sukuna.

"That's too thick," he calls across the room.

You're halfway through dicing your vegetables when Suguru turns, examining your work. "You're holding the knife wrong. You could cut your fingers."

He's quick to cover your hands with his own, correcting your grip on the knife. "Like this. And you cut them wrong."

Another voice cuts in, dry and amused. "Cut them wrong? It looks like a massacre," Megumi mumbles from two stations down, prompting Yuuji to laugh.

You frown, shielding your station from his view. "It's not wrong. I julienned it. I think."

Sukuna walks past your station, pausing as he eyes the state of your vegetables. He doesn't speak at first, simply nudges you to the side and cuts them for you. He's already walking away before you can thank him, kissing his teeth as he passes Nobara's station.

"Are you even trying? I could've done better with my feet."

Nobara scoffs, smacking the cutting board. "It doesn't matter if they look bad, I'm just going to eat yours!"

Sukuna scowls, walking back to his station. "Spoiled brat."

You mix the rest of the ingredients, dumping them into the bowl. After a few minutes, it starts to resemble dumpling filling.

Sukuna passes by your station again, fulling stopping in his tracks. "..The hell did you do?"

You glance up, only to find him staring at you. He nudges you aside again, plucking a spoon from your drawer. He scoops the filling, bringing it to his mouth.

"Wait, that's raw. Can't you get salmonella?"

Sukuna brushes you off, popping the spoon into his mouth. "It's extra protein, don't worry."

Not even a split second later, his whole face twists. Everything is off. It's crunchy, yet somehow slimy, too salty, and there's a weird aftertaste to it. He pauses for a moment, pressing his lips together. "...fuckin' hell."

You falter, embarrassed by the sudden attention. "I'm the only one that has to eat it, right?"

As if realizing what he said, he immediately backtracks. "It's not bad.. just a little salty."

You're not even looking at him, too embarrassed to comprehend what he's saying. He leans down, catching your gaze with furrowed brows. "Look, it's not bad, seriously. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, sweetheart. You can use mine, it's not like I really need it."

You nod, glancing at him quickly. "Okay."

He switches your bowls out, then starts walking around the room. You don't realize he's passed your station so many times, so focused on trying to get the next part right. Filling the dumpling wrappers and folding the dough. He's lingering near your station longer than he really needs, practically supervising you.

You're struggling to fold the dough when a warm hand covers yours, guiding your fingers to pinch the gyoza closed. "There you go," Sukuna murmurs, his voice low. "Better than the other three attempts."

He straightens up, brushing past you to return to his station. "Gyoza goes on the trays for steaming. The staff will handle that," Sukuna says, motioning to the side. "Now, grab a clean pan. We're starting the donburi."

At the front, Sukuna tosses rice into his pan. The smell of garlic and soy sauce instantly fill the room. "This is more about taste than appearance. Don't burn it."

Just as you're oiling your pan, Sukuna is passing by your station again. "Let me help you, sweetheart."

He reaches around you, hand brushing your wrist as he tilts the pan just slightly. "Not too much oil. You want it hot, not drowning."

You nod, heart beating a little too fast as he tosses in garlic and diced onions. He doesn't leave right away, either. He lingers, nudging your hand when you start stirring too early.

"Let it sit. It'll burn if you mess with it too much," he murmurs, so close his lips are almost brushing your ear.

In front of you, Suguru clears his throat. "You giving everyone that much help, or just her?"

Sukuna looks up, meeting his gaze head on. "Funny coming from you, student. You shouldn't need my help for something like this."

Suguru smiles, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just making sure you remember the rest of us are here."

Sukuna snorts, finally stepping away from your station. "Step it up, then."

He walks away, but not before sparing you one last glance. He moves throughout the room, giving feedback and barking out orders.

The rest comes together easily enough: sauce, layering flavors, finishing touches. By the time you're plating, the room smells incredible.

You step back, admiring your hard work. Really, it was Sukuna's, but that's neither here nor there.

As everyone starts plating, the room shifts into a quieter chaos. Laughter mixes with the clinking of utensils, and a few stations over, Satoru proudly announces that his food is edible.

You glance over at Suguru, who's already finished arranging his donburi. "Want to trade?"

He smirks. "How big of a risk is it?"

You roll your eyes but pass him your bowl anyway. He takes a bite, brows lifting. "Wait, this is actually good."

You grin. "I told you."

He chuckles, nearly choking on his food. "You're awfully cocky for someone that barely touched anything the whole time."

You try his next, and it's annoyingly perfect. You make a face. "Showoff."

He only smiles, nudging your shoulder. "It's talent."

Eventually, people start to pack up, wiping down stations and thanking the staff. Sukuna claps, gathering everyone's attention. "That's it for today. Most of you did well. The rest of you, better luck next time."

The group leaves gradually. You gather your things, pulling your bag over your shoulder when Suguru falls into step beside you.

"I'll walk you back," he says. "Since we're basically neighbors and all."

Before you can answer, a voice halts you both in your tracks.

"Actually," Sukuna starts, eyes flitting to Suguru, "I need her for something."

Suguru pauses, then looks between you two. "You need her?"

"Mhm." Sukuna's expression remains the same, but there's something smug in the way he lifts his brow. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she gets back safe."

Suguru laughs, though there's barely any humor in it. "Alright. She's all yours."

Once he's gone, Sukuna turns to you, all teeth and lazy charm. "It's nothing serious. I just figured I owe you."

You blink, brows furrowing. "Owe me?"

"For being a fan for so long," he explains, leaning closer. "And for putting up with my ramen phase."

You giggle, cheeks warm. "I guess you're not wrong.."

He leans down, voice low. "I'll give you a one-on-one lesson. Just me and you. That is, if you're free tomorrow night."

Your heart nearly leaps from your chest, but you manage a wobbly smile. "I think I can make time. I'll have to check my schedule."

He grins. "Good."

✉ taglist ― @whosmarjj @audreytoru @feliaeae @okayiamkassandra @meowsannie @cassieeethingssss @bearchermer @sugurusfeet

⤿ afterword. ― sorry again for the wait!! :( the last couple days were actual hell 😭 also this won't be the last of chef!sukuna on my blog, i'll try to cook up some drabbles! (get it?) i've had some ideas collecting dust for a min.. be ready. in the meantime, lmk your thoughts on this!

[hanniescookie]

favourite uncle ◠ hjs

—⁠☆ joshua has just been asked to babysit his best friend's daughter, but he ends up disturbing the next door neighbor's sleep or you decide to hold your next door neighbor accountable for not shushing their child :)

pairing - joshua x f!reader

genre/warnings - non idol au, fluff, romance, slice of life, pushing my uncle joshua agenda, one suggestive thought, cursing, down bad reader, love at first sight kinda thing, jeonghan's babygirl crying for basically the whole fic, jeonghan cameo, no other warnings i fear

wc - 1.2k

A/N - ohmygod here's my first ever joshua fic finally!!! this one's for my fav shua stan @starstrawb 🤍🤍🤍🤍

You are a sweet person.

You are sure you are. You’ve been told so by the plenty of people you see everyday. You are rarely angry or even pissed. You take challenges upfront like a strong soldier, and you smile in the face of misery.

Well, not when your sleep is at stake.

Right now, you stare up at the ceiling, your ears hurting from the constant noise they’ve been accustomed to. You can’t even hear the bang of your phone as it falls on the ground when you stand up, because the only sound ringing in the whole building (probably, but not likely) is your neighbor’s kid crying.

Now, you're not one of those people who hate kids, but you're also not among the ones who stop by kids in the park to coo at them. But as you bang on the door of your neighbour's apartment, you're really irritated by the crying noises that sound even closer now.

The door swings open and the first thing you register is how gorgeous the man in front of you is. His hair falls on his forehead, his white tee compliments his physique, and he looks slightly disheveled. Pretty, nevertheless.

For a second, you regret your state. You probably look like a ghost—eyebags adorning your face, hair messy and clad in your pajamas.

The regret (and attraction) fades when you hear a loud cry again, and sigh. “Can you please get your child to lower it, Mr Yoon? Or better take her out? Give her a snack? Anything to not disturb someone's sleep?”

The man in front of you widens his eyes, and despite the weird situation, he smiles. “I'm not Mr Yoon. I'm Joshua Hong, his friend. I'm just babysitting Yuwon for a while and she's started crying for no reason. I can't even figure out why and she won't tell me.”

His voice, despite being soft and calm, has an agitated edge to it—like he's trying to handle the situation but he desperately needs help. You bite your lip, trying to peek in to see where the kid is, but then just sighing aloud. “Whatever it is, please handle it. I have work early morning and I—”

“Uncle Josh!”

You hear a tiny, cracked voice call out to him. Yuwon is standing right beside Joshua now, fisting his pants and looking up at him with teary eyes.

You practically watch Joshua melt like an ice cream as he kneels down in front of her, softly caressing her cheeks to wipe her tears. “Yuwon baby, will you please stop crying and tell me what's the matter? I'm—”

Yuwon only cries harder, making your head spin. Joshua looks helplessly at you, like he's telling you his situation without words. You shut your eyes tight, then step in.

The door beeps shut behind you as you crouch down beside him, looking at the little girl with all the patience you had. “Yuwon-ah?”

Yuwon does move her head to look at you, but doesn't stop crying. In fact, she fists tighter onto Joshua’s shirt now, and he tries his best to caress her into quietening down.

“Yuwonie, do you want candy? Or chocolate?”

She shakes her head vehemently, sniffing. Joshua’s knee touches yours as you both sit in the doorway, trying to soothe a crying kid, and you have half a mind to ask the attractive man to give you babies of your own.

Fuck, no.

You shut your thoughts up, focusing on the task at hand. Your hand softly cradles Yuwon’s face, pulling her in for a hug that surprisingly loosens the tension in her muscles. You glance at Joshua over her shoulder, and mouth, “She needed this!”

Joshua continues to smile, as if he's fascinated. He has a look in his eyes that makes your heart flutter, and you're grateful for the baby’s embrace that grounds you a little bit.

“It's okay baby,” Joshua mutters, rubbing Yuwon’s back with his large hands. “Uncle Josh is here, yeah? Now you have Aunt—?” He raises his brows at you, and you mouth your name, watching his smile widen. “—Aunt Y/N as well. Tell us what's bothering you, okay?”

Yuwon’s cries slowly dim to sniffles that wet your shoulder, and carefully you pull away from her. She's hiccuping at this point and Joshua quickly rushes to get a glass of water while you usher the kid inside onto the living room's couch.

As she chugs down the water, you continue to stare at Joshua shamelessly who's watching Yuwon, hoping she doesn't cry again. He takes the glass from her, and keeps it on the coffee table before sitting beside her. “Do you feel better?”

Yuwon looks at him, her big eyes swollen and still a bit wet. “I don't want you to leave, uncle.”

Joshua's eyes widen, and he smiles harder, more beautiful. “I am not leaving, baby! Who told you—” he pauses, realizing he made a few quick calls to Jeonghan, asking him to come back because he got an urgent call from work. It clicks to him all while you're watching him pull Yuwon into his lap, kissing her cheek. “If you want me to stay, I won't go anywhere, okay?”

That earns him a smile from Yuwon finally, and the victory grin on his face is priceless. You forgot all about your sleep and annoyance, meeting his eyes as he realizes you're still there.

“You can sit. I…do you want some tea?” He offers, and you chuckle, shaking your head. “It's not even your house.”

“Practically is,” he says, softly running his fingers in Yuwon’s hair while you plop beside him. “I could raid anything from Jeonghan's kitchen and he won't say a word.”

“Is he that nice?” You ask, supporting your head with your hand as you look at him. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not at all. He just won't have a choice if I’ve already used something.”

“That's not nice,” you remark, smiling at Yuwon when she looks at you. She smiles back and points at you. “You're beautiful, Aunt Y/N.”

You feel your heart fill with adoration for the little kid as you reach out to fix her hair, accidentally (or not) brushing your fingers against Joshua’s. “I think your uncle is more beautiful.”

“He's handsome,” she pouts, looking at Joshua’s face up close and drawing stars on his cheek. “Daddy says he's a handsome man. Right, uncle?”

Joshua laughs, and you love the gentle sound so much that you forget where you are. For a while, you're lost in a dreamy land, twirling between flowerbeds while his laughter rings in your ears.

“Yes yes, baby. Your daddy sure likes me.”

Before you can say anything, the door beeps open and a panting Jeonghan rushes in. He's a picture of surprise when he sees the view on his couch, and folds his arms quickly in amusement.

You immediately stand up, fixing yourself in horror as embarrassment creeps up on you. What the heck were you doing in your neighbour's house at an unusual hour with his friend and daughter?

Yuwon runs into Jeonghan's arms, babbling something about how she's found a new aunt when you decide to sneak away. Not meeting anyone's eyes in the room, you slide past Jeonghan and make a dash for the door.

“Are we quite serious, Shua?” You hear Jeonghan say when you open the door, and your wrist is held in a warm hand. You turn to see Joshua standing behind you, his eyes wide and breath ragged.

“Uh— can I have your…number?” He asks, and you swear you hear a low whistle from somewhere in the apartment. Jeonghan is nowhere in your sight, but you shut your eyes tight in embarrassment and nod, extending your hand for his phone.

He quickly hands it over to you, and you enter your contact before stuffing it back in his hands. “Very bad time and place, but call me.”

And you run away like you are being chased by a bear.

[dickdevotionals]

you eclipsed me completely

summary: You finally meet Nightwing. He's more annoying (and less scary) than you thought he would be.

tags: dick grayson x vigilante!reader, gender-neutral, no use of y/n, secret identity shenanigans, sprinkle of angst

link to ao3: here

sequel to the ghost of you in my palms

Nightwing drops in when the fight's already halfway done. Typical.

You don't pay him any attention, because there's three guys on you and one of them has a gun he's very eager to use. You duck under the barrel as it swings wide, hook your arm under his, and wrench it up until you hear something pop. He screams. The gun clatters to the concrete, and you kick it under a dumpster just in time for one of the others to land a punch against your ribs. It’s a solid hit—he’s wearing brass knuckles, what a dick—but you’ve taken worse.

You pivot, sweep his legs out from under him, and slam your elbow into his throat before he can rise. He gasps, then chokes. You don’t wait to see if he’s down for good. The third guy bolts.

Nightwing has the guy on the floor before you've made half a step in his direction. You're reluctantly impressed.

"You are one hard person to catch," he says, not even winded.

"That's by design," you say, kneeling down next to one of the guys you just took down and checking his pockets. You aren't sure whether you're hoping to find something or hoping not to.

"What are you looking for?" Nightwing asks, kneeling right next to you now, and the only reason you don't screech like a startled child is through years of practice of not feeling your emotions in the suit. How did he get so close without making a sound?

"Nothing," you reply, promptly standing up and moving three steps away. Your heart is damn near jumping out of your chest; Nightwing's notice is exactly what you've been hoping to avoid for however long you're staying here. You still have to check the other two dealers and the van before the cops get here, but you can't exactly progress as normal with Nightwing staring at you with those creepy whited-out domino eyes.

"You’re jumpy," Nightwing says, like he’s not the one who just stealth-ninja’d up behind you with zero warning.

"I’m thorough," you reply, deciding fuck it and kneeling next to the second guy and ruffling through his pockets rather aggressively.

He hums, like he's filing that away for later. "You’re also avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you," you lie. "I barely even know who you are."

"And that's the issue, no?" He asks, finally standing up. "Two months you've been patrolling my city, and yet you somehow turn into smoke before I can talk to you. If not for some very gossipy teenagers, I wouldn't even know you exist."

"Your city?" you ask, and immediately bite your tongue. Snarking at him isn't going to make this conversation end any quicker. The third guy, thankfully, decided not to wear a jacket or anything with pockets, saving you a lot of trouble. Thanks, third guy.

You straighten, dust your gloves off, and turn back toward the van. You can feel Nightwing watching you, probably cataloguing your height and gait and bone structure to run through his Bat-database later. You adjust your posture just enough to throw him off. Slightly more slouch. You’re not above theatrics, especially when they are so very necessary.

The van is locked, which you expected. You fish a set of tools from your belt, crouch, and get to work on the back doors. It’s almost meditative, this part—click, twist, listen, breathe. Except Nightwing doesn’t leave.

He lingers just behind your left shoulder, arms crossed, breathing evenly like he’s trying to be patient, which somehow makes it worse.

"Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me your name?" he says finally.

You consider not telling him, but it's not as if your identity in the suit is a secret—basically everyone who's being helped by a vigilante wants to know their name. The old lady whose groceries you carried four blocks knows it. No harm in offering a little to Nightwing to get him to back off. "Eclipse."

He hums, repeats the name out loud as if testing it. "Not a very hero name, is it?"

"I don't recall asking," you say, almost subconsciously, rifling through a file stuffed under the driver's seat.

He snorts, unabashed. "Touché."

There's absolutely nothing in the file that would connect this to—to your dear old mentor. You should feel relieved, but you only feel weirdly sick.

"You okay?" Nightwing asks, tone casual, but there's a thread of real concern under it. You're surprised you can recognise it, when you haven't talked to each other before tonight. It is very possible that you're hearing concern where there isn't any.

"Peachy," you mutter, tucking the file back exactly where you found it for the cops and slamming the door shut. You turn, intending to leave—van’s clean, job’s done, Nightwing thoroughly annoyed—and find him still right there, damn near shoulder to shoulder. You take a sharp step back, reflex more than choice, and Nightwing, to his credit, actually raises his hands slightly, like he’s the one startled.

"Easy," he says. "Not trying to get in your way."

"Then stop standing in it," you reply, stifling the urge to rub your ribs. The bruises are blooming in earnest now, and you really don't need him noticing.

He gives you a look you can't quite decipher through the domino mask. "You sure you’re alright?"

"Are we doing this again?"

He doesn’t rise to the bait this time. Instead, he tilts his head, considering you like you're a particularly twitchy puzzle box.

"Something happen last night?" he asks.

You freeze.

You absolutely, categorically, do not freeze often. The instinct was trained out of you so long ago that it's unfamiliar now. It takes you a second to unfreeze, to inject casualness in your posture, but you highly doubt the hesitation went unnoticed. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been patrolling every night the past month," Nightwing says, sounding rather confused. "You didn't come out last night. I assumed you'd gotten injured or something, but you seem fine now."

You shrug, noncommittal. "Took a night off. That’s allowed, right?"

Nightwing squints at you. Not suspicious, exactly—just sharp. Like he’s fitting puzzle pieces together, and you really, really don’t want him to finish the picture. Logically, you know it's impossible for Nightwing to figure out you weren't patrolling last night because you were at home, feeling stupidly upset about a date that you never should've said yes to, but there's an irrational fear that settles in your bones regardless.

"That right?" he says. "Weird timing, is all. Lot of movement in the docks. Thought you’d be the first on it."

"I thought I'd let you have it. I have a life outside this, you know," you say, straightening, clicking the last latch on your belt back into place. "Shockingly."

"Didn’t peg you for the clubbing type."

"I’m not. Maybe I stayed home and made soup."

Nightwing smiles, quick and crooked, the kind that could almost be charming if you weren’t still vaguely contemplating shoving him into the now-unlocked van and slamming the doors. "You don’t strike me as the soup-making type either."

"And I suppose you would know," you drawl, "from all the many times we've talked to each other."

Nightwing just grins again, like you're funny, which is annoying because you are, obviously, but not for him. Not for caped Boy Wonders who drop into your business halfway through and act like you're the one intruding. You're funny for charming detectives who are more persistent than they seem and also will probably never talk to you again after you turned them down last night.

You step past him before you can fall into that particular line of thought. "If you’re done profiling my soup habits, I’ve got somewhere to be."

"Yeah? Got a hot date or something?"

It’s said too lightly. Offhand. Like a joke tossed into the wind.

You shouldn’t flinch.

You do.

Nightwing notices. His eyebrows inch up, subtle but there. "No way."

"Shut up," you say, no, warn, because you're this close to grappling away, manners and not making enemies be damned.

"You have a date tonight?" Nightwing asks, and small mercies that he's got the timeline wrong.

"I'm leaving," you say, far too loud for a quiet night but Nightwing doesn't seem to care.

"Okay, okay," Nightwing says, putting his hands up again like he’s talking to a skittish alley cat instead of a trained vigilante who definitely knows seventeen ways to drop him where he stands. "Didn’t mean to poke."

You don’t answer him. You just shoot a grappling line and vanish over the nearest rooftop.

The wind's sharp up here. Cleaner. You hit the ledge on a roll, shake out your shoulders, and start heading for your usual exit route—half out of habit, half to work the fury from your blood. You shouldn’t have flinched. Shouldn’t have let him see anything at all. You’re usually better than this.

You make it three rooftops before the soft sound of boot soles hits the gravel behind you.

Goddamn it.

"You got a reason for following me?" you ask without turning.

"I thought we were talking."

"We weren’t," you say, stopping just short of the next ledge. You turn enough to catch him in your periphery, backlit by a rooftop antenna and Blüdhaven’s bruised skyline. "You were asking annoying questions. I was being polite."

"I don’t think that’s what that was."

You sigh and swing around to face him properly, arms crossing tight over your chest. "Okay, fine. You want a conversation? Here’s one. I’m not trying to take over your turf, I’m not trying to make your job harder, and I’m not going to be here forever. I’ve got my own problems. I clean up what I can, I get out of your way, and that should be enough."

"That's less of a conversation and more of a monologue, if I'm honest," he says, after a brief pause.

"You say you aren’t staying," Nightwing adds, softer now. "But two months is a long pit stop."

You roll your jaw, weighing the urge to just disappear again. But you’re tired of disappearing. Tonight is already fucked sideways, and something about the way he says it—like he’s not judging, just asking—keeps your feet glued to the rooftop.

"I’ve got a situation," you say finally. "Can’t leave. Not yet."

"Is it a bad situation?" he asks, arms still crossed, but less defensive now. "Because if you’re in trouble—"

"I’m not." You catch the flicker of his expression and add, with more force than needed: "And even if I was, I wouldn’t go to a Bat for help."

That gets a reaction, finally, but not the one you expect. Not surprise that you know of his connection to Batman, but rather a stiffening of his spine, like he's… offended. "Lucky for you that I'm not a Bat, then," he says.

"Sure, well, if you're done interrogating me, I have bruises I need to bandage and…" you sigh, then decide misdirection can't hurt, "a very hot date to get to."

Nightwing seems surprised you'd bring that up of your own volition after grappling away when he mentioned it, but he doesn't grin teasingly this time.

"Not that it’s my business," he says, shifting his weight, "but dating’s a bad idea in our line of work."

The words are simple. Not cruel. Not even condescending. Just quiet. Matter-of-fact.

"I know," you tell him. "Trust me, I know."

Monday morning comes far too soon.

Your side is still sore from the stupid brass knuckles last night, and you got far too little sleep. Still, your ambiguous job at the precinct waits for no one. So you keep a hot water bottle pressed to your side throughout your morning routine and call it good enough.

You bring in your own coffee, because, well. It's not like there's anyone else trying to woo you by guessing your coffee order. You get to your desk. Boot up your computer. Open your inbox. All very normal. All very not-thinking-about-Dick-Grayson, thank you.

You feel him before you see him, instincts somehow tuned to recognise his presence in two weeks. Don’t look up, you tell yourself. If you don’t look up, maybe he’ll go away. Maybe he’s here for someone else.

"Hey."

Fuck.

You look. Idiot. You always look. And there he is. Dick Grayson, leaning against the edge of your desk, that usual grin plastered on his face like nothing had happened, like Saturday evening was just a lovely shared hallucination. Two coffee cups in his hands, one held out to you like it's an offer he expects you to accept.

He looks entirely too casual about this. About you. About everything.

"Morning," he says, his voice warm but not quite casual enough to hide the thing underneath. The awkwardness that you know is there, even if he’s trying to pretend it isn’t.

You stare at the offered coffee like it might bite you.

"Morning," you say eventually, because the only thing worse than pretending everything’s fine is acknowledging it’s not. You take the cup. It’s the right order. Of course it is.

Dick doesn’t sit. He just hovers there, half-perched on the corner of your desk like he belongs there, like this is perfectly fine.

You busy yourself with your keyboard. Nothing you’re doing requires immediate attention, but you make a show of typing anyway. The coffee cup is warm in your hand. His fingers were just there.

"You seem tired," you venture, finally, unsure of where exactly you both stand with each other.

"Didn't get enough sleep last night," Dick says.

"Clubbing on a Sunday night?" you ask, lilting your voice just so to sound teasing. If he wants to pretend you're both coworkers again, that's fine by you.

"Working on a Sunday night," he corrects. "Do you know how many cases I have open right now?"

Yes, you do. Zero. He had two open last week, and closed them both before Friday. He has yet to be assigned a new case.

Still, you go along with the attempt at a conversation. "Oh, I don't know, fifty?"

"Give or take a few," Dick says, grinning, and for a moment this is last week again, and you haven't ruined a perfectly fine friendship because you wanted to pretend you could have a normal life.

You try to smile. It lands a little crooked, a little late.

He watches you for a second too long. Not in that overtly flirtatious way he sometimes gets when he’s teasing, but in the quiet, assessing way that makes your skin crawl—not because it’s threatening, but because it isn’t. Because it’s gentle. And worse, familiar.

"Well," you say, gesturing vaguely at your screen, "some of us are trying to clear the paperwork backlog, so."

"Mmh." He doesn't move. Just sips his own coffee and nods, like he agrees, and then stays right there.

You look at each other for a moment in silence. Even before Saturday, Dick didn't stick around this long at your desk. He does have an actual job to do, and by the way the others are looking at him, you're certain he'll be hearing about 'flirting with the temp' in his performance review. You should probably send him away.

But apparently your emotions now control your brain instead of the other way round because instead of telling him to leave and let you work, your eyes fall to the coffee cup in his hand, follow that cup to his mouth and then linger on his lips for a moment before you snap out of it and turn to your monitor. You can see him smile self-satisfied, as if he'd proven a point, in your periphery.

"So," he says, "Saturday was fun."

You hadn't expected him to bring it up. You'd thought you were both pretending Saturday didn't happen. You look at him from the corner of your eye and ask, "Was it?"

Dick shrugs, the motion deliberately casual, but you’re watching too closely not to notice the way his fingers tighten just slightly around the coffee cup. "As far as completely platonic dinners go, yeah, I thought it was."

He doesn’t meet your eye when he says it, which is somehow worse. It makes the air between you heavy, uncertain, as if it might break if either of you pushes too hard in any direction.

So you say, "What, do you have a lot of experience with those?" and Dick smiles tightly at you and you both go on pretending nothing at all happened.

taglist: @adorabluesposts @makimakimi

thank you to everyone who read the first part of this, the support and love has been absolutely mind-blowing!

[aliceintvland]

prompt 15 with robby and langdon… imagine being back to chest with robby and he’s soothing you while langdon is just going at it

love your writing so much!!💕

omg thank you first off and second THIS IS SO HOT. Smut below the cut!

This wasn't the plan for your Friday night. Your agenda was to take a bubble bath, make a nice dinner, and snuggle up next to your boyfriend.

So you're not quite sure how you ended up here, naked on your bed, pressed up against your boyfriend's chest as your co-worker admires your glistening cunt.

It had all started when Frank showed up under the guise of dropping off a whiskey he was gifted but won't drink. Since the divorce, he's been lonely. So you and Robby agreed to invite him in, give him some dinner, and share a drink.

It wasn't long until Robby pulled you into the bathroom, grip on your wrist tight.

"You two are flirting up a storm right now," he said, hand on the back of his neck. You scoffed, kissing him playfully. "I'm not mad."

"Well good, because we're definitely not," you laughed.

"I wouldn't care if you were," he shrugs, breath hot on your face. "In fact, isn't that what you wanted?"

You thought back to a drunken night a few weeks ago, where after prying from Robby you had confessed that if you had to fuck any other person at PTMC it would be Langdon.

"I want you," you assured him, rubbing your thumb along his jaw. "You're my number one guy."

"You should let him fuck you," he blurted out, and you thought you misheard him at first. Robby put his hand on your waist, squeezing firmly. "With me here, of course. You should let us both fuck you. If that's what you want."

You can't form a coherent sentence, not with the way he's looking at you with pleading eyes and parted lips. But the lightning bolt that strikes through your body at the thought is the only answer you need.

"It is," you whispered. Robby moved a piece of hair behind your ear.

"What exactly do you want?" he stepped forward so that you're backed up against the counter, voice low. "Need you to say it. So I can go out there and ask our guest to join us in the bedroom."

"I want you and Frank to fuck me," you said, legs already buckling. Robby kissed you, filthy and rushed, before nodding.

"Okay, baby," he says. "Do you want to set any ground rules?"

You think about it for a moment, furrowing your brow and twisting your lips. Robby waits patiently.

"Condom," you say.

"Obviously," Robby chuckles. "Anything else?"

"He can't fuck my ass," you whisper, and Robby chuckles a bit. "That's only for you, when we're alone."

"Deal," he nods, kissing your forehead. "Are you good with his mouth? Fingers? Do you want him to kiss you?"

"What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want," he says honestly. In any other relationship, this would feel like a test. But you can see it in Robby's eyes: all he wants is for you to get the most out of this.

"I only want to kiss you," you decide, and the way Robby looks at you almost causes you to melt right there. He places his mouth on yours, soft and forgiving, grinning against you.

"Go get ready, honey. I'll go talk to him."

It didn't take any convincing to get Langdon to agree. He practically raced Robby to the bedroom, inhaling sharply at the sight of you sitting there in your bra and panties.

Robby strips down to his boxers, already half hard, slipping behind you on the bed, his back against the pillows. You settle between his legs, allowing him to unhook your bra and slide down your lace underwear.

"Holy shit," Frank mumbles, almost to himself, still standing at the edge of the bed. You feel your cheeks grow hot, a bashful smile creeping over your lips. "You're beautiful."

"Isn't she?" Robby cups your breasts, toying with your hardening nipples as you lean back into him. "My pretty baby. You're lucky I don't mind sharing."

It's as if Langdon is afraid to make the first move, eyes lost in every curve and freckle on your body. You let out a whimper at Robby's touch, pussy already throbbing and begging for something more.

"Go ahead," you whisper to him. "You can touch me."

It's all he needs to sit at the edge of the bed, fingertips dancing up your legs. You shiver at his touch, gentle and unsure, as if you're an antique doll he's terrified to break.

"So wet," Frank says, eyes meeting yours. "You excited about this?"

"I am," you confirm, grinding back against Robby as he mouths at your neck. You place your hand over his, as if to thank him for his patience as Langdon places his finger on your clit. "Need more."

"Just getting you warmed up," he promises, sliding his fingers down your wet slit, his middle one circling your hole before pushing in. You wriggle your hips, surprised when he pushes his arm over your lower stomach to stop your squirming. He looks up at Robby. "She's an eager one."

"She is," Robby chuckles, hand ghosting over your neck but not squeezing. He kisses your jaw, wet and dirty. "My good girl."

"Oh, so she just wants to be praised? Good to know."

"How do you think I got her in the first place?" Robby chuckles.

Something about the way they talk about you like you're not even there makes your cunt pulse around his fingers, heat rushing up your neck and cheeks. Frank adds a second finger, curling upward and thumbing your clit.

His fingers aren't as thick as Robby, and he doesn't yet have the blueprint to all the spots that make you come undone, but he's pretty fucking good.

You lean your head back on Robby's shoulder, allowing him to stick his tongue in your mouth, filthy and hot. You suck on his tongue, whining when he grabs your jaw.

"Is he making you feel good, baby?"

You nod, letting out a high pitched moan when he gives you a little slap on the cheek. He watches your pouty lips turn into an eager grin, giving you another.

"You know to use your words," he chides, and you nod.

"He's making me feel so good," you say, the words nearly catching in your throat when Frank wraps his mouth around your clit, sucking and pumping his fingers. "Fuck, just like that."

"Such a perfect little pussy, so responsive," Frank goads you on, voice husky and dripping with need. "You close, angel?"

"Yes," it comes out more pathetic than you had intended, hips wriggling against him as he laps at your dripping core. As the pleasure brings tears to your eyes, Robby sits behind you, kissing your cheek and giving you soothing shushes. "Please."

"Go ahead baby," Robby gives you permission, allowing you to let go of the ball of tension that sat in your stomach. You practically squeal, the pleasure from Langdon's fingers and mouth paired with the situation making your orgasm stronger than it's been in a while. "Good girl, cum all over his face. Show him how sweet you are."

"Shit," Langdon places one final kiss on your inner thigh, rubbing appreciatively as he stands up, cracking his neck. "That was amazing."

Robby shifts under you, and you feel his hard cock throb against your lower back. Pushing yourself up, you turn to face him, shivering when Frank runs his fingers along your dripping hole.

You mouth at Robby's clothed bulge, fingers tucking into his waistband as you pull them down slowly. His cock pops out, red and throbbing, a small drip of pre-cum on his slit.

"You want to fuck her?" Robby asks the younger man, and you can't see but your boyfriend's chuckle makes you think he nodded eagerly. "Condoms are in the nightstand."

You kitten lick Robby's cock, relishing in the way he grabs your hair. You know that move. It's a silent, more. Obeying, you open your mouth, taking him halfway down with a moan.

The sound of the condom wrapper opening causes your stomach to lurch, whimpering around Robby's impressive dick as Frank lines up at your entrance.

"Wait," you release Robby with a pop and turn around as the two men wait with baited breath. A devilish grin appears on your face. "I just wanna see it first. I've always wondered what your cock looks like."

"Fucking slut," Robby murmurs lovingly, watching as you crawl to the foot of the bed, taking Langdon in your hands. "Like what you see, baby?"

He's not as big as Robby-but not many are. Still, he's impressive. Long and curved a bit, neatly groomed. You cup his balls, rolling them softly in your hands.

"Don't tease," Frank warns lowly, and you give him an apologetic eye-flutter, releasing him from your hands. You turn back around, crawling back toward Robby and place a needy kiss on his mouth as Frank circles your hole.

"You're so pretty," Robby cups your jaw, tongue in your mouth after he speaks the words. You let out a whimper as Langdon slowly pushes in, spewing curses under his breath. "How's it feel, baby?"

"So good," you answer honestly, rocking back against Frank before dipping back down to bring Robby in your mouth. Your boyfriend reaches down to toy with your nipples, watching in awe as you get railed by your friend and co-worker.

"She feels fucking incredible," Langdon growls, hands on your hips as he finds a rhythm. "Squeezing me like a vice."

"Such a good girl," Robby praises you, letting out a little growl of his own as you take his cock deeper down your throat. "Do you like this? Being the center of attention?"

Mouth full of cock, all you can do is hum, looking up at him with desperate eyes. Frank's thrusts grow quicker, his own moans making you wetter.

"She loves it," Langdon says breathlessly. You throw your hips back toward him, whimpering as he toys with your clit. You can feel your second orgasm coming on, heavy in your stomach. It doesn't take much to get you there, spasming around his cock and releasing Robby from your mouth so you can properly whine his name.

Langdon follows close behind, spilling into the condom as you writhe around him. Robby grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes, checking for any signs of regret, but they're not there.

"Want you now," you practically whine, bringing Robby's thumb into your mouth. He nods, watching as you lay back and spread your legs for him. He crawls on top of you, lining up at your entrance but giving you no time to adjust. "Fuck, baby."

"You're greedy today, huh?" he asks, mouth on your neck. You turn your head to watch Frank, sitting on the edge of the bed with an amazed expression as Robby pounds into you. "Are you putting on a show for our guest? Or just always this desperate?"

"Always," your voice is pathetic, octaves above your own as your legs shake, Robby's chest pressing against yours. His gold chain hovers over you, moving with each rhythmic thrust.

He knows your body so well, each movement carefully crafted to push you over the edge. As he thumbs your clit, you happily take Frank's fingers in your mouth.

"My greedy girl, always needing her mouth full," Robby's voice is gentle, a contrast from the way his massive cock is spearing you.

"I'm gonna cum again."

"Go," he nods, gritting his teeth as you practically spasm around him, squirming and whining. You feel the gush of liquid around his cock, your vision going blurry and ears ringing. "Oh-ho-ho, I was waiting for that one. So fucking good for me, angel."

Frank's mouth is agape, in awe of the way you and Robby move together so seamlessly, his body playing yours flawlessly.

Robby cums soon after, painting your walls his release, movements slowing before sputtering to a halt. He pulls out, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your cheek and temple.

Nobody says anything for a moment, just staring at the ceiling and listening for breathing patterns to return to normal. It's Frank who breaks the silence, slipping his boxers back on.

"Wow," is the only word he can think of. You chuckle, reaching for Robby's hand and placing a kiss on the back of it.

"That was something else," you add, searching for your own underwear, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. Robby puts his own on too, the three of you sitting in the discomfort for a moment before you clear your throat. "Just how I imagined it."

"You imagined that before?" Langdon chuckles, a blush running up his cheeks. Now he's bashful, you think. When you nod, he grins. "Me too."

Robby's silence makes you nervous, anxiety racing through your head. Did he regret bringing Frank in? Were you too into him? But as if he's reading your mind, he kisses your shoulder.

"Not quite what you were expecting when you came by, huh brother?" Robby laughs, a slight wheeze in his exhale.

"Definitely not," the younger man admits. "But thanks."

Another silence. You've had your fair share of threesomes in college, but the lingering tension at the end was something you still haven't mastered. You can feel Frank's eyes on you, and wonder if he's feeling the same awkwardness.

"We didn't really get to eat our dinner," you finally say, rubbing your hand along Robby's bare back. "Should we order a pizza and watch a movie?"

"Sure, honey. Whatever you want," your boyfriend nods. Langdon begins putting his clothes on, and you gesture toward him. Robby gets it. "Frank, do you want to join us?"

He thinks about it for a moment, before nodding. You lean into Robby, whispering in his ear and giggling at the way he responds to your words.

"She said maybe after the movie you can finally experience her mouth," Robby tells him, earning raised eyebrows and a toothy grin.

"I should stop by unannounced more often."

[trippinsorrows]

had the random thought last night about how cena had a specific list for who he wanted to work with during this retirement tour. had it confirmed when i saw this morning hunter said cena specifically asked to work with brock and to bring him back.

atp, i'm just so exhausted of all the bullshit and am kinda ready to get some shit off my chest, but i don't want to come across as attacking anyone or mudslinging for how they choose to proceed. it's just me, myself, and i is tired.

right about now, i don't like none of these people outside of their ring personas, and even that is limited. cause the tea is i'm so good on a good bunch of that family right now. like, do you know how bold you have to be to say the n word on a whole released, public, and promoted song when you ain't got a lick of black blood in you???

and, i stg, if i hear one more person talk about, "but their wives are black," i might lose my shit.

i.don't.care.

ya'll gotta stop talking about what these people would "never" do too, btw. celebrity culture and idolization, in general, needs to go away, but, i digress.

and, the real real tea, for me personally, is i been looking at the twins funny, too, cause at the end of the day, ya'll buddy buddy with mr. n word, like ain't shit wrong with what he said/say, and that tells me a lot about you. family or not, right is right, and wrong is wrong. ya'll being complicit and okay with shit, for me, ain't gon' fly. so, i'm good on them, too, cause ain't none of these folks good enough for me to be going to bat for and be writing think pieces like i'm on the payroll.

these men stay with this company regardless of all the shit, so if they don't care, why should i? people can continue to complain about jimmy and jey's booking, which is valid, but they're not going anywhere, so it can't bother them that much. i always tell clients and live by, "i can't want something for you that you don't want for yourself," and i stand by that shit.

i don't even know if this shit makes sense. i'm just annoyed lmao

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hiii can I req reader sending pietro a vid of her using a vibrator on herself and he just like rushes back so that he can fuck her in person

SNEAK PEAK 18+ ⸻ PIETRO MAXIMOFF

pietro maximoff x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 835 WARNINGS. 18+ only! more suggestive ending rather than full smut, got carried away with the middle part. toys, general filth. mdni

When Pietro was out of town, you would satiate your own needs in your own way. Now that's not to say your wants were not met with Pietro, because that's an utter lie. Sometimes it was just nice to light a couple candles and take your time with a toy between your legs, that was all.

So with him gone for the night, you settle yourself down in bed and switch on your vibrator and you guide it to between your thighs, letting it hover just above your clit. You press it to the nub briefly and slip your spare hand under your robe and to one of your tits — giving your nipple a small tweak, quite like how Pietro would do it.

It was rare for him to ever part your mind really, but with that little act, you began to think of him more, think of him in a way that somehow, and very strangely made you feel guilty that he was missing out. 

And so you let go of your breast and pick up your phone, unlocking it. You open the most recent chat at the top —Pietro— and click on the camera icon, holding your phone and angling it between your thighs as you snap a quick video. A soft hum being heard between small fluttery breaths of you. There was no need for the clip to be flashy or raunchy, for it to be anything extra — with him, there was no need. A blurry picture with an illusion to something more was far hotter to him anyways.

Within a few short seconds, your phone begins to light up beside you, a picture of your boyfriend displayed on your lock screen. You let it ring for a moment and then decline, ignoring the next call and the next, rejecting his advances as you knew it to be something he hated most. By the fourth call, you decide to answer it. You click on speakerphone and lay it on your chest, waiting for the inevitable dissapproving, snarky comments.

"Oh hi," you play coy. 

"Finally," he scoffs on his side of the call. 

"Didn't see you calling me, what's up?"

"You send— ha ," he scoffs, the faux deflection in your voice entertains him. "Okay yeah, whatever,"

You cut him off, teasing him. "Everything okay?"

"No," he snaps, though his tone remains playful. "No, everything is not okay— you can't do that."

"Do what?"

"Send me a video like that and ignore me— you can't do that— don't play games with me."

"Video? Wait you got that video? I thought I sent that to someone else."

"Ha ha," he pretends to laugh, but really he was just hiding the fact what you just said actually humoured him. 

"You having some fun? You sound out of breath," you tease.

"Sranje, (shit)" he mutters, voice drifting like it was he was distracted for a moment. "I left my keys behind, can you let me in?"

"In? What? Are you home?" you pause and sit up, placing the toy aside. "Can't right now… about to cum," you lie. You bring your phone to your ear and stand, taking him off speakerphone. "Signal's spotty, you're cutting out."

"Draga (darling)… I will break this door down. You need to let me in, I'm not kidding."

You quietly make your way across the apartment, walking slowly to ensure the secrecy of what you're doing remains intact. To keep up with the charade, you fake a moan, though all it earns you is a laugh, a pitiful, albeit, entertained laugh. 

"Okay, okay," he chuckles, his voice now heard from behind the door just in front of you. "That was fake."

"No it wasn't," you protest and swing open the front door, Pietro in the flesh standing just a few feet from you. "How did you know that was fake?" you ask and end the call, speaking to him in person. 

His eyes drift down to your chest, a slither of breast between the robe catching his attention. He meets your eyes and steps inside, smooshing his lips to yours as he walks you backwards into the apartment. "Becuase," he utters between a kiss. 

You pull your head back and your brows scrunch. "How?"

"You've never made that sound before," he shrugs and shuts the door with his heel. "That's not how you sound when you cum," he adds, tone smug and cocky with the statement, like he was somehow getting you to admit to all he sucessess he's given you. "You've never made that sound with me," he tops it off, grin cheeky when he notices you grow bashful with that realisation. 

He slips his hand into yours and guides you across the apartment, leading the way as you head for the bedroom. He stops at the foot of the bed and undresses himself, removing all articles of clothing until all that remains are his boxers, happy, attentive cock buldging through the fabric. 

"Show me how you use the that toy."

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[abiatackerman]

Whatever comes, we'll face together

Event: @levievent "Levi month 25"

PostWar Levi! Married life! 1k words!

Summary: You fear becoming a burden when you become sick, but Levi reminds you that you've survived worse together and this is nothing.

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @meowmewow7 @dreamerofthewest @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns @sweetheartzs

Day 6: We've been through everything else

together, this is no different

The letter arrives just after breakfast.

You don't read it right away, just stand by the door, envelope in hand, staring at your name printed neatly across the front. Levi's in the kitchen, grumbling to himself while reorganizing the tea tins, his wheelchair clicking softly against the floor every now and then.

You take the letter to the bedroom.

When you finally unfold it and read the words, your first thought is, I knew something was wrong.

Your second is, How do I tell him?

You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time. The room feels too quiet. Too clean. You read the letter again. And again.

Chronic autoimmune disease.

Early stage. Manageable, the letter says. But progressive. Unpredictable.

The kind of condition that comes in waves. Some days, you'll be fine. Some days, you won't be able to get out of bed.

You swallow hard.

You've survived a war. Seen the worst humanity has to offer. But this..... this slow betrayal of your body..... it feels different. Colder. Quieter. Like being hunted by something that never shows its face.

You hear the wheels long before you see him. A quiet roll down the hallway, purposeful and slow. Levi doesn't call your name. Doesn't knock.

The door creaks open.

You look up too fast, and the paper flutters to the floor.

He catches the edge of it before it lands, eyes flicking to the heading. His expression shifts, just barely.

"What is it?"

You can't speak. You look at him—your Levi, your stubborn, tired, unkillable Levi, with his sleeve half-rolled and hair still slightly damp from his morning routine. The old wounds still linger in his body, but he sits straighter than anyone you know. His strength is quieter now. Rooted.

You try to find the words. They don't come.

He picks up the letter, scans it quickly, and folds it with surgical precision.

You brace yourself.

"I didn't want to tell you like this," you murmur.

Levi raises an eyebrow. "What, with facts and medical terminology?"

You blink. That tone—flat, dry, unimpressed. He's already defusing your spiral.

He sets the letter aside and wheels closer.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

You clench your jaw. "It's not life-threatening."

He leans back in his chair, arms folding.

"Is it going to hurt?"

You nod, barely. "Eventually. It's not fatal, but it gets worse over time. I might lose mobility on bad days. My joints, my hands, knees, they'll swell. Some days I won't be able to walk without help. Some days I won't be able to do anything at all."

Levi doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. He doesn't wince.

He just watches you with the same cold fire he used to level at Titans, and says:

"Then we deal with it."

Your heart stumbles.

"I don't want to be a burden," you whisper.

He leans forward slightly, one hand resting on his wheel, the other reaching for yours.

"You're not a burden. You're my partner."

You bite your lip. "You already went through hell. You already lost so much. And after all the sacrifices, I thought I finally be able to take care of yourself. Of us. And now.... this?"

His voice is low. Blunt. Unshakable.

"We've overcome everything together. This is no different."

You try to smile. You can't.

"I feel like I'm breaking," you admit. "And it's not even bad yet. What happens when I can't carry my own weight anymore?"

Levi's eyes darken—not in anger. In resolve.

"Then I carry it for you. Even in this state, I will."

Your throat tightens.

He pauses. "You remember when I was in the hospital? When I couldn't even lift my arm. I'd cry in my sleep due to pain and you'd sit next to me, pretending to read, just to make sure I didn't wake up alone."

You nod slowly.

"You didn't treat me like I was broken. You didn't run."

You reach for his hand. His fingers curl around yours with calloused strength.

"I'm not going anywhere, I already can take care  most of the housechores and myself," he says. "And I'll learn how to take care of you too."

You laugh shakily. "You'll get sick of me. Wait till I can't get the jar lids open."

"Tch. I'll just call you weak and open them myself."

You snort. "Romantic."

He smirks. "You chose me."

You lean your forehead against his.

"And I'll keep choosing you. Even when it gets ugly."

"Especially then."

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, slow and deliberate. No fanfare. No big speeches. Just Levi, quiet and real, offering you the most precious thing he has: his steadiness.

You close your eyes and breathe him in.

This disease will come and go. It will take. It will hurt.

But it won't win.

Not when Levi's beside you.

[frost-eyed-autumn]

@starsburned

Leaving Shirase's place, he wasn't really sure what he should be expecting. The moment he'd received that text that tipped him off that not all was well, his thoughts had scattered like a flock of startled birds being dive-bombed by an eagle, or a hungry cat, all going in different directions.

Depending on a few things, there's a risk leaving Shirase alone and without his protection, but the more he puts this off, the more likely of a possibility that can become. He knows to some decent degree just how Mori works, and he knows that if Mori plans to do anything at all, he'll do it quickly.

Mori isn't hasty, but he also professes to the philosophy that the winner is the one who strikes first.

And if he's lost all favor with Mori, then so too have the Sheep lost all guarantee of safety. He can't let either of those things happen, which means he can't leave Mori waiting.

And maybe, this is all just a little bit of a test, when he thinks about it. To see just how fast he would come running back, the moment he was called without being called. Because of course, he would never ask for days off, unless something was wrong.

Mori had acted glad he was taking care of himself, and Chuuya had been surprised he hadn't asked more questions, but maybe he was just foolish for thinking the immediate approval meant nothing more than what it looked like on surface level.

He hates, really, when his first gut reaction to what he doesn't expect turns out to be right, but his trust had always been as much of his weak point as it was his strength.

If Mori is issuing a test, he knows he has to pass it.

If Mori's not, he has to pass it anyway just to be safe, no matter what he finds when he arrives.

Being Mafia means accepting the risk that death can come at any time. It can come from a bullet, from poison, from an enemy with a powerful Ability, from the death penalty by law for being a violent criminal, or it can come down from Mori himself.

He's always believed, since fully integrating into the Mafia's culture and Mori's empire, that anyone who isn't ready to accept that reality doesn't belong. It's why, even though he's highly favored and considered to be one of the more fair-minded Executives, he's also one of the toughest on weeding out new recruits by putting them through the wringer before they're in so deep that a body bag is the only way they're leaving. Some would call that work-place abuse ; he calls it mercy. If they can't stand the heat, they don't belong in a world as violent and unforgiving as the Mafia's. Niceties can come after they've proven they can handle it.

Whatever judgment Mori has on his mind when he arrives, he'll face it without cowardice, even if a sense of dread twists so tightly in his chest he can hardly breathe.

It'll be fine. It's not like back then. Mori will be fair and listen to him.

He has to keep believing that until there's no way he can anymore, or he'll crumble.

What he's not expecting as he arrives at the top of the tower is to be blockaded by guards posted in front of the doors. Nothing that's all that unusual, really, except the fact that its him they're not letting through.

"I'm going to see the Boss. Move out of my way."

"I'm sorry, Nakahara, but you don't have the clearance."

He's silent for exactly one beat. "What the fuck do you mean, I don't have the clearance?" Even as much as his thoughts are disorganized, it doesn't take him much to connect the dots between [You can take an extended leave] and what he's being told now. "Are you saying I've been demoted?"

"I'm sorry, sir. All I have are orders that I'm not to let you through."

"Tch." His lip curls back a moment, peeved. Even as an Executive, he's powerless to defy the security personnel if they're acting on Mori's order. "Yeah well then go talk to him and get him to change his mind!" Before they can answer, he throws his hands up to stop them. "No-- you know what? Fuck it, I'll call him myself."

Yanking his phone from his pocket, he only needs to press a speed-dial number for it to go through, since Mori is the most important number he has, and he tries to keep his voice from being too noticeably frustrated when he hears the other side pick up. He only really half-succeeds.

"I'm outside your office and your guys won't let me through."

[thinkmanythingsofit]

There was some lovely discussion in the notes the last days about the elevator and 1991 and I need more of that. (also, i fixed my storage issue and can make gifs again!)

So, what do you think happened?

For option two, i'm thinking something like

"don’t want the evening to end yet" - "it doesn’t have to" and then not continuing that line of thought out loud. But please share other ideas in the notes!!

My own thoughts are that when in front of the elevator they look so nervous and like they do have a plan. Margo is very sure about calling in that elevator. But then she looks at the button as if she can't understand how she could miss her chance to press nr 5, while Sergei pretends to stand a reasonable distance from her. Or she is just overwhelmed by the deed being done, they are on their way to his room, no going back now. Somehow, Sergei does not seem too surprised at her inaction. Had he not been expecting this, surely he would have looked at her?

[themilkiestbread]

just kagehina things

so on my second rewatch of haikyuu I discovered that I actually really like kagehina??? i was kinda meh about the ship on my first watch but like. after a rewatch of the first two seasons ive officially jumped aboard the kagehina express. these two idiots were literally made for each other and I love them both dearly so the law says I have to ramble about them now

hinata realizes during his third year that he likes kageyama and is instantly PISSED. there's no shy blushing as they accidentally touch or stand a little too close to each other. hinata is too busy gritting his teeth to do that, because out of everyone on the volleyball team, he had to catch feelings for THIS ASSHOLE? kageyama...Does Not realize that he likes hinata. nor does he realize that hinata likes him. he assumes the feeling in his chest whenever he sees hinata land a perfect spike is just uncontrollable rage at the tiny dumbass. (hinata is kageyama's first crush, so he's unused to it)

hinata manages to shelve his feelings during volleyball, no matter how much tsukishima, yamaguchi, and yachi tease him and kageyama about being a 'couple'. they both graduate without ever bringing up the issue, because hinata's had countless crushes before, and he knows they all pass eventually.

this one doesn't.

in brazil, hinata feels an ache whenever he sees that kageyama, his rival, his nemesis, his partner isn't the one setting to him. he'll try to ignore it, but he lays awake at night missing the person in this world that knows him the best. it's during one of these nights that he comes to terms with the fact that he doesn't just have a crush on kageyama--fuck it, he loves him, and he can't live without kageyama by his side. so hinata makes a decision: when he gets back from brazil, he'll reveal his feelings in some grand gesture and sweep kageyama off his feet.

meanwhile, kageyama is going through something similar back in japan. he calls his sister and complains about how he doesn't know what he's feeling, how he should be happy that the tiny dumbass is gone and kageyama doesn't have to deal with his stupid smile and stupid hair and stupid optimism all the time, but he JUST CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM and it is DRIVING HIM INSANE BECAUSE HE CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHY. miwa just kinda goes silent for a second, and kageyama can hear her audibly face-palming before she tells him tobio. you fucking idiot. you're in love with him.

huh, kageyama says.

then it hits him. he speedruns all five stages of grief in, like, a week. he's completely off his game in volleyball. he can't even drink milk without being in distress. so he calls the person that he has deemed the 'love expert' to help him sort through his feelings.

it's oikawa. who is confused to how tobio-chan even has his number (kageyama got it from iwaizumi, who thought it would be funny) but begrudgingly listens to him, because oikawa has mellowed out a bit after high school and because oikawa is currently in brazil alongside hinata, who is also a lovesick idiot finding ways to sneak kageyama into every single conversation. just tell him, oikawa says, because he's head over heels for you, too, and i can't take much more of this absolute dumbassery before my skin starts breaking out.

when hinata gets back from brazil, the first thing he sees is kageyama, waiting for him and trying very hard to smile. hinata runs toward him, having this whole speech written out about how he feels, but he doesn't end up reading it.

instead, he just looks at kageyama and kisses him.

kageyama kisses back.

they get married a few months later, because living together, eating together, existing together just seems so right. tanaka is hinata's best man, and suga is kageyama's. natsu and miwa are the ring bearers (nishinoya volunteered, but everyone was afraid he'd find a way to ROLLING THUNDER down the wedding aisle and lose the rings). it's a small outdoor wedding, with a volleyball court where everyone can play during the reception.

oikawa shows up drunk and crashes the wedding.

[tw1nkee28]

Slams open the door at 5:40am and slams down a yap pass

If you do not start yapping about one of your Call of Duty characters, I’ll be so salty that I will be able to teleport to the dead sea and that will be the second saltiest thing near me.

(Not a threat I have to much energy right now teheheh:3)

HELP?

Sometimes I forget that people know my ocs exist 😭

Hold on chat, I actually have a bunch of stuff for Dawn..... Al has had to hear all about recent angst 🥀

[TW: heavy angst, explosion survivor, suicidal thoughts, character suffering]

★ —— ------------------ —— ★

Okay, so essentially, I've been planning out the rest of Dawn's life.

When he's 46 years old [he's currently 32], he gets caught in an explosion, a bit too close to pick himself up by th bootstraps

He's taken to the hospital, burned and completely unrecognizable, and goes into an almost comatose state. Because of his extensive injuries he can no longer continue his service in Shadow Company and unfortunate Graves has to let him go for his own well-being.

As soon as he wakes up, he knows that he can't continue to work and it breaks him. Combat and military has been his entire life, it's his purpose and all he knows how to do, so when that's taken away from him, what is he? He has no purpose, no use, he feels like dead weight. And without Shadow Company, he loses all connection to the people he loves and the life he'd grown too comfortable in

The rug had been ripped right out from under him when he'd least expected it.

↑↑ this was old ranting before I fleshed everything out, but most of it still stands.

Once he's finally discharged from the hospital to go live with his adoptive family, he starts going through the stages of grief; grief for the life and people he once held so dearly. The most notable of these being anger.

Dawn is an independent man, he raised himself from 13 years old and onward. He has always been capable, more than most people his age because he's had to grow up so fast to survive. But now he has lost all sense of independence, he can't move, can't eat, can't drink, can't even cry. Everything he does requires the help of his brother, and that feeling kills him

He begins lashing out at everyone and everything around him, tries to push everyone away. He snaps at his brother, spits insults and venomous words at him to get him to leave, to let him wallow in his self pity. He feels horrible for being mean to his brother because he knows he just wants to help, but the need to isolate himself outweighs the guilt.

Because of the effects of the explosion, he begins to lose all movement of his body because as his scars heal, they lose elasticity and function. This can be combatted by physical therapy, but because he's so angry at everyone and is so desperate to be independent, he dismisses every attempt to help him; including his brother getting him a physical therapist. He denies the therapist's help, pushes her away and doesn't allow her to help him, and his condition worsens.

His sight and hearing deteriorates with his movement, which over time will leave him completely trapped in his own head; no light, no sound, completely isolated.

He becomes heavily depressed and suicidal, and the only things keeping him from killing himself are these; he can't move or get up to do so, he's scared that killing himself will make it so that his life was meaningless and all the pain he suffered was for nothing, and he doesn't want his brother to have to clean up after him. He doesn't want to be more of a nuisance than he already is.

He stops eating, refuses to eat most of the time unless he's forced. His health and muscle mass deteriorate, speaking becomes a difficult chore, and he loses all will to live. It turns from survival, to just waiting for his life to inevitably end.

He makes his brother get him a DNR order, because he doesn't want to have to live with this any longer than he already has to.

It's just a waiting game now.

— — ------- — —

That's the main canon universe, but me and Alistair [@/sillyguytm] have an au where Adam is Dawn's father figure. And I think that'd change the outcome a little bit, to where Dawn accepts the help he's offered, and starts to get better.

Thoughts from last night ↓↓

And he may not live the best life after losing his entire career and purpose, but I think his found family makes it a little easier....

★ —— ------------------ —— ★

That's all for now I think, thank you so much for the ask !!

I've been very excited to talk about it but so far only one person will listen to my yapping

I think you can tell that angst has been on my mind a lot recently.....

[driftingjazzbard]

Erin did not want to be helped. Rather she did, but right now she wanted to be angry. She picked up one of her knives from the ground, strode forward, and forced it into Trinity's hand.

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say the only way this was ending was resolution or a corpse, and I'm not seeing any corpses. Go on. Actions louder than words, right? So act. Go for it. Here, the chest is a little difficult." She gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, tying it with a bit of rope she'd been using to strengthen support beams.

"I think I heard the words 'waste of life' in there, right? Welp, you get to fix that. Right here, right now. I'm so, so sick of you and your fucking rival thinking your bullshit is all there is, of having to jump every time I hear raised voices because I'm worried this is it and you two are finally going at it, that this is the fight where one of you will decide it's a good time to solve a problem because neither of you can set your fucking grudge down for the length of time it takes to save the fucking world. There's not going to be a nation for either of you to rule because we're busy babysitting the pair of you. If you can't stand each other fine, but stop fucking pretending you can work together then. I've decided it is no longer my fucking problem. I don't care. The pair of you can go stick each other full of holes. But you end this right now. You stick that knife in my throat or you leave me alone. I am so, so, SO done being the focus for your fucking anger."

"I'm done with both of you. Fuck off."

"And let her walk away?! So she can just keep ignoring the problem?! How many times do we have to do this song and dance?! How many times?! I've said my problem over and over! And every single time I let her just walk away. Not this time. We are going to solve this, the only way she walks away is as someone who actually resolves this or with one of us as a corpse!" And finally, she turned to Erin. Now open and exposed.

"My reality? Here's my reality. You looked me in the eye after I confided to you about the worst moment in my life and told me to get over it. Who made friends with my abuser and thought that wouldn't hurt me. Who painted herself as someone who stands with and helps victims, but turned her back on me once the abuser happened to be a silver tongued prince with a pretty face. Who brought your family in here and immediately I got attacked by one of them. And even as I let that slide, even as I mind my business apparently I still have to deal with this bullshit. That's my reality. And my reality is that if this has to keep on, I'm letting your family get to safety. I gave you a chance to fix this and you refused. And now, my hand is forced."

She took one of the blades into her hands and raised it high. But the moment never came. It never swung down. She simply fell to her knees, the blades vanishing. She couldn't do it.

[thatfriendlyanon]

when does this start getting easier

[beheamothscreamoth]

(Katsuro belongs to @winterwhisperz-blog!)

After I saw this meme, I just knew that I HAD to put Daniella and Katsuro in this situation-- This is very much a really short crack drabble, so there isn't much editing or any plot here-- Though there is some attempted context in the tags, I really am just slapping these two in the exact moment of the situation--

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

As the material of the hanging rope tightened around her neck, Daniella inhaled sharply. Tears escaped her closed eyes, rolling down her freckled cheeks. The hangman stepped back and descended the stairs of the scaffold.

Before her thoughts could spiral, a voice brought her back to reality.

“Hey there!” a lighthearted voice greeted, causing Daniella to open her eyes. Standing right next to her was a person with flowing red hair. Scars crept up their neck, and one scar was slashed across their left eye. Despite the rope around their neck, they smiled at her. “First time?”

Daniella blinked, staring at them as another tear rolled down her face. 

Somehow, she managed to find her voice. “I-I’m... Sorry?”

“Is this your first time on a scaffold?” The red-haired individual asked, as if their life wasn’t about to be ended any moment now. “Don’t worry, I was pretty nervous the first time, too. But don’t you stress over it! Things’ll be okay!”

Daniella gawked at them as if they had grown a second head, causing a little laugh to be drawn from the stranger. The two of them were about to be hanged. How was this person so chipper? “That’s...”

They leaned closer to her, lowering their voice to a furtive whisper. “A few of my new friends are gonna bust us out, so no need to cry anymore, okay? They owe me for that one time they committed arson without me.”

“I– What?” Daniella blurted out in shock. She was utterly terrified mere moments ago. But now this stranger’s untroubled remarks caused complete confusion and incredulity to crash into it. What in the world? What was this person talking about?

“Ooh, not a fan of arson? I know some people say it’s kinda overrated, but I gotta disagree. It’s an art.” The red-haired stranger looked Daniella up and down, humming in consideration. “You seem more like a larceny kinda girl. Maybe tax fraud. What’s your name?”

Daniella boggled at them. She wasn’t sure whether she should entertain this conversation any further--they were on a scaffold with ropes around their necks, for goodness' sake. But from the looks of things, it did seem like this person was trying to lift her spirits, if in a... strange way. At the very least, she wasn’t crying anymore. Though admittedly, she felt more baffled than comforted.

In any case, their question was something that she should respond to. It would be rude not to answer them. “I’m Daniella.”

“Nice to meetcha, Daniella! Mind if I call you Dani? I’m Katsuro,” the red-haired stranger, Katsuro, now looked around, seeing the hangman talking to one of the town officials.

“Yes, you may. It's... nice to meet you too, despite the circumstances,” Daniella cleared her throat, trying to ignore the rough rope on her skin. “You... said your friends were coming for you?”

“Not just me, Dani. You and the other guys here, too!”

“But the ropes are already around our necks. It’s far too late.”

Katsuro jerked their chin towards the hangman. “Unless that old lug over there pulls the lever, it won’t be.”

[primus-why]

.

[ghostofasecretary]

it's been a while since i've cried hard enough to have a headache but. sure got there today, babes!