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starmapz · 3 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 17.6k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you been crying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re worried?” He confirms.

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

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

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

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

You nod.

“What was it worth?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me walk you to your car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

“Well, no-”

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

You nod slowly, taking his advice.

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

“Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

“No? Am I wrong?”

There it is.

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

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

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

“I don’t dislike him, you know.”

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

“Yes, even after the fight.”

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

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

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

His support is almost too much.

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

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

“I… Appreciate that, Nanamin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rejected you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bring Sukuna.”

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

“Good. Drive safe.”

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

Do you ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Groceries. Rent. Internet. Phone Bill. Lawyer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good thing you found him and not your boss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost noon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t go home last night?”

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

“Why not?”

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

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

And you get it.

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

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

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

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

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

He grunts, the barest of shrugs following it.

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

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

“Can’t.”

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

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

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

“When was the last time you ate?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re not. I packed it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How did yesterday morning go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s gorgeous, but unusual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, I’ll just-”

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

“I’m good,” he declines again.

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

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

“Kento invited you.”

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

“Since when does he want me around?”

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

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

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

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

Hell, maybe you both do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grunts.

–

Time seems to pass… differently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5:38 PM Kuna || ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh-! They’re really close now.”

He snorts. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna doesn’t back down from a challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it? Lucky you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell, Kento-”

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

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

“Stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, sharing her worried glance.

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

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

That’ll go over well.

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

“And in general?”

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

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

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

“That bad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you just applied there normally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

It fucking sucks.

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

So, what really happened with his lawyer?

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

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

“What happened?” You push.

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

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

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

Fine. Fine. Always fine.

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

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

“‘M talkin’ to you now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially not when he’s this drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

Another drag of his cigarette. Another “fine”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell, maybe even moment-to-moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s tired.

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

He’d accidentally pushed the knife deeper.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, Kuna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I interrupting?”

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

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

“What happened back there, Sukuna?”

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

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

You nod, shooting them a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No point,” he huffs.

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘M fine, fuck off.”

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

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

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

Uraume’s reappearance brings all eyes to them.

“How is ‘e?” Toji queries.

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

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

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

It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

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

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

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

You’re lost, too. In your own way.

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

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

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

Even if he isn’t ready to accept it.

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

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

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

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

You want to believe her, you really do.

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

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; everyone is struggling :')

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

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

anyway, thank you sm as always, ily all <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

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defmaybe · 7 months ago

Text

last night's mascara

12 Days of Christmas: Day 11, January 4th, 2025

Dreamcatcher’s Lee Gahyun x Male Reader

3.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

What a boring ass party.

It’s the thought that has been lingering inside your head for the last two hours. The decorations? Daft. The song choice? Lame. The conversations? Rote. So, there you are, one hand on your phone, the other fiddling with your fingers restlessly. Should’ve bought Balatro when it was on sale.

You scroll your Twitter feed aimlessly, pressing likes on the fan sites’ pictures of your favorite groups—fromis_9, Red Velvet, (G)I-DLE. It’s the only way to escape this party without raising much suspicion.

Well, not until Gahyun notices you standing in the corner of your eyes.

“Not enjoying it?”

You almost drop your phone on the ground, good thing you can balance it with your hands.

“Shit, y–yeah,” you reply.

Gahyun giggles softly, covering her mouth with the glass of champagne in her hand. She’s in her red and white Christmas dress, one that shows off a lot—her shoulders, her legs, her ample cleavage. Fuck, she looks so tantalizing.

“So,” she says. She’s pulling you into a conversation. Abort. Abort. Abort!

“How was your day?” she asks, “Wait, oh my god, that was a terrible question. I’m sorry if it’s too plain for you.”

It’s over for you.

“No, no, it was–great. I’m fine,” you reply. “How are you?”

Gahyun chuckles. “A bit drunk, but still standing!” she says with a bright smile, twisting her foot coyly. God, she looks gorgeous.

You only shoot a smile back at her. You don’t know what more to say. It’s difficult for you to continue the conversation like this. You can’t do this.

“Hey,” she continues. You’re finished. “I can keep you company here if you want.”

She’s kind, but you’ll have to say no. You aren’t good enough to hold her right here. You don’t have anything to talk about!

“Ah, I–I appreciate that, but I don’t think you’d enjoy my company,” you decline, taking a sip of the champagne in your hand.

She giggles, and you fall victim to your own self-deprecation once again. You just can’t stop pushing people out, can you?

Fuck.

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, come on!” she encourages. You’re taken aback by her enthusiasm to be with you. Is she really enjoying your company? Is it a dare? Is she just toying with you for her own entertainment?

“O–Okay, Gahyun,” you stammer.

The conversation begins at the expense of your solitude. It’s seemingly unending. You’re involuntarily dragged into an exchange with the talkative Lee Gahyun. However, you’re slowly dragged into her charismatic presence. You’re somehow not stuttering anymore? Goodness gracious! She’s a good talker. She’s a good listener. She’s genuinely comforting to be around.

“So–speaking of music, have you been listening to anyone recently? Well, outside of k-pop, it’ll be too boring,” Gahyun asks.

You contemplate a bit before you answer, “Well, I’ve been listening to Gracie Abrams a lot lately. Do you know her?”

“Gracie Abrams–hmm–is she the one who opened for Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah!” you happily answer. She’s really full of knowledge. “I started listening to her a few years ago. Quality can be choppy sometimes, but I still like her a lot.”

“I’m sure she’s great,” she says with a giggle. “That’s why you’re drawn to her.”

You can only chuckle at her warm words. God, she really knows how to reel you in.

“What about you? Who have you been listening to?” you ask her the same question back. Normally, you’d be beating yourself up for not changing the question, but with Gahyun, it feels like you don’t have to worry about anything.

Gahyun laughs, cutely covering her mouth while doing so. “Well, mostly Billie Eilish, her new album. Have you heard it yet?”

“Oh, yeah! I love Birds of a Feather a lot. Wait, let me guess yours–uh–” you pause, trying to guess her favorite from the album.

Gahyun adoringly smiles, waiting for your guess. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the light, but, fuck, are you having a crush on her?

“Chihiro?”

“Aww~ that’s close! It’s actually my second favorite,” Gahyun says, pouting cutely. You can only awkwardly giggle along to cover the embarrassment from the mistake.

“I actually love Lunch the most, to be honest,” she says. “Makes me click my heels, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean–I also like Lunch, but–uh–it’s just not as sad as Birds of a Feather.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s definitely interesting!” Gahyun says. “So, you like sad songs? Do you like–uh–have any to recommend to me?”

You give her a few songs. She nods in acknowledgement. The exchange continues into the night. It flows so lively that you get lost in her charm, over and over again. You find out about her dog at home—Bae. You find out that she loves pineapples on pizzas. You find out that her favorite TV show is Goblin (yes, that Goblin).

As it goes on, you can’t help but steal glances at her body, even if you know how inappropriate that is. You’ll use the opportunity when she looks away to take in the view of her ample cleavage or her meaty thighs. She looks so good, so deli–

“Hey,” she derails your train of thoughts. “Did you just–stare at my tits?”

Your eyes widen in shock. You didn’t realize that you’ve been looking at her for a little too long. Your hands tremble in fear of getting called out. You should say sorry, now!

“F–Fuck, I–I’m so s–sorry, Gah–”

“Zip it,” she cuts you off, putting her index finger on your lips. “I don’t want excuses.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. You’re being mentally cornered by Lee Gahyun, the company darling. God, you’re beyond fucked. Your whole life is being undone because of a slip. Fuck.

Then, she whispers into your ear.

“Meet me at the women’s bathroom in five minutes.”

You nod with your eyes closed slowly, before she departs from you, giving you the view of her hips swaying before disappearing into the crowd.

—

The women’s bathroom smells of air purifier, it’s taken care of well. It’s brightly lit. You find Gahyun standing in the middle of the room—arms crossed, tapping her foot. She’s waiting for you.

“Come here, lock the door,” she orders, gesturing you to her. Her voice is much, much more stern than in the ballroom, but there’s also–something else. Is she mad at you, or is it something else?

The door clicks shut, leaving the bathroom only for you two. You slowly walk towards Gahyun, who’s looking at you expectantly.

The air thickens with anticipation. The silence is heavy. You’re stuck in the bathroom with Lee Gahyun. She doesn’t seem too pleased with your presence here, but why would she be calling you here, then?

“So,” she starts. You close your eyes shut in fear. “Anything to say before we start?”

You shake your head vigorously, hoping that the admission would lessen the punishment directed at you.

You hear a wicked laugh, as she starts to circle around you. Your body trembles in fear. Fuck, what is she going to do with you. Is she going to beat you up? Is she going to berate you?

“Are you sure that you’ve locked the door?” she asks from behind you. You can feel her breath on your neck. It’s terrifying.

“Y–Yes, Gahyun,” you stammer out.

“Good. Now, take off your pants,” she orders sternly. Wait, this isn’t going where you’ve expected.

“Wait, do you want me to–”

“Take off your pants, yes,” she finishes your sentence without any hesitation. Determination shines in her eyes.

“O–Okay?” you utter, before reluctantly unbuckling your belt. It’s so hard to come off when your hands are literally shaking like this. Your breathing becomes erratic with each second that passes by.

“Faster,” she sternly commands into your ear. Her warm breath touches your skin, eliciting goosebumps everywhere. Your hands quickly take off your trousers as she orders, leaving your lower body in your boxers. The outline of your erection becomes visible under them.

“Good,” she says, the warmth of your hand emanating into your firm ass. “Now, if you’d show me what you’ve been hiding under this–garment.

You immediately comply with her order, sliding down your tight boxers in a hasty motion. Your hard cock springs free from its confinement. It twitches in the anticipation of what’s to come. Gahyun presses into your body from the back, making your ass touch her warm crotch. Her perfume pervades your nostrils, making your legs wobble like jelly.

“Hmm, excited, aren’t we?” she coos. Her right hand reaches from the back to tease you. She leaves just a little space between her hand and your cock. You wish you could just grab her hand and make her touch your hardness right now, but that’s not how you play this game. You can only wonder how Gahyun can hide this side for so long—the side that dominates the shit out of you.

“Do you want me to touch it? Say it.” Her hot breath brushes against your ear, teasing you, pushing you towards the limit.

“Y–Yes, I want you to touch it, Gahyun,” you utter, mind going all haywire from the sheer intensity of her body warmth against your back.

You hear Gahyun giggle mischievously from the back, before her hand latches onto your cock firmly, making you groan in sheer ecstasy.

Slowly, she begins her dirty display on your cock. She lazily drags her hand up along your length, eliciting a shudder from you. When she’s at the top, she makes sure to take a swipe on the tip to make you moan. Your brain is now filled with nothing but her otherworldly handjob she’s giving. She feels so good.

You moan and whimper in her tight restraint, naked from below the waist. Her hands are slowly jerking you off with an unmatched mastery. Her smell is intense—her perfume, and something that’s explicitly her.

She slowly finds her rhythm, knowing when to pump, knowing when to swipe. She goes faster, eliciting guttural groans and whimpers out of you.

Your cock is being fondled by the company darling, and that thought alone sends you into rapture. She’s the same woman you see every day. She’s the same woman you’ve talked to. She’s the same woman who everyone loves. Now, she’s jerking you off in the women’s bathroom, making you moan and whimper.

Maybe it’s the sheer intensity of the situation, you can feel your loins tightening. Your body becomes rigid. Your breathing becomes erratic. You’re going to cum in Lee Gahyun’s hand!

“You know, I’ve been told a lot that I have nice lips,” she says. Her hands remain a little too eager to finish you off. It’s becoming too irresistible to cum right now. You can feel the tension rising within your loins. You do want more than her hand, indeed. That pair of lips are a little too tantalizing for you to not be on your cock—so plump, so pouty.

“F–Fuck, Gahyun, I–I’m gonna cum,” you utter. Time is running low, and you have to make her stop before you blow a load all over the bathroom floor and get short-circuited for the rest of the night.

Gahyun lets out another wicked giggle. “Say please, then.” She’s not going to stop so easily, not before you profusely beg her to.

“Nghhn~ p–please, Gahyun,” you plead, voice already shaking in the intense sensation.

“Again, and I’ll lift my hand off,” she teases, jerking you off even faster. Your mind is all hazy from the sheer pleasure you’re getting from her hand. Your blinking becomes rapid. Your vision becomes blurry.

“Nghh~ please, G–Gahyun.”

Gahyun suddenly removes her hand from your cock, leaving it twitching in the air. You sigh, as the tension slowly drops back to normal. You’re happy not to cum before you get to take on her mouth.

“Close one,” she says, letting go of you from her warm embrace. You feel like you can fully breathe for the first time in years. She was suffocating, but you won’t deny the pleasure she gave you, of course.

Gahyun slowly walks back to your front, putting the highlight of her next act for you to see—her lips, those dick-sucking lips. You and the guys have talked about this behind her back (well, behind everyone’s back) about how good her lips would feel on your cocks, head bobbing up and down in a hypnotic motion, bringing intense pleasure to whoever gets their dick sucked.

Now, it’s your turn.

Gahyun kneels, not without seductively swaying her wide hips as she goes down. Your cock twitches at the sight violently, so ready to be taken into her mouth.

“Say please, just like when I jerked you off,” she commands. She seems to know when to raise her voice and when to not.

“Please, Gahyun,” you utter, your voice all dry from the moaning and the internally burning desire.

The first contact is nothing short of divine. Gahyun starts slow. She starts by taking in just the mushroom tip into her mouth. She feels so warm, so tight, so right. Gahyun gives the underside of your cock a playful lick, making your body jolt in response.

She then begins her show, pushing herself further on your cock. It’s a lewd sight, really—the direct eye contact, the sound she’s making (it’s kind of a low, satisfied hum), the way she fondles your balls with her fingers. Pleasure just shoots through your body like a bullet. Without any restraints, you could just cum into her mouth right here and now. She pushes further and further, making you groan in pure bliss, until she starts to gag.

“Y–You don’t have to take it all, G–Gahyun.”

She says nothing, instead diving deeper onto your cock, all while using her tongue to play with the underside of your length. No woman has ever given you a blowjob as good as this—the deliberate movement, the will to gag, the pouty lips. Gahyun really has it all.

She keeps the eye contact intact, a reminder of her control. The gagging sounds she’s making don’t hinder her dominance by a little bit. She lets you know who’s in control here. It’s her and only her.

She finally pushes herself up to the hilt of your cock. She gags. She chokes. She sputters. Globs of spit leaks out of her mouth. Your head falls backwards from the pleasure. Her eyes are barely opening from the sheer size of your cock. You love this. You love the sounds she’s making. You love how she dominates the shit out of you. You love that she’s willing to suck you off like this (even if she’s the one in full control).

She stays there, gagging, choking, sputtering on your cock. She’s taking in the pungent scent of you, judging by the way she takes a deep breath through her nose. Her lips look so good on your cock like this. The base of your length becomes saturated by her red lipstick and spit. Streaks of black mascara run down her cheeks. You’re revelling in it. You’re revelling in the sight.

“G–God, G–Gahyun,” you utter.

With that, she slowly pulls back from your cock, leaving a trail of her rosy lipstick on it. Her eyes are fluttering violently with the thickness and length of you. She can barely breathe, and you’re loving it.

Instinctively, your right hand goes to the back of her head, tugging her hair to pull her out of the predicament called your cock. She gets to breathe again, and she quickly dislodges herself off you.

“Ah, y–you taste good,” she says, still trying to catch her breath. The marks from the earlier act are evident.

You say nothing, letting Gahyun catch her breath again, waiting for the time she can take in your cock once more. She breathes in, she breathes out, and finally, she’s ready again.

“I’m not holding back this time, alright?” she says, determination sparks inside her eyes.

“S–Sure.”

She grabs onto your cock with her right hand, pulling you close, before she takes your cock into her mouth. This time, it’s more violent, more fervent. She catches her rhythm and doesn’t look back. She starts to bob her head back and forth on your cock, and doesn’t that make you whimper like a bitch?

“Nghhh~ s–so good,” you mewl.

Gahyun only replies with a giggle on your cock. Her grip is still firm. Her free hand fondles your balls gently, trying to coax cum out of you.

She catches her rhythm, moving her head in a hypnotic motion. She really wants you to cum under her influence like this. You hear her gag. You hear her choke. You hear her sputter.

The tension in your loins starts to rise again. You’re on the verge of cumming with the help of the earlier handjob, and she doesn’t seem to stop at all. That’s it. You’re unloading your cum inside of Lee Gahyun’s mouth, making her taste your white essence.

“G–Gonna cum,” you utter.

Gahyun responds by going as rapidly as she can on your throbbing cock. The sensation is electric. It shoots through you like a bullet. The knot tightens, and you can do nothing to stop it.

With the final stroke, you unload your pent-up lust into Lee Gahyun’s throat, making her taste your essence. Your body jerks forward in pure pleasure. You let out a low, guttural groan at your precipice, unable to make sense of the situation. She lets out a satisfied hum as she feels your white, hot cum hit the back of her throat. You’re probably salty, like the other women have said.

You slowly come down from your peak, finally catching your rhythm again. Your cock’s spurts turn into soft drizzles off the slit. Gahyun pulls off of your cock with a loud pop. What an obscene sight. Her face is a fucking mess—mascara, lipstick, it’s all wrong. You’re still too dazed to say a thing, though.

“You taste good,” she says, opening her mouth, sticking her tongue out lewdly to show the emptiness of her wet cavern. She drank it all.

“I–I wanna do this again,” you involuntarily utter from the depths of your heart. “I want you to suck my cock again.”

Maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of your words. Maybe it’s the wake of your climax. She bursts out a laugh, a genuine one. You watch her laugh awkwardly.

“Ask me–ha–properly,” she says. “Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Will you, Lee Gahyun–”

“Suck–”

“Suck my cock again?”

She lets out a chuckle, before answering, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

#gahyun #dreamcatcher #gahyun smut #dreamcatcher smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 year ago

Text

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Pairing: Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Song Inspiration For The Series: You Call It Madness But I Call It Love By Russ Columbo

Series Playlist (Spotify)🥀

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters fluctuate between past and present, beginning in 1934. SPOILERS FOR THE BOYS S3

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered the Door

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Chapter 3: Summer Has to End Someday

Chapter 4: It's My Party and I'll Eat Cake If I Want To

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Chapter 6: Batter Up

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...

Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Chapter 11: I Can't Think With You Yelling At Me!

Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly

Chapter 13: You Made A Plaything Out of Romance

Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of

Chapter 15: What Do You Know About Love?

Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me

Chapter 17: How Could I Ever Forget?

Chapter 18: First Impressions Are Often Correct

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Chapter 20: You Were There

Chapter 21: Try To Understand

Chapter 22: I May Be Right Or I May Be Crazy

Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition

Chapter 24: What The Past Held

Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?

Chapter 26: I Hate You, I Love You

Chapter 27: Take Me Back To The Beginning

Epilogue: True Love Is Hard To Find

Last Updated: 10/08/2024 (Series Complete)

One Shots:

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?: All you wanted was for Ben to have a nice Thanksgiving, but when your daughter brings her new boyfriend over, all hell brakes loose!

[Extras]

Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape (Unused)

Happy Halloween! (Takes Place After Main Series)

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn

@lifeonawhim @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife

@xxannyxx

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@lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@livya99 @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy

@jvanilly

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@anna6307

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@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline @impala67stellawinchester

@everlove @dangerousgardenchild

(Photos on mood board from Pinterest)

#jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys fanfic #the boys series #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #the boys season 3 #jackles #billy butcher #homelander #hughie campbell #the boys #You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

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The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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hughes86-43 · 1 year ago

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My Person | L.Hughes

summary - you and Luke have been each other’s person, it just has taken a while for you both to realize it.

note - I’ve been working on this for a while, and I wanted to get out before I dive into the blurb night requests. I hope you like it!

warnings - a little bit of angst, mentions of parties and drinking, but other than that nothing else (if there’s more let me know!). maybe some grammar errors

masterlist

Ever since you met Luke at a frat party at the University of Michigan, you two have always been each other’s ‘person’. Constantly looking for each other in a crowded room, calling each other when something happened, going to eat after a stressful day, or hanging out with each other with shared friends.

Truthfully, you don’t really know how it happened. You were both new to the university, he had hockey friends and you had friends of those friends. Your friends had convinced you one late September night to go to a frat party with them, although it was late you agreed, and then you got introduced to the hockey team, but you hadn’t met Luke yet. It was overall a great night, and nearing 11:30, you decided to take a break from talking with everyone and the drinking games, and made your way outside to sit on the patio couch. The drinking was starting to catch up to you as a headache was coming on.

Rubbing your forehead to try to release the pressure, you didn’t even notice that someone had made their way outside. “Hey, are you okay?” Startled by hearing someone, you look up and see a guy standing there wearing a black Michigan shirt with jeans.

Waving him off, you reply back, “Oh, yeah, just got a headache coming on.” He nods his head, but walks to go sit on the other chair. You lean back into the couch you’re on.

After a moment of awkward silence between you, although the crowd inside was nothing but, the guy speaks up again, “Why are you out here?” He’s busy looking off to the side while he asks it.

“Um it was just getting to be a bit too much for me, just needed a breather.” You shyly laugh, looking at him. “Why are you out here? Since you asked me.”

He finally turns his head to look at you, he says, “I guess I could say the same. One can only handle a drunk Dylan Duke for only a little bit.” He can’t help but to let out a laugh.

Remembering the name he just said from meeting all the hockey players earlier in the night, you ask him, “He’s on the hockey team right? Are you on the hockey team?”

He nods his head and says, “Yeah, I am. Are you friends with him?”

Shaking your head, “Oh, no, some of my friends are, I just met him and all the rest of the players earlier tonight.”

“Oh. I guess I got here a little bit after that. Anyway, since you met the others, I guess I could introduce myself,” he says with a laugh, “My name is Luke.” He leans forward and holds out a hand for you to shake.

Deciding if you should, you lean forward and shake his hand. “I’m Y/N.” He smiles at you, and let’s go of your hand and leans back in his chair.

From then on, every party that you both ended up at, you two would constantly be searching for each other. For you, there was something about him that seemed to make you calm down, and for him, he found you absolutely captivating by how you seem to hold the stance of everyone around you.

For months of freshman year, if anybody needed to know where either one of you were, they just needed to find one of you. They knew if they needed Luke, that he would be with you and it was the same for the other way around.

Sometimes his friends, like Dylan and Ethan, would constantly chirp at him as soon as he made it to a party you weren’t at.

“Hey Lukeyyy, Y/N isn’t here tonight I don’t think, what will you ever do!” Dylan would say as Luke walked into a party instantly looking around for you.

“How’d you even know I was looking for her anyway?” Luke would say shyly to him.

Ethan stepped in to say something. “Oh, please. As if you don’t look around at each party for her everytime.” Luke would just end up walking away from them to go grab a drink and then text you to see where you were and if you were okay. You would always be quick to reassure him that you were not feeling it that night and he could always come by your dorm if he wanted to (he always wanted to and he would always leave the party to find you).

When it came to Michigan hockey games, you were always trying your best to be at them. Every morning of a home game, Luke would text you to make sure you were going to be able to make it. If there was an away game, he would make sure you were going to able to keep up with the game. Not only were you there to support your schools team, you were mostly there to be Luke’s number one fan, which you never failed to tell someone if they asked.

You would make sure to always wear Michigan colors and you always would make sure to wear something Luke related. When you first told Luke you were interested in going to the hockey games, he made sure to give you a little necklace that had the number “43” on it, which only made it seem like you two were an item (possibly that what Luke wanted).

One time when he was extra anxious before a big game, you gave him your lucky blue bracelet that you wore every time you were anxious yourself. Luke knew how much you loved and cherished that bracelet, so he was extra grateful that you let him wear it. Not to mention that was probably one the moments that he fell in love with you more.

At the end of freshman year, you were busy with finals and packing to go back home when it all become too much. After spending the majority of the day with your head in a textbook and looking at your laptop, you were feeling the affects of not much sleep and all your anxieties piling up on top of you. When you decided you needed a break, you made your way to Luke’s place. He had barely heard from you in two days, he knew you were busy.

When you got there, he could see the tiredness and the emotional state that you were in. Pulling you into his room, he lets you sit on his bed as you spill out all that you are worrying about. When all of a sudden you were struggling to breathe, Luke pulled you into his arm and rubbed his hand up and down your arm to calm you down. He knew you weren’t sleeping much, so he let you lay down in his bed to rest. He was just going to let you rest while he went and did some errands, but you grabbed his hand and had him lay down with you. He instantly laid down with you and let you sleep until the next day. In the morning, you realized your feelings for him had grown.

During the summer break, you were back in your hometown, while Luke was back at his brothers’ lake house. He invited you to come over for a few weeks, but you wanted to at least go home for a bit before going. While you were away from him, you two never failed to FaceTime each other and text one another about all the things you did.

When you went to the lake house after not seeing him for about a month, you both couldn’t have been happier to see each other. You had met his parents, Ellen and Jim, at a few home games, and had even gone out to dinner with them, but you hadn’t met his brothers. His parents absolutely adored you and were secretly hoping you two would get together (at least that’s what they would tell Quinn and Jack). You knew as soon as you got to the lake house you were going to have to meet Quinn and Jack. You were nervous about meeting them for some reason, which was weird since you weren’t as nervous when meeting Ellen and Jim. It was just due to them two being his older brothers and they were constantly looking out for him.

You instantly hit it off with Jack when you met him after he came back in from being on the boat. You both had joked over how Luke was falling off the wake board every time he tried to get on it for at least a week. (Luke was offended you were teaming up with Jack to go against him). However, getting along with Quinn was a bit harder.

With Quinn, you decided that he was just looking out for Luke and didn’t want to see him get hurt, even though you two weren’t dating. Over the three weeks you were at the lake house, Quinn slowly began to notice how good you were for Luke. This was especially true when he saw how you never failed to make Luke laugh over anything and everything. He also saw how much Luke was in love with you. He had pulled Jack aside multiple times to see if he had noticed it too (he had) and they both made a bet on when you two would get together.

Anytime Jack’s friends, Trever, Cole and Alex, were over, they were constantly asking Jack if you and Luke were together. Everybody seemed to understand you two had feelings for each other besides you and Luke.

While you were at the lake house, you were there for Luke’s draft day. He had been nervous all day for it, but you were constantly reassuring him all would go well and made sure he had your bracelet. You were so happy when he was selected by New Jersey, as you knew how much he wanted to be back with Jack. Once the excitement of the night calmed down, you had sneaked into his room and laid with him all night long talking about anything and everything.

Sadly, summer came and went. The start of sophomore year for you and Luke was in full force. Somehow during the craziness of school starting, you slowly started to realize that you may have feelings for Luke. From the shy glances to him across the room that has him sending you a smile or the early morning coffee and breakfast meetups or the constant calling each other over the smallest thing that comes up, but you don’t ever tell him, and he never tells you.

Once school was in full swing, holidays came and went, parties came and went, assignments came and went, and hockey games came and went all leading up to Luke’s last game with Michigan hockey. You made it to the game, and you were nervous but it was mostly for him. You knew how nervous he was throughout the whole day leading up to the game, as he never failed to tell you when he was anxious. You knew he was leaving as soon as the game was over, you just had to prepare yourself to see your best friend leaving.

At the end of the game, he finds you. Pulling you into a hug, he says into your neck, “Thanks for being here tonight. Tough loss, but I don’t have time to think about that.”

Pulling back from him, you smile. “You gotta start heading out, don’t you?”

He gives you a sad smile and a nod. “Yeah, I do. But I’ll text you when I land, and anytime after that. Call anytime, I mean it! If I don’t answer, then text me and I’ll call you back.”

“You need to stay focus when you get there, I don’t want to burden all my problems on you.”

Rubbing his thumb in circles on your arm, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I like listening to your problems and everything else, and plus I’ll be calling you constantly about mine so it will be even!” He laughs and pulls you into another hug.

“Alright, I gotta go. Be careful getting home,” Luke says. You stay there in that spot, watching him walk away, but he turns around and yells, “You better text me when you make it home so I know you made it safely!” You manage to let out a laugh and nod your head and give him a thumbs up. Once he made it out the doors, you made your way to find Dylan, as he was your ride.

“You know, why don’t you just confess that you like him as more than a friend?” Dylan says as he puts an arm around your shoulder as you both walk.

“Uh I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say as you eye him down out of the corner of your eye.

“Hmmm, yeah sure. Whatever you say. Just saying, you both act more like a couple than any other couple I have seen.”

That whole conversation with Dylan stayed in your head for weeks after that. With Luke gone to New Jersey, you two still called each other or texted each other, but it soon became limited to a few text or calls during the week, as you were busy with school and he was busy with playoffs. On your part, the lack of communication with him was that you were scared of your ever growing feelings for him. You were scared that he didn’t feel the same or that he would no longer be your best friend, so you limited yourself on how much you talked to him.

Luke thought it was weird that you weren’t talking to him as much. He would call you but you would just talk to him for five minutes and then have to hang up. He was glad to finally be playing in the NHL, but he hated that he couldn’t see you or talk to you everyday like he did. He was constantly asking Dylan and the other guys if you were okay and what you were up to, which made their theory of him liking you grow even more.

When the Devils played the Hurricanes in the playoffs, Ellen saw how much Luke missed you, and with school ending, she invited you out to game five. You were weary about going, but honestly you had to see him. It had been a long while without him. You knew it would be a complete surprise to Luke.

The game was rough, and sadly they lost so they were out of the running. You were even more nervous to see Luke now that they lost. You followed Ellen and Jim down to the boys. You stayed behind his parents as Luke and Jack hugged each one. Once Luke pulled away from Jim, his eyes finally landed on you.

Although he was shocked to see you, he made his way to you. He instantly pulled you into a hug, squeezing you so tight as if he had to make sure you were actually there.

“I can’t believe you’re here, How’d you even get here?” Luke says as he pulls away from you, keeping his hands on your arms.

“Ellen flew me in. You know I had to see you play in a NHL game sooner or later,” you give him a smile.

“Yeah, if only we had won,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, I know you guys have been working hard, and to have made it this far is still pretty good.”

“I know, but enough of that, my night has just gotten better now that you’re here.” You felt your heart instantly melt at his words. You only hoped that he meant it in a way that meant something more.

Hearing someone clearing their throat behind you, you look to see that Jack is looking very impatient. “Okay, lovers or whatever you are, I’m hungry so let’s go get food, unless you two are going to stay here all day staring at each other then we will leave you.” At his words, Ellen smacks his arm telling him to shush.

Knowing that he is upset with the loss of the game, and not wanting to make him even more upset, you and Luke follow them outside of the arena to the car.

Once dinner ended, you and Luke made your way back to his hotel room, bidding goodnight to his parents and Jack, who just weirdly smiled at you and kept raising his eyebrows. Walking into Luke’s hotel room, you anxiously stand around for a second before walking to the chair in the room and sitting your bag on it.

You’re sitting on the bed picking at your nails, when Luke speaks up from across the room. “I missed you, you know?”

Looking up at him, you see him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, like something is bothering him. “I missed you a lot too, actually,” you voice back. Expecting him to say something sweet back, but he just scoffs at your reply.

“Really? Because it really didn’t seem like you did.”

You tilt your head at him since you don’t know what he’s so upset about. “What do you mean? I called, I texted all the time.”

He laughs, “Yeah but only every other day or so, and when I called you, you seemed to be in such a hurry to get off the phone!”

“Well, I had things to do!” Now you were getting upset as well at him.

“I had things to do as well! But I made sure to always call or text you, since that’s what I promised to do!” He says while running his hand through his hair. “I was completely stressed out after a game the other day, and I wanted nothing else to do but call my best friend to tell her about it, but she didn’t answer and left me a measly text!” His voice is starting to get louder.

“You know, I had to go through Dylan and the guys to figure out if you were actually okay! They always said that you were, and they were just as confused as I was about you not talking to me!” He turns his head from you to look at the wall, trying to take a moment to calm down.

Standing up from the bed, you say, “Well, maybe I just didn’t want to talk to you! I- um- well- I thought that maybe if I didn’t talk to you, you wouldn’t figure out how I felt.”

Whipping his head back to you, he asks, “What do you mean how you felt?”

Sighing, you reply, “Nothing, forget I said anything.”

Walking over to you, he shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no. I finally get to hear you talk, and I now don’t want you to stop. So say what you meant.”

Deciding to just suck it up and tell him, you breathe out and then look up into his eyes. “Fine, I like you as more than a friend. Wait- actually I think I may love you more than a friend.” You continue to stare into his eyes as you wait for a response.

After a few seconds, he starts to smile. “You mean to tell me that you wouldn’t talk to me because you loved me as more than a friend?” He actually lets out a laugh.

Crossing your arms, you mumble, “Okay, if you going to laugh, just forget I said anything.”

His smile falters. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh that way, I just mean that I find it funny you wouldn’t talk to me because you actually love me when I feel the exact same way as you.”

Your arms fall to your side at his confession and your cheeks start to turn red. “What?”

“Listen, I love you more than anything in this world. You are the only person that I voice my worries to, you are the only person that cares so much about me, you are the only person who can make me laugh or whatever no matter what. You are my person. I want nothing more than to be your person. I want to be the person you call no matter what, I want to be the person that is always there for you, and I want to be the person who always makes you laugh.” He finally lets out a breath, as if he has been holding in how he truly felt for you forever (he has).

“Luke, honey, you have always been my person. I just don’t think I truly realized it until before you left, hell I think everyone realized a year ago,” you stifle out a laugh, looking at him with blurry eyes.

Luke lets out a laugh as well. “I know, Dylan, my brothers, my parents have all been trying to get me to just tell you. Not to mention, I definitely think they have a bet going on.” He walks closer to you and doesn’t hesitate for a second to pull you into his arms.

You wrap your arms around his back, rubbing them up and down, and then pulling him in tighter. You never want to let him go, and he never wants to let you go either. “So what does this mean for us?” He pulls back to look at you, you lift a hand to move some curls out of his face.

He gives you a shy smile as he says, “I think this means that I can finally ask if you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“I think that would only make sense. So yes, I’ll be your girlfriend!”

“Great because I’ve been dying to kiss you ever since I seen you outside of that frat party over a year ago!”

“Maybe if you did kiss me at that party, then it would have sped up this process,” you joke.

“Hmmm, imma kiss you now.”

Once your lips meet, it’s like all of sudden all of the pieces that had been missing are all of a sudden mended back together. You both kiss each other like your lives depend on it, like you need each other’s touch to live, and maybe you do.

Suddenly needing air, you break apart. You lean your forehead against his, and the smile on your face is still going strong.

“You know, we’re going to have to now tell everyone that they were right about us.”

He laughs, “Yeah, and they’re never going to shut up about it!”

“They better give us half of the money from their bets.”

“Ugh, Jack’s going to be so annoying when we tell him.”

You nod, “Yeah, maybe we tell him last so that he is a little bit less annoying about it.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’ll have an ego no matter what,” he says. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much too,” you say, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m glad, now come on, I’m exhausted after this long night. I’ve been dying to cuddle with you.”

“And you wonder why everyone thought we were together.” You say as he leads you to the bed.

You knew that all you ever needed was each other. You were his person and Luke was your person. It may have taken a while to realize it, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes imagines #nhlhockey fic #nhl imagines #imagines #my fics #hockey imagines #hockey fics

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open-heart-open-container · 13 days ago

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now what? part one - bob floyd x reader

description: Y/N and Bob work in the local aquarium. It's their summer job - all set up by Y/N's mother, a long-time college friend of Bob's mother.

That being said, growing up together doesn't mean you have to like the person who is always there are your birthday parties and new year's celebrations. Even if you didn't want him there.

But there is a fine line between love and hate; a fine line between what others can see and what you can't

ao3 link!

word count: 2.5k

tags/warnings: college!au bob floyd - enemies to lovers (hehehe or are they a secret worse thing?), eventual smut? angst etc. appearance of other top gun maverick characters.

a/n: ok i am back with another fic - this was abandoned idea i had back in 2021 so i just jotted this up on the train home so its not proof read so idk hope u enjoy and please tell me if you want more!!!

CHAPTER ONE - The Cause

JUNE

‘Just because I’ve graduated university doesn’t mean that I’m not free all summer, Rooster. I have so much to prepare for - applying for postgrad, looking at trainee jobs at firms…’

‘But it is also your last summer of freedom, Y/N - live a little!’

‘I know, I know, but I need the money to spend on the amount of pints I will be drinking and the clothes I’m going to need if I get a job.’

‘But-’

You interrupt, ‘can we please just pick whatever shitty drink you are planning on getting yourself blocked on tonight and get out of this 7/11 please.’

‘Ah, not even a minute to think here, Y/N, you’re killin’ me!’

‘We’ve been here for 20 minutes.’ You deadpanned. ‘15 of those you’ve spent convincing to quit my job at the aquarium so I can get drunk with you, on money I would not have if I didn’t have my job.’

‘Alright, alright!’ Rooster laughed, picking up a cheap bottle of white rum. ‘How do you feel about rum and lemonade tonight?’

Shoving him in the shoulder, you laughed.

‘Your liver will thank you in the years to come, Bradshaw.’

He grinned, brushing past you to pay.

Standing in the linoleum aisle, you try to hold on to the feeling that this isn’t your last summer of freedom. Your inner monologue of years of late nights in a law firm and endless phone calls, meetings and emails flood your mind. Quitting has crossed your mind before; not just because you want to live more but because of your co-worker, Bob, sworn enemy, tormentor and your best friend’s other best friend.

The 7/11 was pretty busy for a Tuesday night, you were used to the quietness of North Island; the few students that would drift in for a late-night snack stash or alcohol stash depending on the type of student, and the occasional business person sneaking in after a long day.

Being home for just two days, somehow you were heading to the Bradshaw’s for ‘drinks’. Drinks meaning Bob’s parents were out of town and Bob had pulled together some of his friends from university, school and his younger sister’s friends to drink into the early hours. Whilst you were never one to turn down a night of music, sweaty bodies, and the burn of alcohol down your throat, nerves flooded your body any time you thought about spending any more time than you already do with the eldest Floyd and those nerves made it pretty easy for you to want, to need, to turn down the plans. But, who could say no to a face like Rooster’s or Nat’s.

Anyways, your recent break-up needed a little bit of substance therapy. Or substance abuse, as Jake would call it. Hangman always had a way with words.

‘Okay so are you really going to tell me what’s bothering you or am I just going to have to guess?’

The cold, early evening breeze sent goosebumps up your arms and legs. You turned to face him, cursing yourself silently for wearing a skirt - should’ve known better that tonight was going to be a cold one.

‘Nothing, truly. I’m okay. Just tired - unpacking is the most exhausting thing.’

You knew he didn’t believe you but he didn’t push, just nodding and grabbing your arm and pulling you along.

The walk from the 7/11 to the Floyd’s wasn’t long but it was so familiar. Things had changed, sure, new houses replaced the old and the once bright white lines demarking the road had weathered and were barely there, but it was familiar. It was home. But it had changed. A funny feeling, you mused.

You heard the house before you saw it. The beat of whatever shitty early 2000’s club tune pulsed the ground as you waited for Bradley to hurry up, stop blethering and unlock the door. A cheeky grin flashed your way as he pulled open the door and you were met with the humidity of the Sahara and the smell of cheap beer and Victoria Secret’s perfume. Then you were met with the sight of him - catching his eye while a sycophantic, pretty blond followed him around like a lost puppy dog.

Home was a fickle thing. One minute it’s beautiful, the next the most infuriating thing you have ever seen.

Smiles and greetings exchanged to familiar faces and new ones alike. The cold taste of the rum and lemonade slipped down your throat as you stood in the kitchen, just observing. Not participating, just watching.

Some Franz Ferdinand song blared from the speakers as people mingled, flirted and drank their way around the room. The sun hadn’t set yet - but with the curtains drawn, it didn’t really matter. The early summer house parties were the best ones - before the heat of July and early August, before reality could set in you could enjoy June for what it was.

As the night passed on, he hadn’t talked to you once. Strange. Another funny feeling.

Funny feeling, that. Home wasn’t the only thing that was fickle it seemed. What was more fickle was every time you caught his eye it was as if Bob was already looking and as soon as your eyes met, his darted away as if you had never been there in the first place.

—

The Smashing Pumpkins were playing. To Sheila, you thought, what an odd choice for an aquarium.

The soft tones of the acoustic guitar floated through the corridors, swirling blue lit the ceilings as multi-coloured fish raced through each tunnel and turret. It was a comforting feeling - nothing changed in here, except for new life and the end. There wasn’t a need to be something you weren’t in here - pure magic and fascination coats the walls, you could be a child all you wanted all day and once you left it was back to reality.

‘Hey, boss is calling.’ And then the peace was interrupted.

Bob. You truly didn’t know where to start with him. In the beginning, it was just childish teasing, pulling hair and name calling, but as you got older it became different; constantly fighting for the attention of your parents - he always stole the spotlight, he could truly do no wrong. You just sat in the shadows, while he could tease and taunt you all he wanted with no repercussion it seemed. No chance to defend yourself against the blue-eyed boy. It didn’t help that you both were book-smart, had that same ‘wise-beyond-their-years’ countenance about you both. So alike yet so different at the same time. Where you could be extroverted, Bob’s introverted, shy persona made you seem crazy each time you’d rise to his taunts.

Anyways, any chance of ever reconciling with Bob flew out the window when you were seventeen. Years later, the knife is still stuck in your back.

With a short nod, you followed him through the doors.

‘What no bitchy comment, darlin’?’ He shoved you lightly.

‘Not the time, nor the place, asshole.’ You whispered back fervently, briskly walking ahead to shake him. Trying to shake the lightning strike in your abdomen from his touch. No such luck.

‘Ah right, I forgot that you get on your high horse when we’re at work.’ He murmured back.

‘No, Bob, you’ve forgotten that my Mom, your godmother, of all fucking people, owns this aquarium. You wouldn’t have a job if it wasn’t for her and neither would I - so I’m sorry that I think there’s a certain amount of respect that you owe her to not start shit here.’

‘You know, Y/N, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t argue with your co-workers on your first shift back.’ The voice of your mother called from behind you.

The shit-eating grin on Bob’s face filled your body with rage. That prick. To make matters worse, you know how much your Mom loves Bob. She was the son she never had. And you, the daughter she wasn’t too sure what to do with.

‘Mornin’ Mrs Y/L/N.’

Still such a suckup. It took so much out of you not to roll your eyes at his “do-goodery.”

She gave him a smile, ‘Alright you two, you’re in the gift shop today. I decided to put Nat and Jake on tickets so-’ Your glare cut her off, a tense stare she matched. ‘You better be on your best behaviour.’

The stare became pointed at the boy bouncing on the balls of his feet beside you. He had a persistent itch to be moving all the time, something he’d put down to anxiety and something you’d put down to something he does to purely annoy you.

‘Both of you.’ With that, she turned and walked towards an exhibit.

Sighing, you faced Bob. ‘Right well. We better set up, don't you think?’

Raising his brow, he nodded. ‘Lead the way, princess.’

You huff. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘What?’ There was that quiet smirk on your face that you wanted to punch (no, kiss) off. ‘Thought you enjoyed getting the princess treatment.’

Rolling your eyes, you spare him a quick dirty look. ‘I’m not dignifying that with a response.’

‘Wow, what a wonder! I’ve rendered you silent, darlin’.’

You hated how he called you darling; the timbre of his southern accent dropping the ‘g.’ You hated how sometimes the sound echoed at night when you pretend to not be lying awake thinking of him.

You really have nothing to say to him right now. Too busy thinking about the hordes of children begging their parents to buy them some overpriced shark teddy. You quite liked the kids that would buy rocks. Something so innocent about a child picking up a very obviously fake amethyst, marvelling at its beauty, then begging their poor, unsuspecting parent that they must have this rock even if it costs 5 dollars. They always reminded you of… well, you. But you grew out of that childish desire to own rose quartz or anything else after Bob told your fourth grade class that you collected rocks. Safe to say you weren’t entirely popular in middle school.

There was stock to be put out, toys to arrange and a cash register to organise. At least you weren’t on tours for today. Fanboy almost always volunteered for them. And, in all fairness, he was good at them - you had to give it to them. It was almost smart putting Jake and Natasha on tickets, drawing parents in with two incredibly beautiful people then letting Fanboy rile their kids up instead of giving the parents something to look at (not the fish, Jake and Nat) and instead of tiring their kids out.

The gift shop wasn’t all bad. It’s peaceful in those first 15-20 minutes when the aquarium has just opened - not a single family makes it past the ‘petting pool’ for a good while. Then at closing time. Usually no one is there for the graveyard tours; the last one starts at 5pm. Then it's just mostly kids, high on whatever edible they’ve taken, and they don’t really care for stuffed animals when you’re seventeen and trying to escape this place. Yet, you can’t enjoy the peace because Bob is here. His presence is enough to irk you and there’s rarely been a time where his presence hasn’t pissed you off.

You’ve known him your whole life - he’s followed you everywhere and you can’t shake him. It pains you to admit that you wouldn’t know what to do if you had to shake him.

‘Whatcha thinkin’ about?’ Bob looks at you with those big, bright blue eyes with a hint of concern.

You glare and he almost shifts back to normal.

‘Jeez, forget I asked.’

How do you tell the one person you swore long ago you’d spend eternity loathing that you were scared about the day he would leave. Which could be soon. Considering that every single one of your close friends were signing up to become naval aviators; that’s what most people did around here. Top Gun was located so close. Those pilots were legend and almost every teenager or college-aged kid from around here wanted to be them. So many of those pilots were mythical beings. Except Rooster’s Dad - even though he wasn’t here, he almost was because Rooster was here. Which told you all you needed to know - the risks were too high and death was inevitable. Yet, Bradley was signing up, Jake was too, Nat, Bob and Fanboy. Every single one of them had their callsigns already figured out - no need for them to blessed upon them when they got there.

And soon you’d be alone. Probably still at this aquarium with no Bob to annoy you with his perfectly slicked hair, how nice his back looked when it was turned and how unbelievably frustrated he made you.

‘You have fun at the party? Ma said she didn’t see you.’ He’s trying, or at least he’s trying to convey that he’s actually nice to her sometimes.

‘Your Mom was at the party? Wow didn’t realise we all still had to be chaperoned.’ You still felt bad that you didn’t get to say hi to her if she was there.

‘Low blow, sweetheart. She was there for a bit, wanted to say hi to Rooster and you.’ He pauses as if he’s thinking of what he’s about to say, weighing it up.

‘Y’know she thinks of you like one of my sisters.’ The words come out heavy from his mouth. You blink at him in surprise. You’d never addressed how close your families were and how distant you both were.

‘Well, my Mom considers you the son she never had so,’ she meets his eye, ‘I guess we’re even then.’

‘Was it even a competition in the first place, Y/N?’ He says it so softly, and his eyes pour into yours - a depth of emotion you weren’t sure he had.

‘I-’

It stunned you, slightly. What was admitting to? What did he mean by that?

It didn’t matter though as kids came hurtling through the doors of the gift shop and the conversation was slowly forgotten. You never looked in his direction and, to the best of you knowledge, he never as much even looked at you.

Bob who always been so shy, so sweet to everyone else was a chip on your shoulder. The biggest baggage you carried around was his teasing, his want to be one-up-on-you. The standard you could never quite measure up to was your Mom’s best friends’ son. And everyone loved Bob. His quietness allowing him to fly under the radar. Yet, you spent all of high school and college at each others’ throats. And he could say what he liked, slightly hummed in the noise of a frantic classroom or college dining hall where no one would hear and it drove you crazy how no one saw Bob for what he is. An antagoniser, a smart-ass.

That sweet boy you used to play in the sandbox with and playfight over who got the last ice-pop at the family barbeque had grown up to be a hard ass. The boy whose surname you used to attach to your own and imagine your wedding was someone you swore you’d never feel anything but simmering loathing for. And somehow, someway he was admitting defeat?

This was going to be a long summer.

#bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick fanfiction #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman fanfic #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you

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r0ttenhearts · 2 years ago

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inconvenience

alhaitham x reader

sypnosis: after alhaitham fails to show up for your birthday “party” things seem to go worse between you as well as your best friend kaveh

warnings: angst, no comfort, arguments

the clock chiming felt taunting with every minute that passed. every minute that passed with alhaitham nowhere in sight. every minute that got closer to midnight. a gentle sigh left your lips, the thickly frosted cake sat in front of you untouched. you were sure if you had lit the candles they would have been nothing but melted wax by now.

you weren’t sure why you wanted to believe things would be different tonight. with alhaitham’s busy schedule it made moments between you two scarce and few. only speaking for a few minutes in the morning, knowing he’d be gone all day. you didn’t blame him for it, no. how could you? he was busy doing his job as a scribe! piling onto his already busy schedule felt nauseating. but you trusted his promise he made to you only two weeks prior. a promise to come home early on your birthday, to celebrate together.

it felt so long ago now. the clock reading 11:46 and he still wasn’t home. the sound of the door opening perked you up, a wide smile on your face as you got up, ready to greet alhaitham.

“haitham! i- oh.”

the blonde haired architect smiled softly at you, your shoulders slumping. “hey kaveh, why’re you home so late?” you spoke softly as he came inside.

“i just got caught up with things, figured i’d rather finish them here.. where’s alhaitham? i thought you two would be together right about now?”

you shook your head softly, “i guess he got caught up with things as well.”

kaveh studied your face for a moment before smiling sadly, “happy birthday (y/n).” you whispered a quiet thank you as he walked to his room, the door shutting gently behind him.

a silent storm brewed in your mind and you couldn’t help but feel so defeated. your boyfriend of four years couldn’t bother to show up for your birthday? did he really think his work mattered more than you?

you remembered every time you passed up something with your friends or an event you had wanted to go to, just for alhaitham. considering his feelings and knowing he didn’t like those things. only wanting to spend time together even if it meant missing out on things you also deemed as important.

always taking his feelings and thoughts on certain things, but he couldn’t even come home for your birthday? your sigh was much more aggravated than it was before, your patience as thin as paper.

just as you were about to put the cake away the door opened, the clock reading 12:24. no words were said as you closed the fridge door, making your way past alhaitham before he stopped you. a firm hand on your shoulder.

“what, alhaitham? it’s late, i’m going to bed.” you attempted to shrug his hand off but he held his grip. “you’re angry, why are you upset with me?” alhaitham spoke cooly and composed.

you scoffed loudly, angry tears were trying to escape your eyes but you wouldn’t let them. you wouldn’t cry over him.

“oh, i wonder! i really do, alhaitham. maybe because it’s my birthday and you didn’t bother to show up? just a reminder since you seemed to have forgotten, or do you just not care? i don’t think i want to know the answer.” you spat out like poison. a look of annoyance crossed alhaitham’s face.

“are you serious? you’re behaving like a child over your birthday? i was busy with my work, you know this. don’t go pouting now because i forgot one meaningless day.”

he didn’t care. he didn’t care how much this meant to you, even after telling him stories of how you always went out of your way for others. only to be disappointed in return. the one day of the year you wanted to feel like you mattered, and he didn’t care. he was more bothered with you being upset than anything.

“you can’t be serious alhaitham. you promised me!”

“then i suppose that promise didn’t mean much as i don’t recall ever making one.”

any argument you had in your mind now died. he wouldn’t care for any reason to justify your anger, he had made up his mind. and he wasn’t sorry for any of it.

you didn’t say anything as his hand left your shoulder, walking past you to the kitchen for a late night sandwich. you quietly made your way to kaveh’s room, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. kaveh spun around in his chair, a look of confusion on his face.

“kaveh.. alhaitham didn’t care! he just didn’t care at all. i waited all night, you know? i waited and waited and blew off invitations to spend my birthday with dehya and the girls and he just.. just didn’t care! he called me a child and i-“

“(Y/N)!”

your emotional rambling stopped at the yell of your name. kaveh held the same expression alhaitham had when he looked at you not too long ago.

“you are being an inconvenience right now, i have so much to do and i can’t deal with this right now. we can talk about it later but i’m busy right now. so please, get out of my room.”

you didn’t say anything as you left his room. alhaitham scoffing as you two saw each other before he made his way to his own room. the door shutting behind him.

you had never felt so unwelcome in a place you had grown to love and call home. but if you weren’t wanted, you knew better than to stay. to fight for a place that wasn’t yours. with that, you quietly slipped away into the night. texts and calls being missed from the both of them as you made a new life outside of them.

taglist: @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @linkookie197 @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @reblog-crazily @sparklylanddetective @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @maxineslair @kenmabfasf @samarill @whorerificstuff

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham angst #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #al haithem

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icanseethefuture333 · 1 year ago

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The Astrological Observation of Gen Z, (a series)

Part II 👶🏽🩷:

The birth of Gen Z children👩‍🍼:

Now what is described as a Gen Z baby is different depending on what method you use, but since we are using astrology, we determine that by looking at Pluto. Pluto is one of the slower moving planets and typically lasts in the same sign for over 12 years. In tropical astrology, what all Gen Z babies share is a Sagittarius Pluto (and it is in Scorpio if you fancy Vedic astrology 😎), Which begins in mid to late 1995 and ends in early to mid 2008. Some other placements that are shared for early 2000s babies is a Aquarius Uranus & Aquarius Neptune, While mid to late 2000s babies share a Pisces Uranus & Aquarius Neptune.

The most populated birth years of the 2000s in order were 1. 2000, 2. 2009, 3. 2008, 4. 2007, & 5. 2006. The least populated birth year being 2001. While the amount of births stayed consistent in 2002-2003 with only a slight increase by a million in 2004-2005.

00: 143.01 million

01: 133.88

02: 134.02

03: 134.40

04: 135.23

05: 135.80

06: 136.91

07: 138.56

08: 140.16

09: 141.20

The year 2000 was the start of the 21st century, so parents being excited for the new millennium and having lots of babies in the celebration of the new year makes a lot of sense. If we use January 1st 2000 as an example for a baby's birthday. That would mean that the parents would had to conceive / the mother to get pregnant around in April (9 months). In 1999, Jupiter was in Aries and Taurus was in Saturn. Prince wasn't lying when he said "we gonna party like it's 1999 (all night long)" - because y'all parents were doing the *Raven Symone voice* NASTY 😭. Aries is action oriented and hasty. So I believe the collective during this time actually made new year's resolutions that they could accomplish. I always associate Taurus with fertility, abundance, & pleasure. So when the sign rules over saturn, it creates the need to be focused on security, comfort, & protecting personal possessions. Add a Scorpio Lillith to the mix and yeah... 🥴 The song sums it up pretty well (fun fact it was also released in the year 2000 LMFAO)

Now let's see why there was such a decrease of babies being born in 2001.

Jupiter moves from Aries into Taurus/Gemini, Taurus still remained in Saturn, & then there was a Capricorn Lillith. So things got less hot and heavy 😅 (they got tired out from all that fucking huh LOL 💀). I believe that parents were too nervous to have any more children in this year. Also there was so many earth placements, so I believe there was more of a focus on finances, creating structure, and coming up with ideas/plans for a better future. Parents could of seen how crazy things got (The Y2K crisis, people acting out of fear thinking the world was ending, 9/11, etc) and just decided not to have as much children. The libido or sex drive could of died down for some couples as well. There was a lot of resistance from couples in this year for getting pregnant. Parents were more worried about business. The babies that were born in 2001 were most likely by accident or needed to be under the supervision of a doctor in order to help the parents conceive (also there could of been possible complications during the pregnancy 🤔?). The women were just over it during this year 😭

Now let's talk about the rise of babies being born in 2007-2009 when there was LITERALLY a god damn financial crisis going on 💀! It was so bad it got compared to the great depression and parents were just like "huh... yeah, I think this is a great time to have a baby" 😂. Guess what sign Lilith was during this time...? ("BITCH YOU GUESSED IT! HO! You was right"😈) FUCKING SCORPIO LILITH 💀 with a Virgo Saturn, Sagittarius Jupiter, and then Uranus finally transitioned from Aquarius to Pisces. Soooo it was giving anxious attachment, it's giving "I'm scared but aroused", the parents' idea of a coping method during this time was "let's use a baby as a way to have hope during such troubling times" 😭??? Couples during those years were not thinking clearly at all and with Pisces being the dreamer that she is 🙄... ("you're a dreamer, you dream a lot") as well as Sagittarius tryna act like they're mr. philosophical over here but instead is really just thinking with their dicks. It just made the parents overall act really delusional and they thought having a kid would give them hope for the future (like why would you do that to late Gen Z's and set them up like that omg 😭???). The financial crisis during 2007-2009 was described as: "The collapse of the housing market — fueled by low interest rates, easy credit, insufficient regulation, and toxic subprime mortgages — led to the economic crisis." So overall it was a period of parents only being intimate to try to find comfort in each other while also dealing with anxiety and not being able to see past their own illusions.

#miiight have to do another post on this i'm not sure #couldn't really think of what else to look at lol #astrology #astro observations #astrology observations #astro notes #gen z #2000s #y2k #mcbling #Spotify #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #witchcraft

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solecize · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. n/a

part three: the letters, the saloon and the second storm ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

vi. the letters

september 2nd 2008 (age 9)

dear jungkook,

my mom said i should write you letters. i don’t really know what to say here. you better be visiting marshmallow and be nice to her while i’m gone. i miss her a lot. i guess i miss having you around since i don’t have anyone to play guitar hero with…

p.s. happy late birthday maybe i can visit and come to your party next year if my mom lets me

from y/n