#oh hello second and third one

[illiana-mystery]

Today's a rainy Wednesday for me, so I need a pick-me-up. 😌

[rowavolo]

crushing on male characters like yeah id rope that boy in with my pathetic sopping wet animal swag and pure autistic charm. i would hold them by the ankle and smack them against the walls full force

crushing on female characters like omg shes so cool shes way too cool for me shed never even look at me im not even worthy to think about her oh my god,,,,

crushing on characters who r neither (or both . or something inbetween ) is like hooh. holy shit. im in love with you i worship the ground you walk on how are you so fucking cool i want to be your best friend . i hope you think im cool (im not)

[bfdifan26]

adding this + the kind-of first time two looks at one as well………………………………………………

one smiling every time she looks at two

[hearts4hughes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hearts4hughes/785288931630530560/send-in-some-exbfrafe-and-bsfrafe-requests

Calling exbf rafe to tell him good night like the TikTok trend, you know he will eat that shit up!! He will be trying to play it off cool but blushing really and taking that as a sign she wants him back,

you’re curled up in sarah’s bed, legs tangled in a thrifted blanket that smells like lavender detergent and your childhood secrets. her room’s glowing with that late summer golden ligh—windows cracked open, cicadas humming, a forgotten candle flickering in the corner. both of you are belly laughing, the kind that makes your stomach sore and eyes watery.

you’re scrolling through tiktok, passing the phone back and forth like a shared lifeline. somewhere between a “get ready with me” and a recipe for baked feta pasta, you see it. it’s a video with two girls, similar to you and sarah, laying down and giggling while one calls their ex to say ‘goodnight’.

you freeze, thumb hovering over the screen. sarah looks up from her bag of pretzels, face already twisting into a mischievous grin. “oh! you have to do that to rafe.” a giggle leaves her lips at the mere thought of torturing her lovesick brother.

you scoff, but you’re already smiling, and chuckling at the possibility. “what? no. that’s evil.”

you and rafe had broken up two months ago, after two years of being tangled up in each other. it hadn’t been ugly, not exactly, just…inevitable in that slow, splintering way. like something sacred wearing thin at the seams. it wrecked him anyway. left him half-alive and mean about it, walking around like he didn’t bleed for you, like he wasn’t still sleeping in the hoodie you left behind. no one really talked about it, but everyone knew—rafe cameron hadn’t been the same since.

“exactly,” she says, beaming. “and besides, he’s so not over you.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s beating faster. you grab your phone anyway. “you’re insane,” you mutter, voice breathless with laughter.

“and you love it,” sarah sings, flopping back onto her pillows. “now shhh. put it on speaker.”

your fingers hover for half a second too long over his name before you press call. the phone ringing bounced through the walls of sarah’s bedroom. he picks up on the third ring.

“hello?” his voice catches halfway through the word. it’s low, hesitant, not quite put-together. there’s a pause, and some ruffling in the background. he’s grabbing for a shirt or maybe a recording device to document that this actually was happening.

you swallow a giggle, face already warm. “hi, rafe,” you say like sugar. “just calling to say goodnight.” he’s on the other line flushed, and trying to figure out if you’re serious or if this is a dream.

“uh…” his voice shifts, softens. you can hear the way he bites back a grin.“okay? sweet dreams, baby.”

your eyes widen. sarah clutches your arm like you’ve just won the lottery. “goodnight,” you say, voice a whisper now.

“night,” he murmurs back. then, like he can’t help it, he murmurs, “call me tomorrow?”

you hang up before you can say yes. you toss the phone onto sarah’s floral comforter like it’s radioactive, then bury your face in one of her overpriced anthropology pillows and scream loud enough to rattle the fairy lights above her bed. your face is tomato red, ears hot, skin warm to the touch. you can still hear his voice in your head, syrupy and low.

sarah’s shrieking, “baby?! oh my god, he’s still in love with you.” she barks out laughter until her body can’t hold itself upright. she falls onto the bed beside you, clutching her stomach.

on the other side of the line, rafe leans back in bed like it’s no big deal. as if his pulse isn’t sprinting and his ears aren’t burning. he tosses his phone onto the side table, arms crossed behind his head, smug little smirk tugging at his mouth.

she wants me back so bad, he thinks, biting back a grin.

but his cheeks are pink, and his heart’s thudding out a rhythm he hasn’t felt since you used to sleep in his shirts. he tries to play it off, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he’s already moved on. but three seconds later he’s picking up the phone again just to check if you texted. just to look at your name one more time.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa

[sixxels]

play it back

fratboy!sukuna x fem reader

wc: 14k

!!disclaimer!! situationship, smut, p in v, mdni, angst! comfort. this is messy, so so messy but what fic of mine isn’t?

the first thing anyone ever smells when stepping into choso’s house is weed and watermelon vape. the second is tequila, the third is him. the one guy you really didn't want to see right now.

smokey, rich, him. sukuna.

you try to ignore it, the lights are dim and pink and pulsing. it’s not packed yet, but it will be. choso’s parties always fill up like bathtubs. slowly, hot.

you step through the threshold and into the thrum of it all. maki grabs your wrist the moment she spots you. “thank god,” she says, tugging you toward the living room. “i need someone sane to witness this mess.”

you barely manage a hello before she’s dragging you in, past the sliding kitchen door and down the short hall, until you see a group of all your friends sitting in a circle.

“truth or drink,” gojo booms, slamming his empty solo cup down on a wonky wooden frat table like he’s just cast a spell.

you roll your eyes. maki groans beside you.

“oh god, not again.”

“no, listen,” gojo says, serious. “this is character development. this is growth. this is—,”

“—an excuse to be nosy,” suguru cuts in.

“exactly!”

sukuna’s already here, of course he is. spread out like he owns the couch. one leg over the other, cigarette burning low between two tattooed fingers, eyes slouched half-lidded as if he’s barely awake. like he didn’t just watch you walk in.

and just like that, it begins.

choso pulls out the question cards he made last semester, a mix of drunk scribbles and genuinely soul-destroying prompts. shoko hands everyone a refill. yuki raises her eyebrows at you like, ‘buckle up, baby.’

you sit, shoulders tight, pretending not to care when the bottle lands on sukuna.

your chest pinches anyway.

“truth,” he says lazily, eyes half-lidded.

choso reads the card. “do you think you’ve ever been in love?”

the room hushes, tension vibrating like a tight string.

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. he drags from his cigarette. smoke curls out the corner of his mouth.

“no.”

a few snickers. gojo coughs dramatically, little did you know he’s the only one who sukuna tells about your little… situation, so he was as uncertain as you were. he gave you a sympathetic look from across the circle.

“no offense,” maki mutters under her breath, “but i believe it.”

your stomach sinks. you don’t know why you expected anything different. maybe you didn’t.

you just hoped.

the bottle spins again. lands on you.

your throat goes dry, and maki grabs your hand under the table.

gojo perks up like a kid in church who just got told the sermon’s about sex.

“truth,” you say.

suguru plucks a card. “do you think the person you want wants you back?”

silence again.

you look down at your cup.

you think about sukuna’s mouth. the way he kissed you that night at the party like he was afraid he’d forget how. the way he didn’t call for two days after. the way he still texts you at 2am like you’re a convenience store.

your voice is soft. “i think maybe, like halfway?”

no one says anything for a moment.

even sukuna.

especially sukuna.

then yuki murmurs, “you deserve more than half-love, baby.”

you nod, but you don’t say anything.

what would be the point?

~

as the game dissolves into teasing and too-loud laughter, gojo throws himself dramatically across suguru’s lap and starts fake-crying like a soap opera housewife. “you never loved me!” he wails, half-choking on his drink, and suguru just hums and pets his hair like a tired husband with a golden retriever.

shoko steals the card deck. maki yells something about how is he crying without tears, and choso starts explaining the thc content in his gummy stash to a girl in a crocheted top who keeps giggling like she doesn’t understand a word.

the circle splinters. the warmth disperses. the night, like a bruise, begins to spread.

you lose sight of sukuna in the crowd.

the room gets louder. people you don’t know start filtering in. loud boys in snapbacks yelling about beer pong. girls in glitter boots clacking across the hardwood like they own the place. someone walks by with a bong shaped like pikachu and a glowstick necklace that makes your eyes hurt.

it’s not that you don’t want to be here. it’s that you suddenly feel like you’re watching it all through glass. like you’re not in the room anymore. just near it.

you slip away. quietly.

~

the kitchen is cooler than the rest of the house, the hum of the fridge a steady drone underneath the bass. you lean against the counter, press your palms into the tile. you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the silence makes your ears ring.

then,

“you gonna pretend i’m not here all night?”

you freeze.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

that voice always comes just after you start to forget it. low, lazy, soft with smoke and something sharp underneath.

sukuna.

you inhale slow, steady. then turn.

he’s leaning against the counter like it’s a throne. one hand braced on it. the other running through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the night. his eyes are heavy-lidded. glossy. the slow drawl in his voice tells you what you already know.

he’s high. probably drunk. maybe both.

he’s beautiful in that unbearable way he always is, like a nightmare you mistake for a dream.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

he raises his eyebrows like that’s the joke. “didn’t even look at me,” he says, voice dipped in that honey-slick sarcasm. “kinda hurts.”

you let out a breathless laugh. cold. “didn’t know you could feel pain.”

he snorts, like he expected that. “guess you bring it out in me.”

the music from the living room pulses through the walls, muffled and rhythmic like a heartbeat you can’t trust.

you cross your arms. “you high?”

“little bit.”

you nod. “figures.”

he shrugs. “you looked good tonight.”

it’s casual. too casual. like it costs him nothing to say it. but the way his gaze flickers over you, slow, warm, like he’s memorizing you, that betrays him.

your stomach flips. you hate that it still reacts to him. that your body remembers every place he’s touched even when your brain is begging you to forget.

you steady your voice. “that why you ignored me?”

he blinks. “i didn’t ignore you.”

“you didn’t look at me,” you say, softer now. “not once.”

he tilts his head like a dog hearing a strange sound. “would that have made a difference?”

you swallow. “not to you, probably.”

and there it is, the flicker in his eyes.

brief. but real.

like he didn’t expect you to say that. like it hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

he pushes off the counter. takes a step forward. then another.

too close. always too close.

his voice drops low. “don’t do that.”

you meet his gaze. “do what?”

“don’t act like you don’t know i care.”

you laugh. it’s not kind. it sounds like heartbreak breaking in reverse. “do you?”

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

“you’re here,” you say slowly, “because you always come back when the buzz wears off. when you’re bored. when it’s dark and quiet and you remember i’m soft.”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t deny it.

you go on, voice barely above a whisper. “you only show up when you want something. and i keep letting you.”

he stares at you. there’s a crack forming in his expression, small, hairline, but there, then he says it, just one word.

“yeah.”

no apology, no excuses, no fix, just that.

and somehow that hurts worse than all the lies he could’ve told.

you drop your gaze, chest tight.

the silence between you is thick with everything you’ve never said. everything he’ll never give you.

after another awkward silence you're interrupted by a voice.

“didn’t think i’d find you in here.” you both turn, yuki is standing in the doorway, hip cocked, drink in one hand, the other braced against the frame like she’s leaning into a scene she’s already seen too many times.

her gaze flickers between you and sukuna. calm. sharp.

“you good?” she asks you directly.

you nod. automatically.

she hums. doesn’t buy it.

she steps into the kitchen, slow and easy, like a tiger circling a campfire. her eyes settle on sukuna. “didn’t peg you for the type to haunt kitchens like a ghost with unfinished business.”

sukuna scoffs. “didn’t peg you for the type to care.”

“don’t,” yuki says, voice crisp, “mistake my presence for forgiveness.”

he doesn’t reply. but he holds her gaze.

she walks past him, pours herself another drink, doesn’t bother asking. then turns back to you.

“you want me to stay?”

it’s a soft question. one you feel all the way down.

you think about saying yes. about grabbing her hand and letting her drag you back to the circle, where maki will make you laugh and choso will roll his eyes and shoko will hand you something that tastes like pain and nostalgia.

but you don’t.

you shake your head.

yuki nods. doesn’t push. “come find me if he says anything stupid.”

then she leans in, kisses your temple, warm, steady, and says, low enough that only you hear:

“you don’t owe him anything. not even your silence.”

and just like that, she’s gone, and you’re left with him again.

sukuna is quiet now. the tension that always coils around him is looser, but not gone.

he watches you.

you watch the floor.

then you speak.

“i think i wanted you to fight for me.”

he closes his eyes for a beat. then opens them. “that’s not something i’m good at.”

you nod.

“i know.”

silence, heavy and final.

you brush past him. he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t even move.

~

you leave before it gets too late. before you can talk yourself into staying. before sukuna can kiss you like a promise he’ll never keep.

choso finds you on your way out. he wraps you in a hug, tight and lingering.

“you okay?” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you lie.

he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t say so.

he just presses something into your hand. a shirt you must of left in his room, the one you left the last time sukuna ghosted you after 2am.

“text me when you’re home,” he says.

you nod.

you glance back once, just once, and see them through the window:

gojo dancing stupidly with a bottle of tequila. suguru with his phone flashlight on, filming it like it’s high art. maki yelling at shoko, who’s dumping popcorn in someone’s drink. yuki standing near the back…

~

the party ends slow. like the last drag of a cigarette, burnt out, bitter, and a little too quiet. music still thumps from inside choso’s place, muffled through the walls, but the energy has thinned out. people are either too drunk to notice or already stumbling home with the wrong shoes and the wrong names.

gojo’s the one who calls it. “yo, let’s dip,” he says, slinging an arm around sukuna’s shoulders like he always does, loose and lazy, like he owns the world and you’re lucky to be living in it. suguru’s behind them, silent and steady, hoodie pulled up and smelling like weed and sandalwood. they leave without saying goodbye to anyone. that’s kind of their thing.

outside, it’s humid. the kind of summer night that sticks to your skin and makes the air taste like sweat and smoke. sukuna’s already lighting another cigarette, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. he doesn’t offer one to gojo or suguru. he doesn’t need to. gojo’s got a vape in one pocket and a flask in the other, and suguru doesn’t need anything to look high. he just always does.

they don’t talk much on the walk back to the frat house. it’s not far. five blocks, maybe. quiet streets and broken streetlights. gojo’s whistling something off-beat. sukuna’s got his hands in his pockets. suguru hums low under his breath, something old and haunting.

when they get back, the house is dead. empty beer cans in the grass. some kid passed out on the porch. the usual. sukuna steps over him without blinking. gojo kicks the kid’s leg, laughs when he groans. suguru opens the front door and lets it creak.

they go upstairs, past the chaos of the main floor, past the girls’ hoodies still draped on the railing and the smell of stale liquor clinging to the carpet. third floor. the balcony. sukuna’s spot.

it’s dark out there. just a sliver of moonlight and the distant flicker of someone else’s backyard party. sukuna leans against the railing. suguru drops into the broken plastic lawn chair. gojo pulls out a blunt from somewhere deep in his jacket and waves it like a magic trick. “you’re welcome,” he says, sticking it between his teeth.

sukuna exhales slow. smoke curls up into the sky. “what, you want a medal?”

“nah. just a thank you and maybe a little kiss on the mouth.”

suguru snorts. sukuna rolls his eyes.

they pass the blunt in silence for a bit. the air’s thick with something that isn’t just weed. something quieter. heavier. the kind of shit that settles behind your ribs and makes everything feel too loud even when no one’s talking.

gojo breaks it first.

“so.” he’s watching the street below like he’s waiting for someone to walk by. “you gonna talk about it or do we have to play twenty questions?”

sukuna doesn’t look at him. doesn’t have to. “talk about what?”

gojo tilts his head. his hair’s a mess, sweat sticking to his forehead. he’s still got glitter on his cheek from some girl that kissed him three hours ago. “you know what.”

sukuna flicks ash off the balcony. “nah. i don’t.”

“you and her.”

the silence tightens. suguru shifts, leans back. he’s not getting in the middle of this. he knows better.

sukuna takes another drag. his lips twitch, just barely. “there is no me and her.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

“nah, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

sukuna finally looks at him. his eyes are sharp, red in the moonlight. not angry. just tired. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

“you don’t,” gojo says, shrugging. “but you owe her something.”

sukuna doesn’t say anything.

gojo doesn’t press. not yet. he just lets it hang there, like smoke between them. like a threat.

after a minute, sukuna mutters, “she knew what it was.”

“did she?”

silence again.

gojo sighs. leans his elbows on the railing. “look, i’m not trying to play therapist or whatever. that’s shoko’s job. but you gotta know she’s not like the other girls that come to our parties.”

sukuna scoffs. “i know that.”

“do you?”

he doesn’t answer.

gojo watches him. he’s serious now. which is rare. his voice drops low. not angry. not mocking. just honest. “she’s sweet, man. like… good. not in that fake ‘pick me’ way. like… genuinely good. and you’ve got her looking at you like you’re the sun or some shit.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “she doesn’t.”

“she does.”

“whatever.”

gojo’s smile fades. “you’re gonna break her.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“you’re already breaking her,” gojo says softer this time. “and i don’t think you want to. i think that’s what’s messing you up.”

for a second, sukuna looks like he might say something. like he might throw the blunt off the balcony or snap gojo’s neck or punch the railing until it splinters.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he says, “i didn’t mean to.”

gojo blinks. a little surprised. but he doesn’t let it show.

“i didn’t plan for any of this,” sukuna says, voice low, rough. “she was just… there. and then she wasn’t just there. she was everywhere. all of a sudden.”

gojo nods.

“i don’t do feelings,” sukuna mutters, like it’s a confession. “i don’t do this.”

“yeah, no shit.”

sukuna glares at him. gojo raises his hands, grinning.

“look,” gojo says. “i get it. you don’t wanna hurt her. you’re scared. whatever. but stringing her along? pretending she’s just some random girl you fuck when she’s clearly not? that’s worse.”

“i know,” sukuna snaps. then softer, almost like he hates himself for it—“i know.”

they go quiet again.

suguru lights another joint.

gojo leans his head back and stares at the stars. they’re faint out here. hidden behind pollution and bad choices.

“you like her?” he asks, sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

“…yeah.”

“how much?”

“too much.”

gojo grins. “gross.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“so what now?” gojo asks. “you gonna keep acting like a cold asshole? or maybe try something new, like honesty.”

“it’s not that easy.”

“yeah, it is. you just say what you feel. preferably with your mouth and not your dick.”

sukuna doesn’t laugh, but his lips twitch again. that almost-smile he gets when he’s trying not to admit he finds gojo funny.

gojo turns to him, cocky glint in his eye now. “look, i’m just saying, if you don’t treat her right…”

he pauses. lets it hang there.

“…i will.”

sukuna snorts. “shut the fuck up.”

“i’m serious.”

“you couldn’t handle her.”

gojo grins. “oh, i could. and you know it.”

they’re both smiling now. but underneath it, there’s something sharp. something real.

a warning.

sukuna finishes his cigarette. flicks it over the railing. watches the ember fade in the grass.

“i’m not gonna let her go,” he says finally. “but i don’t know how to keep her either.”

gojo looks at him. really looks. “figure it out. before someone else does.”

the stars above them don’t offer any answers. but maybe that’s okay.

they stay out there a little longer. talking about everything and nothing. until the night bleeds into morning and the city starts to yawn.

and somewhere, not too far away, you’re still thinking about him. still waiting.

and maybe now, maybe finally, he’s starting to realize what that means.

~

mondays economic class.

he’s sitting in the back again.

legs spread like the seat was made for him, hood up, sunglasses on even though they’re indoors and the windows are closed. he hasn’t looked at you once. not during roll call, not during the lecture, not even when the professor called on him to answer a question about marginal cost and he replied with a deadpan, “pass.”

you hate him.

you hate that you’re still thinking about him even as you type notes you’ll never read again.

you hate that you still notice the way his fingers tap against the desk like he’s impatient with the whole world. you hate that you can’t forget what those hands feel like on your hips. you hate the weight of his gaze—when it’s on you, when it’s not. it doesn’t matter. he’s in your head either way.

you scroll back in your notes, realize you’ve written the same sentence three times.

you sigh. close your laptop. rest your chin in your hand and stare at the front of the class.

you didn’t even wear anything cute today. you’re in sweats. your hair’s a mess. you didn’t think he’d be here—he barely comes to econ unless he needs to cheat off someone’s midterm. so why does it feel like your heart’s pounding just because he’s breathing the same air?

you glance back, like you can help yourself.

he’s leaned back in his chair, chewing on the end of a pen. his eyes are behind his sunglasses but you know, you know, he’s watching you too.

god.

you hate that he gets to do this to you.

he fucked you once and now he gets to haunt your life like some ghost with a nicotine addiction and a fratboy attitude. it’s been months. and somehow, you’re still here. still hoping for more. still checking your phone for messages that don’t come.

you tell yourself you’re over it. you lie, the class ends. people start packing up. zippers and shuffling and half-asleep small talk.

you gather your things slow. give yourself a moment to breathe. you don’t want to walk past him. you don’t want to look like you’re trying. you don’t want to care, but you do.

you head for the door. keep your head down.

you almost make it.

but just as you step into the hallway, a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you sideways, into a side corridor no one uses, behind a column of lockers, where the lights flicker and the air smells like dust and old paper.

you already know who it is.

“sukuna,” you breathe, not quite surprised.

he looks at you like he’s bored. like this is a chore. like he didn’t just corner you like a secret. “hey.”

you try not to let your voice shake. “what do you want?”

he shrugs. leans a shoulder against the wall. everything about him is infuriatingly casual, like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. “you wanna come over?”

you blink. “���now?”

“yeah.”

he doesn’t elaborate.

you shift your weight, heart pounding. “why?”

his jaw flexes. “you know why.”

and yeah. you do.

you look up at him. his face is unreadable. dark eyes under his hood, mouth set in a line that’s too hard to call a smile. he looks tired. he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. he looks like the last time he touched you is still on his fingertips.

you shouldn’t.

you shouldn’t.

but god, he’s looking at you like he wants you again, and it’s been so long since he’s looked at you like anything at all. and you’re weak. and stupid. and still in love with a boy who never says your name unless he’s dragging it out of you in bed.

“…okay,” you whisper.

he nods like he expected you to say yes.

~

his room’s dark. always is. it smells like weed and cologne and something distinctly him. the sheets are still messy from the last time he was here, probably with someone else.

you don’t ask.

he doesn’t offer.

he locks the door behind you, tosses his hoodie to the floor, lights a cigarette and leans against his desk like he’s thinking. like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that won’t come out.

you stand awkwardly near the bed. your fingers twitch. you almost ask him what’s wrong. you almost ask him if he’s okay. you almost ask—

“you look tired,” he says instead, like it’s the only thing he knows how to offer you. you laugh, quiet. “yeah. i am.”

he stares at you. exhales smoke through his nose. walks over, slow, until he’s standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell the nicotine and aftershave and the faint scent of whatever cheap shampoo he uses.

he reaches out. brushes your cheek with the back of his hand. something in your chest pulls tight.

“you’re still sweet,” he mutters. “even now.”

you swallow hard. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he doesn’t answer.

inside his head, he’s screaming.

'tell her you think about her all the time.

tell her you can’t stop dreaming about her mouth.

tell her it’s been eating you alive that you made her feel disposable.

tell her you miss her. tell her you’re sorry. tell her—'

“take your shirt off,” he says instead.

and you do.

of course you do.

because that’s what you do when it comes to sukuna. you say yes even when you mean no. you give him pieces of yourself like they’re nothing, just hoping one day he’ll realize how much they cost you.

he kisses you like he’s angry. hands rough. mouth hungry. he kisses you like he’s trying to say all the things he’s too much of a coward to say out loud.

you let him.

you let him use your body as a place to bury his feelings.

you let yourself pretend it means something.

he fucks you like he’s punishing himself.

like he’s trying to carve you into his skin, leave a mark deeper than anything words could say.

your back hits the mattress and he’s on you in a breath, mouth everywhere, hands urgent, grip bruising. his rings drag down your ribs, your hips, your thighs, leaving fire in their wake. his teeth scrape your collarbone. he bites your neck, your shoulder, your chest, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

you moan for him. soft. breathy. helpless.

and god, the way he reacts, like your sounds are gasoline. like they’re unraveling whatever threadbare control he’s got left.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, baby. you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you want to ask what that means.

but then he’s pushing inside you — rough, deep, unforgiving — and the question dies on your tongue.

you gasp. arch. dig your nails into his shoulders.

he groans like he’s in pain. like being inside you is the only thing that makes him feel human.

“always so tight for me,” he mutters against your mouth. “like your body fucking knows who it belongs to.”

you shouldn’t let him say things like that. not when you both know it’s not real. not when you know he’ll go cold again once the high fades.

but you nod anyway. whisper, “yes.”

because in this moment, in this darkness, you do belong to him.

he fucks you slow at first. deliberate. deep enough to make your toes curl. he presses his forehead to yours. watches your face. watches the way you fall apart just for him.

“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this.”

his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to make your breath hitch. not enough to hurt. just enough to say mine.

he kisses you again, messy, possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to crawl inside you. like he’s trying to make you forget any name that isn’t his.

and you let him, you always let him.

his pace gets rougher. harder. the headboard slams the wall and you don’t care. you’re shaking. sweating. whispering his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“sukuna—” you gasp. “i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby?” he pants, fucking you through it. “you gonna come for me? make a mess all over my cock?”

you nod. cry out. your body tenses, then shatters.

you fall apart beneath him, and when you do — when you come with your whole heart in it — something in his face breaks.

his rhythm stutters. his jaw clenches. his breath catches like he’s never seen anything more devastating than you loving him out loud without saying a word.

he finishes with a groan. deep. guttural. like it hurts him.

and maybe it does.

because when he pulls out, he doesn’t speak.

he just collapses beside you. chest heaving. jaw clenched.

and you both lie there in the dark, skin slick, hearts racing, silence choking, pretending it didn’t mean everything.

afterward, he doesn’t say much. he smokes while you lay on your side, back to him, eyes fixed on the crack in the wall.

he wants to reach out. wants to trace his fingers down your spine. wants to ask if you’re okay. wants to say i’m sorry i don’t know how to love you right.

but all he says is:

“you can sleep here if you want.”

you don’t answer.

you fall asleep anyway.

he stays awake long after you’ve started dreaming.

'fuck.'

~

the door creaks when you open it.

you wince, glancing back at sukuna’s bed. he’s asleep, sprawled on his stomach, breathing deep. the sheets are tangled around his waist. his hand is stretched toward where you were laying minutes ago.

you leave anyway.

your sweater is inside-out and you don’t bother fixing it. you don’t look in a mirror. you don’t even grab your shoes. the floorboards are cold, but you move quiet. like a secret. like a ghost.

you’ve done this before.

the house is quiet. mostly. there’s a low hum from the fridge and the drip of the bathroom sink down the hall. you turn the corner into the kitchen, eyes blurry, mind fogged, and stop short when you see… gojo?

gojo satoru. shirtless. sleep-mussed. drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.

he freezes. you freeze.

“…uh,” he says, mid-sip.

“…hi,” you whisper, not really sure why.

he lowers the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

“i wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake.”

he looks at you then. really looks, eyes narrowing.

taking in the state of you, your hoodie, half-zipped. your hair, messy. your bare feet. the too-quiet look in your eyes.

“…he do something?” he asks, voice low, unusually serious.

you blink. “no. no, i just—”

but the words don’t come. you shake your head instead. try to smile. it doesn’t stick.

gojo doesn’t push. he just sets the orange juice down and hops up on the counter, like he’s settling in for something. “you want tea? or whiskey? or, like… both?”

you laugh, soft. “just water’s fine.”

he nods. gets up. finds a glass. fills it. hands it to you without meeting your eyes.

you sip slowly. the silence stretches.

“…you’re not gonna ask?” you murmur.

“not yet,” he says, sitting back down.

“trying to be cool.”

you glance at him. “you’re not very good at that.”

he grins, a little sheepish. “yeah, i know.”

another beat. you lean against the fridge. hugging yourself. “he didn’t kick me out. i just… didn’t wanna stay.”

“because?”

you swallow.

“because it hurts.”

that gets his attention.

his smile fades. his whole posture shifts, shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands curling around the edge of the counter. he looks like he wants to say something sharp, but reins it in.

instead, he says, quiet: “he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you look at him. “what does that mean?”

gojo shrugs, but it’s a lie. “it means you’re not like the other girls. you’re not easy to forget. and sukuna…” he sighs. runs a hand through his hair. “sukuna likes things he can throw away. he doesn’t know what to do with something real.”

you stare at your water. “i don’t even think he likes me.”

“he does,” gojo says immediately. then catches himself. “i mean—he feels something. he wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t. that guy doesn’t even keep leftovers.”

you almost smile.

gojo swings his legs a little, like a kid. “look, i’m not… i’m not good at this. feelings. girl stuff. crying. whatever.” he gestures vaguely at you. “but i know you’re too good for this. you’ve got this… i don’t know. softness.”

you raise a brow. “softness?”

“yeah. like. you care about people. even when they don’t deserve it.” he scratches the back of his neck. “it’s rare. makes you a good person. but it also makes you a really easy target for people like him.”

you’re quiet.

“i’m not saying sukuna’s evil or anything,” gojo adds. “he’s just… scared.”

“of what?”

“of being known. of letting anyone close. of you seeing all the ways he’s already fucked up and leaving him for it.”

“…i wouldn’t.”

“i know that,” gojo says. “you know that. he doesn’t. he grew up thinking love was a weakness. that closeness meant pain.”

you stare at the floor.

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work,” he says gently.

and it hits you like a slap.

you sit down at the little kitchen table. press your palms into your eyes. “why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

gojo’s smile is sad. “because you’re the one who feels the most.”

silence again. this time thicker.

gojo watches you. watches the way you hunch your shoulders. the way you’re trying not to cry. the way your fingers tremble around your water glass.

inside, he’s fuming.

because he likes you. not romantically. not like that. but in the way a big brother likes his little sister’s best friend. in the way a guy who’s been in the game too long recognizes something rare and soft and good,and wants to keep it that way.

he remembers the first time he saw you. walking into their party with maki, eyes wide, sweater too big. he remembers thinking: she doesn’t belong here.

and now you’re sitting in their shitty kitchen in the dark, heart bruised, eyes tired, wearing his best friend’s hoodie and nothing else.

and he feels like he failed you.

“hey,” he says, softer now. “can i tell you something?”

you nod.

“if you ever decide you’re done… like, really done. if you ever stop waiting for him to grow up… i hope you find someone who deserves you.”

your voice is quiet. “you think he never will?”

gojo shrugs. “i think he might. i just don’t know if it’ll be soon enough.”

you bite your lip. look away.

he hesitates. then grins—teasing, but there’s something pointed underneath it.

“…and if he doesn’t figure it out?”

you glance back at him.

he winks.

“maybe i will.”

you laugh—really laugh—for the first time that night.

“shut up.”

“i’m just saying. i’m tall as fuck. hot. emotionally available.”

“you’re not emotionally available.”

“okay, but i pretend really well.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in it now.

gojo stands. ruffles your hair. “come crash in my room. i’ll take the floor. you can take the bed. no weirdness, just… company.”

you hesitate.

but you’re so tired. and gojo’s safe. and you can’t go back upstairs.

“…okay.”

“cool,” he says, and grabs his juice on the way out. “also. if you hear any weird noises in the walls? that’s just nanami. he lives in the vents.”

you blink. “what—?”

“long story,” gojo says, already walking away. “come on.”

you follow him down the hall.

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel so alone.

~

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, sukuna was closer than you’d thought.

he hears her laugh before he hears her voice.

soft. almost shy. tired in a way that isn’t about sleep.

sukuna leans against the wall at the end of the hallway, just out of sight. cigarette burning slow between his fingers. his hoodie half-zipped, throat dry.

he hadn’t meant to get up.

but he always wakes when she leaves. like his body knows. like something inside him panics when the bed goes cold.

so he got up. quiet. just to see.

and now he’s standing in the dark, eavesdropping like a fucking coward while she sits in the kitchen and talks to gojo.

he can hear her voice low and sad, cracking around the edges. can hear gojo trying to make her laugh, trying to make it okay.

he listens anyway.

even when it hurts.

“why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

“because you’re the one who feels the most.”

sukuna exhales smoke, slow. clenches his jaw.

he knows gojo’s not hitting on her. not really. he knows it’s not like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is that she’s downstairs spilling her heart out to someone else. that she didn’t wake him. that she didn’t stay.

that she left.

and that gojo was the one who made her laugh.

“he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work.”

he scoffs. quiet. bitter.

like hell gojo knows him. like hell anyone does.

they don’t know what it’s like to have something good and be too fucked-up to hold it. to want softness and flinch every time it touches you. to love someone in silence because saying it out loud would make it real.

they don’t know what it’s like to want to be better but still ruin everything you touch.

they don’t know him.

he flicks ash to the floor. keeps his back to the wall.

he should be angry. should storm in. tell gojo to back off. tell her to come back upstairs. tell her—

tell her what?

that he felt something? that he missed her the second she slipped out of bed? that he hates the way she makes him feel like there’s still a heart in his chest worth breaking?

no. instead, he presses the cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag and walks silently back upstairs. because it’s easier to leave than admit you care.

it’s easier to pretend you didn’t hear it.

it’s easier to be the villain than try to be anything else.the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

the bed is cold.

he doesn’t sleep.

~

~

“wait, wait, so you’re telling me you failed your chem midterm because you got too high and thought the beaker was flirting with you?”

choso shrugs, dragging a fry through a sad puddle of ketchup. “not flirting. just… vibing.”

you snort into your drink, shoulders shaking. “you vibed with a glass container and flunked stoichiometry?”

“the beaker started it.”

the table erupts with laughter. maki bangs her fist against the wood. “you’re such a freak.”

“hey,” choso says, mouth full, totally unbothered. “i passed the retake. c’s get degrees.”

you’re sitting at a picnic table behind the campus dining hall, where the sun cuts through gaps in the tree canopy and everyone’s pretending it’s not a monday. someone smuggled beers in gojo’s oversized backpack (probably him), and there’s music playing low from geto’s speaker, something beachy and stupid and perfect for pretending your life isn’t a mess.

it’s the full crew today. rare. loud.

gojo’s got on sunglasses even though you’re in the shade, and he keeps pulling dumb faces behind them. shoko’s halfway asleep with her feet in suguru’s lap. maki is chain-eating sweet potato fries while ruthlessly cyberbullying nanami for being too good at Wordle. yuki’s got a cherry lollipop between her teeth and is quizzing you about your classes, occasionally pausing to threaten to beat up your econ professor for “crimes against women.”

and sukuna—

sits at the far end of the mat, leaning back on his hands, shoulders tense, smoking slowly. saying nothing.

i mean, at least he came?

you haven’t spoken to him since you slipped out of his bed this morning. since you wandered barefoot into the kitchen and laughed with gojo until you felt human again.

now you’re sitting between gojo and choso, sipping lemonade like you’re not thinking about it. like you’re not wondering if he notices. if he cares. (he does. not that he’ll say it.)

“so,” gojo says, nudging your elbow. “have you seen that econ TA since the last midterm? the one with the man bun?”

you groan. “don’t remind me.” maki perks up. “what did you do?”

you bury your face in your hands. “i thought he was just some guy in the hallway and told him his fly was down.”

gojo cackles. “was it?”

“unfortunately, yes.”

yuki whistles. “bold of him to teach supply and demand with his dick out.”

“stop—”

“i won’t,” yuki says, pointing her lollipop at you like a mic. “queen behavior. you saw something, you said something. brave.”

“heroic,” maki adds.

“horny,” suguru mutters.

“you would know,” shoko mumbles, eyes still closed.

the table descends into delighted chaos again, voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright. you lean into choso’s shoulder, still grinning, cheeks warm. this — this moment — feels like breathing after being underwater. like coming up for air.

you feel normal. safe.

but you don’t miss the way sukuna’s jaw ticks as he stubs out his cigarette. or the way he keeps glancing at you from beneath his lashes, pink hair falling in his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding something in.

something that’s starting to crack.

from the corner of your eye you catch suguru leaning towards sukuna.

“you good?” he asks, looking down the mat.

sukuna doesn’t answer.

he lights another cigarette instead.

“you’ve had, like, four of those already,” shoko says, dry. “gonna give yourself cancer and a bigger attitude.”

gojo snorts. maki snickers.

sukuna exhales smoke toward the trees. “you want me to light one for you too, doc?”

shoko raises a brow. “i only diagnose, baby. not treat.”

the group titters again, but sukuna isn’t smiling. his gaze flicks across the mat — past gojo’s shit-eating grin, past maki’s teasing smirk, past you.

his voice comes out flat. “then shut the fuck up.”

the laughter stutters. dies.

you glance at him, startled.

shoko just blinks. “you always get this bitchy when your vape dies?”

“maybe he’s cranky ’cause someone didn’t say good morning,” gojo mutters, too quiet for most to hear — but sukuna hears it. you hear it.

your stomach drops.

sukuna stiffens, slow and cold. “the fuck did you just say?”

gojo shrugs, casual. “just saying. might’ve helped. sunshine and rainbows. breakfast in bed. a little serotonin.”

“don’t start.”

“not starting anything,” gojo says, smile sharp. “just making conversation.”

“then maybe shut your mouth.”

“jesus christ,” maki says under her breath. “chill.”

“no, really,” sukuna snaps, eyes narrowed. “why are you talking, satoru? you want her to climb into yourbed next time?”

the table freezes.

you flinch.

gojo’s grin falters, just a second — then returns, brittle and bright. “damn. someone’s projecting.”

“fuck off.”

“no, seriously. you get all bent out of shape the second she talks to someone else—”

“shut up.”

your voice cuts through the noise.

everyone turns to you. eyes wide.

you’re trembling.

“just—stop it,” you say, softer now. “you’re talking about me like i’m not sitting right here.”

silence.

sukuna looks at you like you’ve slapped him. maybe you have. metaphorically. emotionally. whatever. he goes still, face unreadable, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

you swallow. “if you’ve got something to say to me, say it. don’t take it out on everyone else.”

no response.

just a quiet, dangerous inhale. smoke curling from his lips.

you shake your head and scoff. the silence stretches — too long.

awkward. loaded. sharp as glass.

until choso clears his throat. “well,” he says, a little too loud, clapping his hands together like he’s brushing off the tension. “that was fun. but also maybe we all need to get blackout drunk and pretend none of this ever happened.”

maki snorts. “best idea you’ve ever had.”

“i’m serious,” choso says, pulling out his phone. “i was gonna wait, but whatever. we’re throwing a rager this weekend. big one. everyone’s invited. bring whoever, just don’t break my fucking windows this time.”

gojo perks up immediately. “you mean like… priject x kind of rager?”

“like ‘campus cops get called and ignore it because they’re scared’ kind of rager,” choso says, grinning.

“fuck yes,” yuki says, leaning back on her elbows. “i haven’t blacked out and woken up next to someone emotionally unavailable in weeks.”

“i thought you were seeing someone,” shoko says.

“i am,” yuki shrugs. “he’s just out of town.”

everyone laughs. it breaks the tension. just a little.

suguru raises a brow. “you sure your house can handle it?”

choso grins. “nope. but that’s the fun.”

“i’m in,” gojo says immediately. “i’ll bring ket, just got some for free off this blonde sorority girl i boned-.”

“gojo shut the fuck up,” maki says.

“aww,” gojo replies, smug.

you force a smile. nod. “yeah. sounds fun.”

choso glances at you, gently bumping your knee under the table.

you bump him back.

even sukuna mutters something that sounds vaguely like “whatever.” which, from him, is practically an rsvp.

everyone starts packing up. wrappers and half-empty cups, chattering and laughing as they get to their feet. the afternoon sun is mellow now, casting soft gold over everything. it should feel easy. warm.

but when you glance over at sukuna, he’s already standing. already walking away.

you step toward him, hesitant. “hey—”

he doesn’t stop.

doesn’t even look at you.

just shrugs. “don’t.”

your mouth opens. closes. something twists in your chest.

“i just… i thought maybe we could talk,” you say, softer now. quieter. just for him.

he slows. barely. the wind tugs at the hem of his hoodie. he looks over his shoulder, eyes cold and unreadable.

“what’s there to talk about?” he says.

it’s cold. effortless. the kind of line someone drops when they’re already halfway out the door.

you stand there, hands loosely curled at your sides, trying not to look as stupid as you feel. “sukuna…”

he finally looks at you.

and it’s worse than him not looking at all.

his expression is blank. not cruel, just tired. unreadable. like you’re just another thing he has to deal with. like this — whatever this is — doesn’t live under his skin the way it lives under yours.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you to say anything,” you say quietly. “i want you to be honest.”

he scoffs. looks away, runs a hand through his hair. you catch the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants a cigarette but doesn’t light one.

you step closer, not touching him. just enough so you’re in his space. maybe trying to remind him that this matters. that you matter.

“you look at me like i mean something,” you whisper. “and then you act like i don’t. like i’m a problem you never meant to have.”

his mouth twitches. but he says nothing.

“we sleep together,” you go on. voice soft, cracking at the edges. “and i know it doesn't mean nothing. not for me. not the way you look at me. not the way you touch me.”

his shoulders tense.

“you’re not like this with everyone,” you say. “you’re not cold like this unless you’re trying to hide something.”

“don’t start,” he mutters.

“start what?” you say, heart racing. “caring? because i do. and i know you do, too. even if you won’t say it. even if it scares you.”

that hits something. he flinches like the words sting.

and then — nothing. a breath. a long silence.

“you don’t know me,” he says.

it’s quiet. vicious. said without heat, but it lands like a slap.

your throat tightens. “i think i do.”

“you don’t,” he snaps, louder now. “you don’t know anything about me. you think you do because i fuck around with you every now and then — and that was a mistake.”

you flinch. physically step back.

his eyes dart away, jaw locked. you see the panic in the way he won’t meet your gaze. like he hates himself even as he says it.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say, barely above a whisper. “i just wanted you.” he says nothing. just stands there, staring at the grass, at the sky, anywhere but you.

you swallow. blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “i’ll stop. if that’s what you want. just… tell me.”

for a second, you think he might. you think he might give in. say something real, but then he looks at you, and it’s gone.

the softness. the almost, he shrugs. “do what you want." and with that, he turns and walks away.

you don’t stop him, don’t cry, you just stand there in the sunlight, hands trembling, heart cracking, watching him disappear like he always does.

~

the screen door slams behind him hard enough to shake the frame.

sukuna storms into the kitchen, kicks a chair out of his way, and yanks open the fridge with the kind of force that screams unresolved issues. there’s nothing in there but a half-empty bottle of orange gatorade and someone’s leftover pasta.

he grabs a beer instead. cracks it open without looking. downs half of it in one go.

“yo,” gojo calls from the living room. “there he is. you get lost or something?”

“yeah,” geto adds, laid out across the couch with his phone in his hand. “thought you died or ran off with some groupie.”

sukuna doesn’t answer. just slams the fridge shut and leans against the counter, eyes dark.

gojo appears in the doorway a second later. grinning, barefoot, stupidly beautiful in that careless, smug way that always makes sukuna want to punch him. “what, the picnic get a little too emotional for you?”

“fuck off.”

gojo raises a brow. “whoa. easy, killer.”

geto looks up from his phone. “damn. he’s brooding. who pissed in your cheerios?”

sukuna glares. “both of you need to shut the fuck up.”

gojo snorts. “jesus. what crawled up your ass?”

“i said shut the fuck up,” sukuna snaps, voice sharp and ugly. “don’t make me say it again.”

gojo tilts his head. his grin fades just slightly. “what’s your problem, man?”

“you’re my fucking problem,” sukuna spits.

geto whistles low under his breath. “okay.”

gojo blinks. “me?”

“yeah, you. always looking at her. always acting like you give a shit.”

“maybe i do,” gojo says, folding his arms.

sukuna shoves off the counter. closes the distance fast. “then why don’t you fuck her?”

geto sits up.

gojo’s smile drops.

sukuna’s breathing hard. eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “you want her so bad, right? always hovering. always asking about her. if you’re so worried, go fuck her.”

gojo’s mouth twitches. not a smile this time. something colder. “you think this is about fucking?”

“you want her,” sukuna growls. “don’t pretend you don’t.”

“of course i fucking want her,” gojo snaps, stepping in close. their chests almost touch. “you think i’m blind? you think anyone’s blind? she’s the best fucking thing to walk into our lives, and you treat her like trash.”

sukuna shoves him.

gojo stumbles back half a step, then laughs. “hit a nerve?”

“don’t talk like you know anything,” sukuna says, low and mean.

gojo’s face twists. “i know enough. i know she looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. and you look at her like she’s a mistake.”

“shut up.”

“you’re not scared to lose her,” gojo says. “you’re scared you already have, and you’re too much of a coward to fix it.”

sukuna grabs his shirt. fists it in both hands. “say one more word.”

“you wanna hit me?” gojo challenges. “go ahead. but it won’t make her stop crying about you. it won’t make her stop waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.”

“fuck you.”

“you already said that,” gojo says, eyes gleaming. “try something new.”

sukuna shoves him hard. gojo crashes back against the wall, laughing like he’s enjoying this. like the fight is foreplay.

geto sighs loudly from the couch. “jesus christ. this is the most homoerotic thing i’ve seen all week.”

“shut up, suguru,” both of them snap at once.

geto just sips from a water bottle and settles in like he’s watching an hbo original.

gojo wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. there’s no blood, but it feels close. he’s breathing hard now, too. “you think you’re the only one who could’ve had her?”

sukuna freezes.

gojo steps forward, lower now. his voice a little quieter, sharper. “you think i couldn’t have kissed her that night in the kitchen? when she looked at me like she wanted to fall apart? you think i haven’t had the chance to touch her? to fuck her?”

something ugly twists in sukuna’s gut. his jaw ticks. “then why didn’t you?”

gojo stares him down.

“because she’s in love with you, you fucking idiot,” he says. “and i’m not the type to take advantage of a girl crying over someone else.”

that hits like a punch.

sukuna reels back, lips parted. chest rising and falling too fast. his heart feels like it’s trying to escape.

gojo’s voice is quieter now. lower. almost sad. “she’s too wrapped up in you to see the way you treat her isn’t normal. but i see it. geto sees it. everyone sees it.”

sukuna says nothing.

gojo sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “you don’t deserve her.”

geto stands up, finally. claps a hand on sukuna’s shoulder. “you okay, man?”

sukuna jerks away.

he can’t be in this room anymore.

he storms past them both, heading upstairs without another word.

he slams the door behind him and doesn’t bother locking it.

the room’s a mess, it always is, clothes on the floor, textbooks on the desk collecting dust, ashtray full from three nights ago. he kicks a chair out of the way and collapses into the couch shoved against the wall.

his fingers are shaking when he rolls the joint. it’s not even a clean roll, he’s too pissed for precision, but he lights it anyway. inhales like it’ll kill the thoughts if he burns them fast enough.

it doesn’t.

smoke curls out of his mouth in lazy spirals, and he stares at the ceiling like it might have answers. but all it has is water stains and a crack in the corner that keeps getting bigger. he exhales. slow. watches it fade.

and thinks about you.

fuck.

he should’ve kissed you at the picnic. when you looked at him like that. like he meant something. like you were hurt, but still reaching for him. he should’ve fucking said something. instead, he walked off like a coward. let you stand there in front of everyone, soft and wide-eyed and trying, and all he did was shrug you off. like you didn’t matter.

he ashes the joint into a beer can. stares at the ember. lets his thoughts get loud. why does he do that? why does he push you away like you’re nothing, only to think about you constantly when you’re gone?

you looked so pretty today. he noticed — even though he pretended not to. he always notices. the way your voice goes quiet when you talk to choso, like he’s the only one who really sees you. the way you laugh at gojo’s stupid jokes, but your eyes flick to sukuna like you’re hoping he’ll laugh too. like you’re hoping he’ll give you something.

and he doesn’t.

because he’s fucking scared.

scared that if he lets himself want you out loud, he won’t be able to stop. scared that you’ll look at him the way his father looked at his mother — like love was a leash and a punishment all in one.

scared he’ll ruin you.

because that’s what he does, right?

he ruins things.

gets high. gets laid. ghosts the ones who stay too long. pushes until they leave so he doesn’t have to watch them choose to. you haven’t left yet. and that’s what makes it worse. you stay. even when he hurts you. even when he’s cold. even when he’s drunk at a party and pretends he doesn’t see you standing across the room in a dress that makes his chest ache.

god.

he remembers how you looked that night. the one at choso’s. on the couch, tequila on your tongue, heart in your eyes.

you touched him like you meant it. like he wasn’t just another party boy with a lighter in his back pocket and no soul in his stare, you touched him like he was yours.

he exhales. coughs a little. blinks the sting from his eyes, he can still feel your fingers in his hair, he’s never had that. not really. not the kind of want that runs deep. the kind that leaves bruises you ask for.

but you gave it to him, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.

so he threw it back at you. let it rot. let it sit between you like a loaded gun and dared you to pull the trigger, but you didn’t. you just looked at him today, so sad, like you knew he’d break your heart and you were still hoping he wouldn’t.

like you loved him.

and maybe that’s the part that scares him the most. that you do.

he tips his head back against the wall. closes his eyes, takes another hit, and thinks about what it would be like if he were someone else.

someone better, someone whole, someone who could say it back,vsomeone who could hold you in public. let you fall asleep in his bed and mean it when he said stay.

but he’s not.

he’s just him.

all rough edges and bad decisions. full of want and fear and ugly things he doesn’t know how to name, and you — you’re everything soft. everything gentle. everything he doesn’t deserve, but fuck, he wants you anyway. more than he’s ever wanted anything.

he ashes the joint again and stares at the wall. and for the first time in a long time,

he feels like crying.

~

you’re sitting cross-legged on yuki’s bedroom floor, eyeliner in one hand and heartbreak in the other.

“i just feel stupid,” you mutter, carefully lining your waterline in the mirror she propped against the bed. “like… i know he's a dick yuki but it still hurts.”

the girl in question is sprawled out on her stomach, applying highlighter with the kind of nonchalant ease that makes her look like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. “you’re not stupid,” she says, voice soft, “you’re just in love with a boy who’s emotionally fucked up and terrified of intimacy.”

you snort.

“i’m serious,” she adds, rolling onto her side to face you. “sukuna is the human version of a locked file. password protected. probably booby-trapped. and yet here you are, trying to romance him with your full heart and soft eyes.”

“it’s like i’m trying to love a brick wall.”

“a hot brick wall. with great arms.”

you laugh despite yourself. “and a great dick... wait, hey! don’t gas him up.”

yuki grins. “i’m just saying. if you’re gonna have your heartbroken by anyone, at least it’s by someone with good bone structure.”

you finish your eyeliner, lips pressed tight. “you think he feels anything for me?”

yuki pauses. looks at you. “i think he feels a lot. i think that’s the problem.”

you don’t respond. just sit in the quiet buzz of your own nerves as she helps you fix your hair.

by the time you both finally leave, it’s past eleven, and the party’s already in full swing.

or, more accurately, it’s a fucking riot.

cars lined down the block. bass shaking the pavement. the frat house looks like it’s about to combust, people hanging off the porch railing, lights flickering through the upstairs windows, the whole front yard packed with bodies and booze and cigarette smoke.

you’re barely through the door when you get bumped into, hard.

“jesus,” yuki mutters, grabbing your wrist so you don’t get pulled away. “this is worse than i thought.”

inside, it’s chaos.

liquor spilled on hardwood. sweaty bodies pressed together. someone already passed out on the stairs with sharpie all over their face. strobe lights flash in the living room, where people are dancing like they’ve never heard the word tomorrow.

it smells like weed, beer, and cologne — heavy and dizzying.

you spot gojo first, shirt half-unbuttoned, pouring tequila directly into someone’s mouth on the kitchen counter. he’s laughing so hard he nearly drops the bottle.

maki’s by the fridge with shoko, both leaning against the door like it’s the only thing keeping them upright. shoko looks bored. maki looks hammered — but still effortlessly hot in a cropped corset and leather pants.

and sukuna —

god.

he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread, head tipped back, a blunt in his fingers and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor.

he’s wearing that stupid silver chain and a black tee stretched across his chest like it’s painted on. eyes half-lidded. hair tousled. cheeks a little flushed.

he looks fucked up.

high as a kite. drunk as hell. somewhere between earth and oblivion.

and he still manages to look right at you like he owns you.

you blink. look away.

“there you are,” choso says, suddenly at your side. he pulls you into a one-armed hug, his voice low in your ear. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“sorry,” you breathe, grateful to see him. “yuki took forever curling her hair.”

“hey,” yuki says behind you, flipping him off.

he just grins and hands you a red solo cup. “you okay?” he leans in a little, lowering his voice. “looks like it’s hitting you.”

you nod, hand gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. “it’s just… packed. i forgot how insane these parties get.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing around. “they started pregaming at like eight. gojo took three shots of fireball in a row and tried to backflip off the couch. shoko had to stop him. it was a whole thing.”

you glance toward the living room where the couch looks like it’s been through a war. “jesus.”

“you wanna go to the backyard?” he offers. “it’s still loud but it’s not, like, madhouseloud.”

“maybe in a sec,” you say. “i need to… settle.”

his gaze softens. “you saw him?”

you nod, eyes flicking again to sukuna, who’s now leaning forward to light his blunt. you can see the way his jaw clenches when he exhales. how his eyes sweep the room like he’s looking for a reason to get in a fight.

“he’s already gone,” you murmur. “i don’t even know if he knows i’m here.”

choso’s quiet for a second. then, gently: “he knows.”

you look at him.

“you look like that,” he says, giving your outfit a subtle once-over. “there’s no way he hasn’t noticed.”

you smile a little. sad. “yeah, but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it.”

choso shrugs. “maybe not. but it’s still driving him crazy. you showing up like this. looking like that. it’s the closest thing to revenge you’ll get without breaking something.”

you sip your drink. “what if i don’t want revenge?”

“then that makes you a better person than most of us.”

you lean against his shoulder. “thanks for always looking out for me.”

“someone’s gotta,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “and god knows it’s not gonna be him.”

~

he sees you before you see him.

you always show up late. always soft around the edges. always looking like heartbreak dressed in something tight.

and tonight—

tonight you look unreal.

you’re holding choso’s arm like the party might swallow you whole. he’s leaning in close to talk to you. protective. always too fucking close.

sukuna takes a slow drag of his blunt and exhales through his nose.

it’s like trying to smoke the jealousy out of his chest. like maybe if he gets high enough, he’ll stop caring that your hand is still on choso’s hoodie, like it belongs there.

he doesn’t.

he watches the way your eyes sweep the room. how your mouth twitches when you spot him. that quick flicker of emotion—surprise, disappointment, something soft and sharp all at once—and then you look away.

that’s what fucking kills him.

you used to look at him like he was everything.

now you barely hold his gaze.

he wants to blame you. wants to pretend this whole ache is something external, something happening to him. but it’s not. it’s him. it’s all him. his mess. his coldness. his fucking cowardice.

his fingers twitch.

you’re laughing now. some guy just handed you a drink. not choso — someone else. taller. probably some econ prick you sit next to in lecture. he’s leaning into your space like he’s earned it, and you’re letting him.

you’re fucking letting him.

sukuna watches from the couch like a phantom. bottle of jack between his boots. blunt burning slow between his fingers. high out of his goddamn mind but still crystal fucking clear on one thing:

he’s going to kill that guy, or kiss you until you forget he exists.

maybe both.

maybe he won’t do anything. maybe he’ll just rot here, on this shitty leather couch that smells like weed and sweat and spilled seltzer, and keep watching you talk to some nobody like you didn’t fall apart in his arms three weeks ago.

he should look away, he can’t.

you smile at something the guy says. tip your head back, eyes soft, lashes fluttering. sukuna’s throat goes tight.

he remembers the sound you make when you laugh for real. how it tastes against his mouth. how you cling to him like you’re afraid he’s going to disappear.

but he already did.

he disappeared the second you looked at him like he meant something.

and now he’s just here. watching you be wanted by everyone who isn’t him. letting his own silence fuck up the only good thing that’s ever looked at him like he’s worth something.

you take a sip of your drink. the guy touches your arm.

sukuna sees red.

he sits up straighter. crushes the end of the blunt into an empty red solo cup and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the floor.

if he’s going to watch you flirt with someone else, he’s not going to do it sober.

not tonight.

not when you look this good.

not when you’re glowing in the middle of a crowd, and he’s the one who turned you into a ghost.

he downs the rest of the whiskey like it’s water. doesn’t even flinch.

liquid courage or liquid idiocy — at this point, what’s the difference?

you’re still across the room, still talking to the same guy, still pretending you don’t feel his eyes on your back like a second skin.

fine.

you wanna ignore him?

then he’ll make sure you can’t.

“yo,” he slurs, pushing off the couch. “gojo. shotgun?”

gojo, already halfway through a white claw, perks up instantly. “now we’re talking. someone get the funnel.” like the two weren't arguing a day ago, crazy what alcohol does to you.

someone cheers. music blares. lights pulse.

sukuna doesn’t look at you — not yet. but he knows you’re watching now. he can feel it, that slow drag of your attention pulling back toward him like gravity. like instinct, because he’s being loud. reckless. stupid. because this is what he does best: burn bridges and light himself on fire just to feel warm.

someone brings the beer bong over and sukuna barely waits for it to fill before dropping to one knee, taking the nozzle in his mouth with that cocky little smirk that means he’s about to do something he knows he’ll regret. gojo claps him on the back. “you’re so fucking dumb, man.”

“jealous?” sukuna sneers, head tilting, eyes flicking over to you — finally.

and yeah. you’re watching. your expression is unreadable. somewhere between worry and frustration and that familiar ache he’s seen too many times in your eyes. good.

maybe now you’ll remember.

he downs the beer like it’s nothing. wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "another,” he says.

“dude,” geto mutters, shaking his head. “chill.” but sukuna’s not listening, he’s already halfway to the kitchen, already demanding shots, already making a fucking scene, and he doesn’t stop.

not until he sees you moving toward him. slow, uncertain. choso trailing after you, clearly annoyed. clearly ready to drag sukuna outside and beat his ass if he doesn’t knock it off.

but sukuna just grins wider, sloppier. his eyes lock onto yours like you’re the only person in the world that matters.

and in his fucked-up little head, you are.

“look who finally noticed me,” he drawls, voice syrupy and bitter all at once. “what, couldn’t hear me being a complete disaster over the sound of you flirting?”

you stop a few feet away from him. choso lingers close, protective, but quiet. “what are you doing?” you ask, soft. wounded.

it hits him in the chest like a punch.

he hates that tone.

he hates that he made you use it.

“partying,” he shrugs, gesturing around. “that’s what we do, right?” you stare at him. your lip trembles.

fuck.

fuck. this isn’t working.

he wanted your attention, not your disappointment, he wanted your eyes on him — not like this. you glance at the crowd — the people watching, whispering, smirking.

"come outside,” you murmur. “please.”

and for a second, he wants to. for a second, he thinks he might follow you anywhere. but instead, he laughs. harsh. cruel. drunk.

"why? so you can lecture me? tell me to get my shit together?”

your eyes glisten like they always do when you’re trying not to cry.

"i just want to make sure you're okay..." you shyly murmur. you look so small right now. not physically, no, you’ve always filled a room just by breathing, but emotionally. fragile in that heartbreaking way he hates himself for craving. like you’re bracing yourself for him to break you again.

and that’s the moment it hits him.

his high? gone. like a match snuffed out under cold rain.

he stares at you.

'fuck.'

he doesn’t know what he expected. maybe for you to scream at him, finally give him the reaction he’s been provoking all night like a sadistic asshole. or maybe to just turn your back, disappear into the crowd with some guy who’ll actually treat you right.

but this?

you’re just… sad.

sad and soft and waiting. hoping.

it guts him.

he runs a hand down his face and mutters something under his breath, like a half-formed curse or maybe your name—he’s not even sure anymore—and then sighs. “come on,” he says, voice low. rough. “let’s get outta here.”

you blink at him, confused. “what?”

“outside. fresh air. you look like you hate it here.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer. just slips through the crowd, trusting you’ll follow. and you do.

out back, it’s quieter. still messy. kids lighting joints, someone making out against a fence, music thumping faint in the distance. but it’s better. open.

he lights a cigarette, takes one drag, then flicks it away like it’s poison. because it kind of is. his throat feels tight. tighter than it has in weeks.

you cross your arms, biting your lip. “are you gonna say anything or—?”

“i’m sorry.”

it’s like a gunshot in the silence.

you freeze. blink. “…what?” he turns to you, finally really looking at you, and god, it fucking hurts.

you’re standing there in this little dress that hugs you in all the places he’s dreamed about touching with reverence instead of recklessness. hair mussed from the heat, lips parted, looking at him like you still see something good under all this rot.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, slower. quieter. “for being a dick. for tonight. for every night.” you don’t say anything. not yet. just watch him, wide-eyed, while he runs both hands through his hair, pacing like he’s going to combust.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he mutters. “feelings. talking. whatever the fuck this is between us.”

“sukuna—”

“no, let me finish,” he snaps, then softens when he sees you flinch. “sorry. again. just… let me talk.”

you nod, and he breathes.

"you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel anything real. and that scares the shit outta me. i’m not good at this. i fuck up. i push people away because it’s easier to ruin shit than risk needing it.” he looks at you like he wants to fall apart but doesn’t know how.

“but you? you’re different. you look at me like i’m not some piece of shit frat guy with a lighter and a nicotine addiction and a god complex. and it makes me wanna be better. not just for you—fuck that, that’s too easy—but for me. because for the first time in my life, i care.”

you take a shaky breath. “then why do you keep hurting me?” his voice cracks. “because i’m a coward.” and that’s the truth of it. plain and ugly. he moves closer. slow. tentative.

“i didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “but i did. so fucking hard. and every time you smiled at me, i felt like i couldn’t breathe. and i told myself i didn’t care. i slept with other girls. i ignored your texts. i acted like you were nothing. but you weren’t. you aren’t. you’re everything.”

you look up at him, eyes shimmering. “then why—”

“because i didn’t think i deserved you.”

his hands hover near your arms, like he wants to touch you but is afraid he’ll taint you. “you’re so fucking good. you care. you love so deep it’s terrifying. and i’m… i’m not that guy. i drink too much, i sleep around, i lie to myself. but with you… i don’t wanna lie anymore.”

and then finally—finally—he touches you. hands gentle on your waist like you’re porcelain. like he’s holding something sacred.

“i love you,” he says, and it breaks something in his chest to say it out loud.

your lips part in a quiet gasp.

“i don’t know how to love right. but i know it’s you. it’s always been you.”

you stare at him, tears falling now. not sad—just overwhelmed. and when you whisper, “i love you too,” it’s like something inside him clicks into place.

he pulls you into him.

not like the rough, fast, dirty hookups from before. not like the careless nights or the sneaky touches at parties. this is different. this is soft. reverent.

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “i’m gonna fuck up,” he says. “i know it. but i’ll try. for you. i’ll try.” you nod, leaning into him.

“you don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper. “you just have to be real.” and for the first time in his life, he is.

he kisses you like you’re the last good thing in the world. slow and deep and aching. his hands trembling just a little as he holds you closer, because he knows what this means.

this isn’t just a kiss, this is a promise.

and when you finally pull back, breathless, foreheads pressed together under the stars and the hum of a party you’ve both forgotten, he exhales something that feels like peace.

~

this feels like peace, neither of you says it, but it’s obvious in the way you walk side by side through the humid night, your pinkie brushing his. in the way the music fades behind you. in the way he doesn’t light another cigarette, even though his fingers twitch for it. "you wanna crash at mine?” you ask quietly, like you’re afraid the magic might snap if you speak too loud.

sukuna shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “sure. your bed’s comfier anyway.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “you’ve never slept in it.” he smirks, boyish. “yeah, but i’ve imagined it. mostly with you naked.”

“gross,” you say, laughing despite yourself, cheeks warm. he catches that. stores it. your laugh. the tilt of your head. the way you look at him like you’re still trying to believe this version of him is real. your dorm is quiet when you slip in. your roommate’s gone for the weekend, and everything smells faintly like you, warm shampoo, vanilla lotion, the fruity candle you always forget to blow out.

he toes off his shoes, watches as you dig through your drawer for a t-shirt. you toss it at him. oversized. soft. “wear this.” “you want me in your clothes now?” he raises a brow. “kind of possessive of you.”

“shut up and change.” he obeys. mostly because you’re watching him with this amused little smile, biting your lip like you’re trying not to. he peels off his hoodie and shirt, and you don’t look away—not this time. you just stare. like you’ve got a right to, and maybe you do.

you crawl into bed first, and he follows, letting the blankets swallow you both whole. your body finds his like it always does—like instinct. his arm wraps around you, snug. grounding. for a while, you just lie there. tangled up. listening to the faint buzz of a streetlamp outside and your twin heartbeats slowing in sync. "so,” you murmur into the quiet, “you ever gonna tell me what your first impression of me was?” he exhales a half-laugh. “you mean besides thinking you were way too sweet to be within a ten-foot radius of someone like me?”

“yes.”

he stretches, arm still looped behind your back. “alright. first time i saw you, i thought, ‘she looks way too cute for a party like this.’” you blink. “that’s it?”

“that’s everything.”

you smile against his chest. “i thought you were a douchebag.”

“accurate.”

“but also hot.” he snorts. “can’t blame you.” you reach up to flick his earring. “modest, too.”

“deadly combo.”

he goes quiet then, thumb brushing the curve of your hip beneath the blankets. his body is warm. relaxed. but his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling like there’s still something heavy on his chest. “you okay?” you ask, soft.

he doesn’t answer right away. just pulls you closer, tucks your head under his chin. your breath ghosts over his collarbone. “yeah,” he says eventually. “just thinking.”

and he is.

his thoughts spiral and drift, but they always land back on you. on how you smell like sleep and sweetness. on how your leg’s thrown over his like it belongs there. on how your fingers trace lazy patterns against his side, like your body’s memorizing him in real-time. he looks down at you. your lashes are fluttering now. not quite asleep yet, but close.

you don’t even know what you do to him. how you make him want to stay in one place, when he’s always been the type to run. how you make him feel clean, even when he’s covered in smoke and guilt and sharp edges. how he’d burn down his whole world just to keep yours bright. he doesn’t know how to say it, not out loud. not yet.

but he’ll show you, in the way he lets you hold him, in the way he watches you sleep like you’re the moon and the ocean and the sky all at once, in the way he lets his walls fall, brick by brick, as he lies beside you in your too-small bed and thinks 'god, i fucking love you.'

he’s not sure when it happened. maybe it was that first party, when you looked at him like you knew better but stayed anyway. maybe it was every little moment since. the after-class coffees, the way you talk to choso, the time you kissed him in the rain and told him he was worth more than he believed.

but he knows this:

he’s yours now, in the way that matters. not in words. not in labels. not in frat boy bravado. but in the stillness. in the way his heartbeat slows when you touch him. in the way he doesn’t feel high tonight—just whole.

"you awake?” he murmurs.

you hum against him. “barely.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like a secret. and maybe you don’t hear it. maybe you’re already dreaming.

but he means it.

god, he means it.

and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to wake up alone. he wants mornings with you. bad coffee and cold feet and sleepy smiles. he wants all of it. you and your stupid candle and your oversized t-shirts and your too-big heart. so he kisses your forehead again. lets your scent bury into his skin.

and as you finally drift off in his arms, sukuna closes his eyes and lets himself want something real.

something like this.

something like love.

~

extraaa

frat rats and others ig

yuki 🪩: chat what the fuck am i looking at

yuki 🪩: [photo attached]

yuki 🪩: LMAO THEYRE NOT EVEN NAKED WTH

maki 🥋: HUHHHHH

maki 🥋: omg they are so like... calm looking.

shoko 🩹: bro no way

shoko 🩹: sukuna looking content that's some voodoo shit

choso 🍃: i literally watched him almost rock some guys shit for talking to her last night now he's sleeping with a fucking smile on his face wth bruh give me a break

geto 🍷: free y/n bro

choso🍃: su man I'm glad it finally happened lowk

gojo 🧿: alright fuckers, i’m taking full credit here

gojo 🧿: this whole meltdown-to-makeup saga? that’s me pulling strings like a puppet master

gojo 🧿: if i hadn’t pissed him off just right, this whole tender bullshit never would of happened

shoko 🩹: you mean emotionally blackmailing him until he cracked? real noble, gojo

gojo 🧿: hey, desperate times call for desperate measures

gojo 🧿: plus, someone had to wake him up :(

maki 🥋: you’re the worst kind of manipulative and it’s honestly impressive

gojo 🧿: proud of my work here, thank you very much

gojo 🧿: i deserve an award for making sukuna less of a complete dickface

yuki 🪩:you're getting your ass beat when he wakes up and sees that bro

choso 🍃: lol watching him fail to keep his shit together all this time was tragic but so funny icl

gojo 🧿: nah but let’s not act like he didn’t look a little too happy to be clinging onto her in that pic

gojo 🧿: mf was in REM sleep dreaming about her saying “i’m proud of you”

choso 🍃: he’s gonna wake up and act like he didn’t say all that emotional shit too

choso 🍃: “idk what you’re talking about” ass boy

geto 🍷: someone record his gaslight attempt when she brings it up later

geto 🍷: “that wasn’t me babe, that was the tequila talking”

shoko 🩹: tequila didn’t make you cry into her neck and whisper “don’t leave” king

maki 🥋: he’s gonna delete himself from the chat when he sees this convo

gojo 🧿: and yet i’ll still be the villain somehow

gojo 🧿: just know none of this would’ve happened without my psychological warfare

yuki 🪩: congratulations on being the most chaotic matchmaker known to man

gojo 🧿: i’ll be taking referrals now

gojo 🧿: hit me up if your situationship needs emotional waterboarding

shoko 🩹: Jesus Christ

choso 🍃: y’all think he’s gonna be normal now or…?

geto 🍷: define normal

maki 🥋: if he stops growling every time someone breathes near her, i’ll take that as a win

yuki 🪩: god imagine him showing up to econ actually smiling. i’d drop the class

shoko 🩹: if he starts doing couple shit on campus i’m gonna barf

gojo 🧿: imagine them holding hands in the dining hall. i will LOSE it

gojo 🧿: i’ll flip the table

geto 🍷: y/n has the patience of a saint and the taste of a girl who needs therapy

choso 🍃: she’s in love let her be 😭

maki 🥋: yeah well she better be charging him hourly for emotional labor

gojo 🧿: alright placing bets now

gojo 🧿: how long before he fucks it up again? i say three weeks tops

yuki 🪩: shut the fuck up gojo

ooo finally done another, not as good as my choso fic but i still fw this oneee (subtle plug go read this shit it’s fire: sex w/ a stoner)

m.list.

your guy’s comments make me the happiest girl in the world i will respond to them all you are all my biggest supporters omg kiss me lololo

[rhyrhy]

Kiss the chef

[warnings]: chef! Abby, unserious, suggestive mentions, headcannons, wc 1k , part 2

Chef! Abby’s! first viral video was around a year ago. A simple clip of her making cacio e pepe. The video was beautifully shot, a warm coloring complementing the glossy dish. but what really got everyone’s attention?

The way her forearms tensed while she cracked fresh pepper. Veins showing themselves along her freckled skin. Comments often reading:

@ “ok but how do i get the pasta to look this good?”

@ “i have something to say but i want to go to college”

@ “ma’am, i’m trying to focus but your ARMS?????😣”

@ “looks SO good💕..and the food i guess”

Chef Abby! had always loved cooking, growing up in a kitchen with her dad, who ran The Cordova, one of downtown Washington’s finest restaurants. But she liked the no pressure vibe of TikTok—just her and her food. She decided she wouldn’t show her face much, if at all. Letting the small flex of her muscles when she kneaded dough into a floured surface be the main visual. While comments? They were only half focused on what she was making.

Naturally, her account gained traction. No face, no voice—just hands, muscles, and literal food porn. Every video felt like a Sunday afternoon in a kitchen. @buffandbasil, now sat at 2.5 million followers.

Chef Abby! tried to ignore the thirst in her comments. How could she? It was honestly a small ego boost, even if it was a bit over the top at times. Like the second pinned video on the top of her page—where all she was doing was making bread.

@ : “knead ME like that.”

@ : “both lips are smiling rn”

@: “need her to bake something in me, respectfully😇“

@: “we need to chill in the comments… *saves video*”

Chef Abby! wasn’t a huge fan of putting her face in her videos. However, the occasional face slip would happen. A quick shot of her golden hair in view or a reflection in a clean pan.

The third and final pinned video? The one sitting at a few million views and a comment section that out-ratioed it?

Her hair draped over a fitted black Henley shirt, the top button undone. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows. And when she reached up for something overhead in a cabinet? A small sliver of her torso—those abs?

Yeah. They lost it.

@ “niagara falls just relocated”

@ “MY CLOTHES, WHERE’D THEY GO!!?!”

@ “her strap drags, for sure. touches the floor.”

@^ “mind you, i would take it.😊”

@ ^^ “y’all are TOO freaked out 💀”

And trust—Chef Abby! loved it. Really. Laying in bed, straight cackling on FaceTime with her best friend Manny, sending him screenshots or full-blown screen sharing. She didn’t reply. Not really. But she absolutely posted a few videos after. No shirt, just her “Kiss the Chef” apron and vibes.

And the one time she did reply?

@: “Do you do weddings?”

@buffandbasil :“Yes, actually.”

Harmless, right? Simple. Straightforward. She had catered weddings before. Large events, alongside her father, but—

@: “As… the bride?”

She saw it exactly three minutes after posting her reply. And in those three minutes, her comment had already tripled in likes. The replies? A war zone.

@ “ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

@ “HELLO???????”

@ “bro air balled.”

@ “ok so u free next saturday or???”

She paid it no mind. Mostly. But sometimes, a few profiles caught her attention. She was human, after all. Chef Abby! had seen your likes. You didn’t know it yet.

For you? It was originally just another cringe or brain rot video being sent by your roommate, Dina. But when you clicked the video of @buffandbasil all laughter halted. Typing back—

You: “Dee, hear me out..😭”

Dina: “Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Lost the plot.”

Chef Abby! considered reciprocating the engagement but saw how many views you usually received on GRWMs and storytimes and decided on a more… exciting approach. Wanting to see if you’d bite.

No aesthetic instrumentals—this time, a voiceover. Her voice, soft, steady Tutorial style.

“So today, we’re making sourdough from scratch. You wanna make sure your starter is active, and then we’re gonna knead it—”

@: “OH SHE TALKS???”

@: “it’s all over the screen ngl 🌊”

@: “asmr videos when?”

@: “great now i have a crush on a faceless chef, thanks.”

@: “I’m ovulating rn please chill 💔💔”

But the only comment she was looking for? Yours.

@ you: “Me next🫦!”

You typed it. And went to bed. She had so many comments—she probably wouldn’t even see it.

But as the sun poured through your curtains the next morning, your stomach flipped. A notification.

Followed by @buffandbasil. 2 hours ago.

Legs swinging the blankets off, then you were sprinting down the hall, launching yourself onto Dina’s bed like a feral animal let loose.

She groaned, blindly swatting at you. “Dude, what the—”

Without another word, you shoved your phone in her face. Dina squinted, blinked a few times, then—loud, cackling.

“Dee. This isn’t a ‘hear me out’ anymore—this is a hold me back.” You said, falling next to her dramatically, smiling.

Dina wheezed, shaking her head. “Nah. You are in the sunken place now, sister.”

[monstrosibee]

One of my fav things at work is when we have a double petter appointment at work and the 2 animals come in and the parent is like oh they love each other so much and it's clear they do but one of the animals is the cutest thing you've ever seen and then the other is just THE most fucked up looking beast ever. Hair everywhere the most crooked jaw possible eyes that point opposite directions etc etc. This happens most often in dogs because we've made some fucked up looking dogs even just on accident but it can happen in any animal too (I find cats come a close second)

And of course the fucked up one is sweet too it's just so funny. I'll get it sometimes w people who have a pure bred dog from a breeder and then a rescue dog. Like hello this is Stacy wilmington the fourth she's from a 300 year old pure bred family of springer spaniels and came third in the world championship hunting dog contest. Also this is her sister trampoline she's some kind of chihuahua terrier carrier pigeon mix we found her in the sewer abd she keeps Stacy wilmington from going on a mass crime spree : ) sometimes we put hats on her to hide that she's missing an ear because it makes her self conscious

[luveline]

coworker!james and his love hate gf meeting his parents by accident? she thinks he won’t own up to her but he’s super proud and calls her his girlfriend (for the first time 0.o) 

coworker frenemies <3 fem, 1.2k

You get the foolish idea to check in on James. Dying, he’d texted, won’t be in. Don’t miss me too much <3

And then, throughout the day, can you ask Remus to answer his phone please lovely, sorry 

Can you make sure my smiskis are all okay

I miss you too much 

Did you see that thing on the news about the goats in Spain ? 

Sometime around three, as you’re preparing to leave, his sporadic texting ends. You and Remus get on alright without James, and a quiet day comes to a close at four. 

“See you tomorrow,” you say. 

“Yeah, see you, have a good night,” he says back. 

You might. It depends on how James is feeling. You go to the shops on the way and wrack your brain for the things he likes. You know he likes cream of chicken soup: he brings it in his thermos sometimes for lunch. He likes freddos, tangerines, melon slices, and everybody likes balsam tissues and painkillers. 

James doesn’t necessarily have to let you take care of him, but it’s a care package. He can take what he wants and bin the rest. You get him some cool patches for his eyes and a box of teabags and consider yourself finished, paying, packing it into a tote, and carrying it back to the car. You get nervous on the road leading into James’ flat building, but Sirius’ car isn’t outside, just an old BMW that looks well loved. 

You pop the button to be let into the building and seconds later you’re opening the door. You make your way up the tight steps to the second floor and then the third, pausing to catch your breath lest you seem unfit just outside the door. 

You raise your hand to knock. James laughs from somewhere inside, loudly, and that laugh travels toward you until he’s yanking the door half off of its hinges.

When he sees it’s you, he grins. “Hello, beautiful.” 

“Hi. You okay?” 

He sniffles, but he doesn’t seem too poorly. His eyes are sore and he has a tissue in hand, but James is nothing if not spritely. “I’m okay, lovely, are you okay? To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“I brought you sickness survival essentials,” you say, dangling the bag on two fingers between you. “Just in case.”

He gets that look on his face you’re finding yourself on the receiving end of more and more. That You can be so lovely face. Like you’ve done something selfless, and he’s not deserving of it. “Thank you,” he says genuinely, quietly, slipping the bag from your hand and leaning in. You’re expecting the kiss on the cheek, just not the hand under your jaw turning you for a chaste one on the lips.

“Listen,” he says softly, “my mum is here.” 

You pause. “Oh.” 

“My dad, too, actually. She caught wind that I was feeling rough from Sirius and she’s brought it upon herself to come and make sure I’m alright.” 

“Oh. Well, well I’ll just go–”

He shakes his head. “Don’t go. I mean, you don’t have to stay, ‘course you don’t, but you can come in and meet them.” 

“As…” 

“What do you want to be?” he asks. 

It’s probably written all over your face exactly what you want to be to James. It’s the bag swinging from his elbow. It’s what he asked you not so long ago, sitting on the end of his bed with a puddle of nerves in your stomach. Do you want to be… this is the real thing, right? 

You didn’t know what to say, so you’d kissed him, and he’d known it wasn’t a yes or no. 

“Are you sure you want them to meet me?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He strokes your cheek with his forefinger, all gentleness, but then he gives it a squeeze. “Be warned, mum’s heard everything about you, even when I was sure I hated you.” 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” you ask, sickly. 

“She took your side every time,” he assures you. “I just mean she’ll give me a smug look every other minute. And my dad’s just happy to be wherever he is. But if you don’t want to… you know, if you’re not ready, that’s fine. I wasn’t gonna ask ‘cos I was worried you’d say no.” He winces. 

“I’m really worried they won’t like me.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asks, as though the possibility is a pipe dream. 

“James, you didn’t like me.” 

“That had less to do with you and more to do with email politics,” he jokes, “lovely, you don’t have to come in. It’s fine, there’ll be other times.”

It’s his confidence in that that makes you take a step forward. “Do I look a mess?” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“James, I just went to work, I’ve been up since six–” You give him you’re most pleading look, eyebrows soft and lips a little pouted, “please, just check.” 

James holds you by the shoulders, his gaze moving over you one feature at a time. “Still beautiful,” he says quietly, “you have something in the corner of your eye.” 

“Get it.” 

“I will,” he laughs, “just gimme a second.” 

You gasp as he almost pokes your eye out. 

“James, babe, who’s at the door?”

You’re surprised to hear a male voice and instantly endeared. James, babe, turns away from you, slipping a hand behind your shoulder to force you into the hallway next to him. A dark-haired older man is standing in the door to the kitchen, his smile curious and friendly. “James?” 

“Yeah, this is Y/N,” James says, “she was just making sure I’m okay.” 

“You've invited her in for a cup of tea?” Monty asks, a picture of his son as he gestures for the kitchen. 

“Tea?” James asks, watching you carefully. 

You attempt to hide your nerves with a nod and a smile of your own. “Yes, please.” 

Monty heads back into the kitchen. James runs his hand down your back and lets you step in front of him, bearing the brunt of his mother’s gaze all by yourself. “Hello,” she says, clearly excited.

“Hi.”

James holds you by the back. “Mum, dad,” —you suck in a breath— “this is Y/N. She’s my girlfriend but–” He raises his voice before Euphemia can talk. “It’s not been long, okay?” 

“James, why didn’t you say?” 

“Mum, I just–” James sighs. You go numb with the pleasure of the thing —you weren’t expecting him to say girlfriend. To own up to you completely. “You dropped in unannounced, and we aren’t telling very many people.” 

“It’s my fault, I didn’t say–” You start, tamping down a brilliant smile. 

Monty cuts you off swiftly. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’re all here now, aren’t we? So, you work with Jamie?” 

“Yeah, yes, I’m on the accounting team.” You relax into James’ touch, letting your shoulder be guided against him just a bit. “I started a couple of months ago.” 

“Almost a year ago,” James corrects. “Should we have that cup of tea?” 

You frown at the scratch of his voice. “I can make it,” you offer. 

Euphemia laughs, James groans, and Monty has a twinkle in his eye you aren’t familiar with. “I can make the tea,” Monty says, “why don’t you lovely ladies sit down?” 

“Does that include me, dad?” 

“Of course it does.” 

[wolvietxt]

𝓣HIN 𝓦ALLS.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : injury detail (hardly), hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, neighbour!frank, sensitive reader, no use of y/n summary : you’ve been dealing with a noisy neighbor for weeks, constantly hearing grunts, gun cleaning, and the occasional heavy sigh through the walls. one night, you hear him groan in pain, followed by a loud thud. you knock on his door, only to find frank castle bleeding out on his floor. wc : 2.1k a/n : neighbour!frank idea from @agirlcandream84 thank you so much i adore your neighbour!frank💕 also i wanna make this a little snapshot series lmk if any of you have any ideas

the first time you noticed your neighbor, it wasn’t because of anything he said. it was because of the sounds.  

deep grunts, the metallic clicks of a gun being cleaned, the occasional heavy sigh that made your stomach flip in ways you didn’t want to think about. at first, you tried to ignore it - people made noise, it was an apartment, thin walls weren’t exactly a rare struggle. but after the third night in a row of hearing the same steady rhythm of deep, measured breathing and the scrape of metal, you started to feel a little unnerved.   

he was quiet in the hallways, never said much more than a rough “hey” when you crossed paths. but you noticed things - like the way he never seemed to make eye contact, like he was used to keeping his head down. or how he always smelled like gunpowder and something a little like blood, a little like sweat.   

still, he wasn’t the worst neighbor you could have. he wasn’t throwing parties or blasting music, wasn’t yelling on the phone at odd hours. but there was something about the way his presence filled the silence between you that made you feel hyper-aware of every sound he made. it didn’t help that you were sensitive - jumpy at loud noises, easily overwhelmed when things got too chaotic. so every scrape, every sigh, every muttered curse in that low, gravelly voice of his sent a shiver down your spine.  

you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.  

until tonight.  

you’d been curled up on your couch, a blanket pulled up to your chin, trying to block out the world with some mindless tv when you heard it - something heavier than usual. a groan, low and rough, followed by a sharp curse. then a thud.   

your stomach twisted.  

for a second, you told yourself to ignore it. it wasn’t your business. but then silence stretched out on the other side of the wall, a kind of stillness that felt wrong. you hesitated for all of two seconds before you were up, hurrying to your front door. your fingers trembled as you knocked.  

no response.  

you knocked again, harder this time.  

“hello?” your voice came out softer than you wanted, barely above a whisper. “are you okay?”  

nothing.  

your heart was hammering as you reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. you barely pushed the door open before the smell of blood hit you, sharp and metallic.  

and there he was.  

your neighbor - frank, you remembered hearing someone call him once - was sprawled on the floor, blood seeping through his shirt, his face pale. his breathing was uneven, rough. panic surged through you, your throat tightening.   

“oh my god,” you gasped, dropping to your knees beside him. your hands hovered over him uselessly. “you - you’re bleeding, you’re - ”  

his eyes cracked open, dark and heavy-lidded, scanning you with something slow and unreadable.  

“shit,” he muttered, voice thick with pain. “you shouldn’t be here.”  

but you weren’t listening. your hands were already moving, pressing against the wound even as your eyes burned with unshed tears.  

“you need help,” you choked out. “i - I don’t know what to do, should i call someone? an ambulance - ”  

his hand shot out, gripping your wrist - not rough, but firm.  

“no hospitals,” he ground out.  

you swallowed, chest tight.  

“then - then what do i do?”  

his gaze softened, just a fraction.  

“just stay,” he rasped. “just - keep pressure. don’t go.”  

and even though your hands were shaking and your eyes were threatening to spill over, you nodded.  

your fingers trembled as you pressed harder against the wound, the warmth of his blood seeping through your hands. you sniffled, trying to keep yourself from completely breaking down, but your chest felt too tight, too full of panic.   

“i - i don’t know what i’m doing,” you whispered, voice shaking. “i don’t - i’m not a doctor, i can’t - ”  

“hey.” his voice was rough, but softer now, like he could hear the way your breathing was getting uneven. like he could tell you were a second away from losing it. “you’re doin’ fine. just keep pressure on it.”   

his hand was still on your wrist, warm despite how much blood he was losing. his thumb brushed over your skin, barely there, but the little touch sent a different kind of shiver through you. your brain felt scrambled, like you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was looking at you now - less sharp, less closed off. like he was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.   

you swallowed hard, nodding even though your eyes were wet, even though you felt like you were about to burst into tears any second.   

“okay,” you murmured. “okay.”   

you kept pressing down, watching the way his jaw clenched, his breathing rough as he tried not to react. he was tough - you knew that just from the way he carried himself, from the way he never seemed phased by anything. but he was hurt now, bleeding, and the sight of him like this made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.   

“what happened?” you asked, voice small.   

he exhaled slowly, blinking up at the ceiling. “got into it with the wrong people.”  

you bit your lip, your fingers twitching where they rested against his stomach. you wanted to ask more, wanted to know what exactly he meant by that, but something about the way he said it told you not to push.   

instead, you focused on keeping pressure on the wound, on the way his breathing evened out just a little under your touch. your own breathing was still unsteady, but he wasn’t looking at you like you were weak. he wasn’t rolling his eyes at how easily you teared up or how your voice trembled when you spoke.  

he just looked... tired. and something else, something softer.  

“you always this jumpy?” he asked after a beat, his voice quieter now.   

your cheeks burned. you tried to wipe at your face with your shoulder, embarrassed at how quickly you’d teared up.   

“sorry,” you mumbled. “i just - i get overwhelmed easily.”  

he hummed, like that made sense to him. his fingers flexed against your wrist again, and you weren’t sure if he even realized he was still holding onto you.   

“s’nothing to apologize for,” he muttered. “just didn’t peg you for the type to come runnin’ to help a guy like me.”   

your brows furrowed. “what’s that supposed to mean?”  

he sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “means i ain’t exactly good company.”  

you frowned at that. you might not have known him well, but you knew enough to know that he kept to himself, that he didn’t bother anyone. sure, he was intimidating - quiet, intense, the kind of person who felt larger than life even when he wasn’t saying a word - but he’d never given you a reason to be afraid of him.  

“that’s not true,” you said before you could stop yourself.   

his eyes opened again, locking onto yours. for a second, it felt like you’d said too much. like you were pushing into something he wasn’t ready to talk about. but then his expression shifted, something in his face relaxing.   

he didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you for a long moment before exhaling through his nose.  

“you got a name?” he asked finally.  

your lips parted in surprise. “you - you don’t know my name?”  

“never asked,” he said simply.   

you blinked at him. you’d lived next door to each other for months. all this time, you thought he just didn’t care to acknowledge you, but now you weren’t so sure.   

“it’s - ” your voice caught, your heart still racing, and for some reason, that made you want to cry all over again. “it’s okay if you don’t want to talk right now,” you said instead, shaking your head. “you should be resting.”   

he watched you for a second longer before huffing out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.   

“crybaby,” he muttered, but it wasn’t mean. wasn’t teasing.   

your face burned again. “am not,” you said weakly, sniffling.   

he smirked, just a little. “sure, sweetheart.”   

your stomach flipped. you didn’t know if it was from the nickname or the fact that he was still bleeding under your hands, but either way, you were feeling way too much at once.  

you looked away, trying to get yourself under control.  

“you should probably get stitched up, right?” you murmured. “have you got a first aid kit?”  

he nodded toward the bathroom. you hesitated, biting your lip, not wanting to take your hands off the wound.  

like he could sense your hesitation, his fingers curled a little tighter around your wrist.  

“i’ll be fine,” he said. “go on, sweetheart.”  

your stomach flipped again. you swallowed hard and nodded, moving quickly toward the bathroom.   

as you rummaged through the cabinet, your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. this was insane. you were in way over your head. but when you came back and saw the way his gaze softened just a little when he saw you again, you knew one thing for sure. you weren’t going anywhere.

you worked as quickly as you could, hands still shaking as you set the first aid kit down beside him. his blood was everywhere - on his shirt, his skin, your hands. the sight of it made your stomach churn, but you forced yourself to focus.  

frank watched you, quiet and steady, even as you fumbled with the supplies. he was still pale, but there was something almost amused in his expression, like he could tell how hard you were trying to hold it together.  

“you done this before?” he asked, voice low.  

you swallowed, shaking your head. “no.”  

his lips twitched, just barely. “figured.”  

your face burned. “you - you don’t have to be mean,” you mumbled, grabbing the antiseptic.   

“ain’t bein’ mean,” he said, and the way he said it made your breath catch. “just think it’s real sweet, you tryin’ so hard.”  

your chest felt too full. you bit your lip, blinking rapidly as you poured the antiseptic onto a cotton pad.   

“i think… this is supposed to hurt. right? it looks like it’s gonna hurt, frank, i don’t know if - ,” you started, unaware of the fact you were beginning to ramble.   

he grunted, cutting you off. “been through worse, sweetheart.”  

your face was still hot as you pressed the pad to the wound, and he tensed beneath your touch, muscles going rigid. you winced, sniffling despite yourself.  

“sorry,” you whispered.   

he exhaled through his nose. “told you, you don’t gotta - ”  

“i do,” you cut in, voice soft but firm. “i do, frank.”  

his expression shifted at that, something unreadable passing over his face. but he didn’t argue. you kept going, hands as steady as you could make them, cleaning the wound and prepping the needle. you hesitated before threading it, biting your lip hard.  

“you sure about no hospital?”  

“positive.”  

you swallowed. “okay.”   

he stayed quiet as you stitched him up, but his hand rested lightly against your knee, his fingers curling slightly whenever you pulled the thread through. it was grounding, in a way - like he was the one keeping you steady, even though he was the one bleeding all over the place.  

by the time you finished, your body was thrumming with nerves, exhaustion, something else you didn’t know how to name. you sat back on your heels, exhaling shakily.  

“all done,” you murmured. “you should rest.”  

frank huffed. “don’t need to be fussed over.”  

your face scrunched up. “you were literally bleeding out on the floor,” you argued, sniffling. “let me fuss.”  

he looked at you, long and hard, before sighing through his nose.  

“fine,” he muttered.   

you moved to stand, but before you could, his hand closed around your wrist again, stopping you.   

your heart skipped.  

“thank you,” he said, quieter this time. like it was hard for him to say, but he meant it.  

your throat tightened. “you’re welcome.”  

he didn’t let go.  

you swallowed, eyes darting to his fingers around your wrist, then back up to his face.  

“i should - um, clean up,” you whispered.  

his grip loosened, but he didn’t pull away.  

“stay,” he murmured instead. “just for a bit.”  

your breath caught.  

he wasn’t looking at you now, but you could see it in the way his jaw was tense, the way his fingers flexed just slightly like he was waiting for you to pull away. like he expected you to.  

but you didn’t.  

“okay,” you whispered, settling back down beside him.   

his shoulders relaxed just a little. his fingers brushed against your wrist one last time before letting go, and you knew, somehow, that this was only the beginning.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 4

Part 3 | Masterpost

Damian and Specter

Many strange things have been happening lately. First, it was Todd suddenly becoming obsessed with a scholarship student of Gotham U. Damian had witnessed the disgusting display of infatuation from his elder brother whenever he stalked the young man. Something had happened and it surely involved the death of the joker.

Second, it was Richard who was utterly besotted with a mysterious meta that went by the name Wraith. They had found mentions of him, wherein some heroes commented on how he had helped them with issues that would have them contact the JLD.

Third was Cassandra who had been the one to meet the strange redheaded girl who shot the Scarecrow with an unknown weapon in the form of a gun. She was right to be wary but Cassandra, like their brothers, was actively seeking this girl out. (She was no longer in Gotham from what he understood.)

But nevermind that. For all he was an Al Ghul, he was still a Wayne. He was Damian Wayne at the moment, not Robin. So getting kidnapped was... Well, he cannot understand how Drake deals with this. He recalls the number of times Todd has had to save Drake from mediocre kidnappers who needed to be taught a lesson on how to kidnap people.

But his captors seemed to be slightly better than that of Drake's. He can hear his father telling him not to bite any of them. They were foolish oafs that pressed the barrel of a gun against the side of his head. Damian glared, snarling at the man who seemed startled that the youngest of the Wayne's could react in such a way.

Before he could inact his plan, Damian caught sight of the strangest thing. There was a hand passing through the wall, waving right at him. The hand pointed to the ceiling and Damian hesitated to look up. He stared, nothing happened, and then he saw it.

A girl passed through the ceilings, wispy white hair and Lazarus green eyes boring into his soal. She smiled, pressing a finger to her lips and all he can do is nod.

She floats down, lingering just behind his captors and moving left and right so she wouldn't be seen. A mischievous grin spread across her face before she disappeared and then reappeared in front of the men.

"B̶̢̯̮͙̳̫̯̜̠͎̟͔̱̺̦͎̓̃̑͑̄̐̈́͋̐̅̽̿́͋̆͗͊̾̐̊̂̋̑̎̈́̐̄̾̈̇̽̄̂̇͜͜͝͠͝͝͝Ơ̷̧̨̛̛̳͎̜̪͎͚͓̱̜͔͈̜͇̳̬̼̯̦̽͛̇̇̈́̀̄́̃̏͊̓̃̌̀̏͋̌́̂̕̚͠͠ͅͅͅO̵̡̜̖̭͕̟̞̼̐̎̐͛̍̊͛͂̊́̓̂͆̍̾͊̾̈̄̿͑̾̊̎́́̐̂̈̾̿̿̈́̉̇̈́̈̍̚͘̕̚̕͝͝͝͝͝͠!"

The noise she made startled the man, making them drop theirs guns before she directed the most beautiful uppercut he has ever seen. Damian was in utter awe as she mocked his captors, flying around them and giggling as they were led in circles until they were tripping over their own feet.

"Woops. Kidnapping people is bad, y'know. Don't do it." She scolded, taking their guns and throwing it against the wall. "Skedaddle!"

The men—cowards—ran like hell and he was left with the girl. Damian froze when she turned towards him, before she's hurriedly untying him from the ropes and peering at him with a curious look.

"Hello there, I'm Specter." She introduced, offering her hand to him.

Damian accepted, feeling her cold skin through her gloves. "Damian Wayne. Thank you for saving me, Miss Specter." Even though he clearly didn't needed it.

The way she spoke and acted reminded her of Grayson—loosely.

"All in a day's work!" Specter huffed, looking utterly proud with herself before she's dragging Damian out the warehouse. "Okay, so. Since you're safe and all... I need a bit of help. See, I saved some kittens on the way here and I can't keep them since I ain't from Gotham. But since you're a Wayne and all, would you mind?"

She spoke fast, almost without breathing, before she's rushing away and bringing back a box of kittens. Three to be exact.

Damian stares, and stares, and then looks at Specter strangely.

"Please?" She pouted, pushing the box towards him. Damian's doesn't even hesitate to take it, sighing and shaking his head in exasperation.

"Thank you! Oh, I've already names them. This one is Johannes, this one is Galileo, and this one is Henrietta. Please take care of them. I have to go now!" Specter bid her farewell, petting the fussy kittens before she flashed Damian a toothy-fangy smile.

She vanished soon after, leaving him to contemplate it she was even real in the first place.

Elle had only wanted to visit her brother but when she saw a bunch of men dragging an unconscious boy into a warehouse, she just had to help. Jazz taught her better than to abandon people in need. She had to set down the box of kittens she had found in a corner close to the warehouse, before rings of light appeared over her body and everything became inverted.

The boy was familiar—maybe a celebrity since he was getting kidnapped. He'd have to search him up later.

It wasn't hard saving him, the kidnappers were easily spooked. When the men ran, she stuck her tongue out and blew raspberries at the cowards before turning to the boy. He had green eyes—natural ones unlike hers and Danny's that were only present in their ghost forme.

"Hello there, I'm Specter." The Hero name Jazz had helped her with rolled of her tongue so easily. It made her brighten up in seconds as she offered her hand to the boy.

"Damian Wayne."

Ah, so he was a Wayne! Danny mentioned them to her. Speaking of Danny, he really needed to check up on him.

She remembered the kittens pretty quickly, and since Damian was a Wayne, he'd have more space for them than Danny. So she grabbed the kittens, all named after scientists that were related to astronomy, and she entrusted the cute things to him.

Template: WHERE ARE YOU????

The superior copy: I just saved a Wayne

The superior copy: Do you know Damian Wayne??

Template: The youngest

The superior copy: I just gave the kittens I found!

The superior copy: On my way tho

She was going to miss Johaness, Galileo, and Henrietta, even if she only had them for a brief moment. Maybe she'll get to meet them again in the future.

(Later on, Damian lurks in the shadows, waiting for Dick to finally leave the batcomputer alone so he can stalkinvestigate his saviour.)

Part 5 | Masterpost

[monzabee]

diet pepsi - ln4 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lando have a rather interesting way of resolving an argument. 

Pairing: lando norris x fwb!reader 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: kinda cute ass fighting so fluff??, sex in a car, fingering, penetration, manhandling, no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it!!), cursing, minords dni!! 

Request: “okay but what about good old car sex with lando pleaseeee” 

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, who knew addison rae had the power to make a song that made me write this whole thing under 3 hours?? i certainly did not. secondly, i thought it would be nice to take a little break from the charles-carlos drama, and before i finish the third and final part to that little mini-series, i thought you guys would enjoy a little treat in the meantime! i have to admit writing for lando again was an interesting experience for me, but who knows, maybe i'll do it more often (i have one request that i'm obsessed with so that’s definitely coming your way as well!) also, i have an oscar fic in the works as well, so maybe the sudden change in mclaren also started to affect me lol. a quick psa, i know many people asked me in my last fic, but i do NOT have a taglist and i won’t be making one any time soon either! anywaaays, i hope you guys enjoy this fic, and feedback is welcome as always! thank you to the anon for their request, and good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking that in my car.” Lando complains, shooting you a sideway glare as you sip your choice of beverage contently.  

You tilt the cup slightly in his direction, grinning. “Relax, it’s not like it’s going to explode, nor it is your car.” 

“It might as well,” Lando mutters, eyes back on the road. “Knowing your luck, the second I hit a bump, that thing will be all over the place and I’ll have to explain what happened to Zak. Do you even know how much it costs to clean these seats?” 

You laugh, swirling the drink in the cup. “You’re being dramatic, it’s not like you are the one to detail the cars you use. It’s fine, I’ve got this under control.” 

“Famous last words,” Lando grumbles. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as if he’s preparing for impact. 

You glance at him, amused. “Are you always this paranoid about your car, or is it just me?” 

“It’s you. Definitely you.” He shoots you another look, this one laced with mock suspicion. “You have a history, you know.” 

“Oh, puh-lease,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn your upper body to face him. “Tell me one time I actually made a mess in your car, and I’ll throw away this can right now.” 

Lando doesn't hesitate as he answers quickly. “Monaco. Last year. You remember that smoothie incident, right?” 

You blink a couple of times, taken aback. “That doesn’t count! That was your fault for speeding around the corner like a maniac. How was I supposed to hold on to it?” 

He smirks, clearly enjoying the memory. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh? You were the one who insisted on bringing a smoothie into my car five minutes before a race.” 

“You didn’t even have to brake so hard,” you mutter, crossing your arms defensively. “I had it under control until you decided to turn it into a F1 race.” 

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter. I still won, throw it away now.” 

“That doesn’t count, it was clearly your fault!” You complain, holding the can protectively. “There’s no way I’m tossing this because of your bad driving.” 

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Bad driving? I think I’d take that up with the people who hired me to race professionally.” 

“Professionally doesn’t mean you’re not reckless,” you quip, a playful glint in your eyes. “Especially when there’s a smoothie involved.”  

“Fine,” he contends, shrugging, “how about that time I made you come too hard, and you leaked onto the seats?”  

This manages to shut you down for a moment, with eyes nearly bulging out of your head, you gasp at Lando’s sudden choice of words. “Lando!” You exclaim, reaching over the console to hit him on the arm gently, “That’s vulgar!” 

Silently chuckling at your reaction, he reaches over as he places a hand on your upper thigh, his hand tightening as you hold his wrist in warning. “It’s the truth,” he reminds you with a smirk, “don’t go shy on me, now, you were the one to get the seats all messed up because of how wet you were.” If you weren’t blushing before, your face most definitely resembles a tomato now as he continues his stream of consciousness, “Not that I’m complaining, though, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants when I made you cum just from my fingers.”  

 “You– you did?” The question flies from your mouth before you can stop yourself.  

The smile that overtakes the smirk on Lando’s face is almost sweet, and he coos at the innocence of your question as he squeezes your thigh again. “Oh baby,” he coos, “it was the hottest thing ever.”  

Your thighs attempt to trap his hand as you inadvertently press them tighter together, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “But it was messy.”  

“That was the best part,” Lando confirms, his thumb caressing your skin. “I loved getting to clean you up afterwards, didn’t I? Almost as much as you loved it.” 

“Sure.” You mumble, shrugging as you do your best to ignore his burning stare. You’d be worried about the fact that he was supposed to be driving if it was someone else, but considering he’s a F1 driver, you don’t comment on Lando’s lack of his surroundings as he pushes your thighs apart. “What are you doing?” You ask, confused as he moves his fingers further up your skirt.  

“You just focus on finishing that drink, okay?” He mumbles as his fingers pull your underwear to the side. “I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet myself.”  

“Lando, I don’t think we should do th–hat.” Your voice waivers towards the end as his fingertips press on your clit, drawing lax circles on the bundle of nerves. “Lando,” you try to warn him, but your voice comes out as a high-pitched whimper.  

He shushes you gently as his fingers spread your wetness around your skin, causing you to bite down on your lip to silence yourself. Lando lets his dissent known by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, mumbling, “Don’t silence yourself, let me hear you, baby.” And when you give him what he wants and let out a loud moan as your hips involuntarily buck against his hand. Grinding the palm of his hand against your puffy clit, Lando uses your wetness to slowly push two of his fingers into you, drawing out another moan as you lean your head against the headrest. “My God, baby, look at you. You’re already making a mess on the seats.”  

“N-no,” you manage to whine, shaking your head as you give him a pleading but stubborn look, “I’m not making a mess.”  

“No?” He asks, mocking the pout that has found its way onto your lips. “Then who is so wet against my hand that it’s dripping, huh?” You're not sure if it’s his words or the way his fingers keep moving in and out of your cunt, but in either case, the overwhelming need of just something more causes you to attempt to put the can in your hand down, when Lando tuts again in warning, “You don’t get to put your drink down until you first come on my fingers.” 

After his words set in, you finally come to your senses, suddenly opening your eyes as you give him a shocked look. “Wha–what?” You ask, “What if I spill?” 

He shrugs, an innocent smile on his lips as he throws you a glance, “I guess you’ll just have to be careful and not spill it.” The smile on his lips grows as you let out a frustrated sound, and he responds by moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to git the spot, which causes your body to arch into his touch. “Are you going to give me what I want?” He asks, his concentration still on the road as he tries to find a secluded spot to park the car.  

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, voice shaky as you focus on not dropping the can in your hand, “I will, Lando, just keep doing that.”  

“Doing what?” He asks in a faux-innocent tone, as he goes back to simply continuing the pistoning movement of his fingers. “Like this?” He asks, with a shit eating grin on his face as you whine. “Or, like this?” He asks again, but this time, he repeats the movement of his fingers previously as he hits your g-spot again.  

You can’t control the scream that gets released from the back of your throat as your body shakes violently. “That,” you breathe out, your free hand holding onto the seatbelt so tight that you can feel it starting to cramp your hand a little bit, “don’t you dare stop doing that.” 

Lando lets out a low chuckle, clearly satisfied with your desperate plea. His fingers continue their relentless pace, teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge. “Oh, I won’t stop,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet commanding. “Not until you give me what I want.” 

Your entire body feels like it's on fire, the combination of his skilled fingers and the impossible task of not spilling your drink has you teetering on the edge. The car feels smaller, the world outside irrelevant, as Lando’s attention is focused solely on you. Being so consumed by the way Lando’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, you don’t even know that the car you are in at the moment has been abandoned in the side of a deserted road. You grip the can tighter, your hand trembling as the tension builds in your core. “Lando,” you gasp, a hint of desperation seeping into your voice. “I— I can't—” 

He smirks, enjoying your struggle. “You can,” he counters smoothly, leaning slightly closer while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “You can do it, just let it go, baby.” His thumb presses harder on your clit, drawing another loud moan from your lips. 

“Lando, please,” you beg, your voice almost cracking under the weight of your impending release. “I’m going to—” 

“Good,” he cuts you off, his smirk widening. “Let go for me, baby. And don't you dare spill that drink." 

His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure. 

His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure. 

You hear Lando’s satisfied chuckle as he eases his fingers out of you, giving your thigh one last affectionate squeeze. “Good girl,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a proud smile. “Look at how good you look.” He shamelessly holds his fingers in front of your face, then without missing a beat, he brings his fingers into his mouth. The way he moans is nothing short of sinful, and you watch him with your lips parted as he mumbles around his fingers, “I think you spilled it a little bit.” 

“E-Excuse me?” You stutter, looking at Lando with the horrified look on your face. “No, I didn’t!” 

Lando raises an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he glances down at the mess on the seat. “Oh, but you did,” he teases, licking his lips after savoring the taste of you on his fingers. His eyes gleam with amusement as he points at the spot between your legs. “Not the drink, though… you.” 

Your face burns with a mix of embarrassment and desire, your breath still uneven as you try to process what just happened. “That’s not what I—” you stammer, crossing your arms over your chest, but Lando just laughs softly. 

“Relax, love. It’s nothing a little cleaning can’t fix.” He leans back in his seat, eyes never leaving you, his hand returning to the steering wheel like what just happened was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I’d much rather clean you up later.” 

You feel the heat spread through your body again, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel a wave of arousal wash over you. Lando’s confidence, the way he handles you with such ease, is almost intoxicating. But as much as you’re enjoying the moment, a small part of you knows this is ridiculous. 

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure, though your flushed cheeks give you away. 

Lando just grins, completely unbothered. “You love it,” he says casually, shooting you another one of those playful sideway glances that makes your heart race. “Admit it. You like when I make you lose control.” 

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to throw a retort his way. But you can’t deny it, not after the way your body reacted to his touch. “You’re lucky you’re good at this,” you finally concede, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Lando’s smile softens, just for a moment. “Good at a lot of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. Then he pulls the car to a stop, turning off the engine before leaning toward you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “And I’m just getting started.” 

[amaranthineghost]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ TWO WHEEL DRIVE: CROSSWALK COLLISION ( lando norris. )

lando norris x biker!reader

it's race week in miami, but instead of being on four wheels, lando has some two wheel trouble. he feels bad enough to where he turns to twitter to help find the girl he nearly caused a collision with.

authors note: I love bikers so I had to do this (and I know that lando didn't help oscar win his sprint, but she doesn't know that! yet!!!) second and third part will be out in the next few days or so!

2 3

ynusername

liked by yourbsf and 2,947 others

ynusername sunset ride and almost hitting a guy on the crosswalk core!! 🤗🤗🤗

view all 96 comments

yourbsf always so fun to ride with you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 maybe next time don't almost hit a pedestrian? 😅

user this is the girl lando was looking for?! SHES STUNNING

⤷ ynusername who's lando? 😅 and thanks babes 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⤷ user oh lando? we go way back, he helped rescue my cat from a tree!

⤷ user yeah, he's a real one, he gave cpr to my goldfish after it flopped onto the carpet 🤗🤗🤗

user hello??? SHES SUCH A BADDIE

user thanking lando for helping us discover this gorgeous woman

⤷ user right like maybe she did us a favor by almost running him over...

user the internet becoming his wingman so he doesn't fumble this baddie 😭😭

⤷ user lando norriz and nowins better prove one of those statements wrong soon 🙌

user nahhh because what's wrong with her?? nearly running him over and then posting with a stupid caption about it?? 🙄🙄🙄

⤷ user this girl clearly doesn't understand who he is 🫣

user i need to see lando on a bike, he'd rock that shit

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 6,037 others

ynusername safe to say i won't be falling asleep tonight 🫶🏻

view all 174 comments

user HELLO??? IS THAT LANDO

user OH MY GOD

user bro's doing charity work out here

user LANDO NORIZZ HAS RIZZ?? (he rescued my entire family from a house fire)

user please LET THAT BE LANDO

yourbsf i thought i was your backpack 😕

⤷ ynusername you are bbg i just gave a man a short ride

⤷ yourbsf uh huh 🤨

user lando backpack confirmed

user lando actually rescued me from a desert island on his multi-million dollar yacht!

landonorris pretty sunset

❤️ by author

user im gonna faint, lando commented

user EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!!

oscarpiastri lando actually helped me win a sprint race

user she's clearly just using him

⤷ user stay mad

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 807,438 others

landonorris i think two wheels suits me

view all 6,273 comments

user omg that's the same sunset in ynusername's post??

user lando on a bike? YES PLEASE!!!

user i can barely handle him with four wheels, i don't know about two!!!

user oh my god the second picture is goals

ynusername what a cute cat! 😊

⤷ landonorris not as cute as you

user im not the only one who saw that comment from lando right?

⤷ user no i definitely saw that

user HE HAS RIZZ I FEAR!!

user i know my goat

user backpack lando has too much power

⤷ user lando anywhere near a bike has too much power

ynusername

liked by mclaren and 50,974 others

ynusername sorry i had plans <3

tagged alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebbecad, mclaren, landonorris

view all 1037 comments

user oh my GOD SHE WAS AT THE RACE?

⤷ user i bet lando asked mclaren to invite her 🥺

landonorris thank you for coming to support me on four wheels this time!

⤷ ynusername of course, i had so much fun and you deserve it so much! 🫶🏻

⤷ user smooth lando, smooth

⤷ user on four wheels this time...THIS TIME?!

user stop she was there supporting lando MY HEART

⤷ user i can't take it I LOVE THEM

alexandrasaintmleux so amazing to see you darling 🌺 can't wait to see you again

⤷ ynusername i had such an amazing time, i love you so much 🥹 i'll be waiting impatiently

user stop the other wags interacting with our new (potential) wag

user i need to see her with all the other wags now

⤷ user it's a must

iamrebeccad a pleasure to meet you! you looked absolutely stunning and i look forward to hanging out again!

⤷ ynusername i love you so much, you are drop-dead gorgeous! i would love to hang out again soon 🫶🏻

user the way everyone loves her

⤷ user i mean, can you blame them? she's a hot, incredibly stunning and badass biker who's insanely sweet and kind! who wouldn't love her?!

⤷ user i don't blame them, i fear i would gravitate towards her like a magnet if i ever met her 🥲

mclaren lovely having you at the hospitality! should keep you around if it means our drivers will win 😉

⤷ ynusername thank you for giving me this amazing experience and opportunity! i'd love to do it again sometime 🫶🏻

user MCLAREN'S COMMENT??

⤷ user please let this be a sign

⤷ user mclaren please we need to see them again

user they need to be together

⤷ user as much as i would love to see them together, she lives in miami and he's leaving 😭

⤷ user no shush i'm manifesting

⤷ user okay real i'm right there beside you

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 1,028,202

landonorris nowins and norizz? okay lol

view all 9,263 comments

user HELLO SOFT LAUNCH!!

⤷ user soft launch, but we already know its them

⤷ user let them have their fun!

user bro really said lol

user lando has a win and rizz??? is the world okay???

ynusername so proud of you! you deserve it 🫶🏻

⤷ landonorris i won because you were watching

⤷ user lando said "this one's for you" and SCORED

oscarpiastri congrats on the win mate

⤷ landonorris thanks osc!

user LANDO CALLING OSCAR 'OSC' MAKES IT EVEN BETTER

—

taglist (found here): @poppyflower-22 @sapphiccloud @darleneslane @decafmickey @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej @soamericn @tellybearyyyy @geniusalpaca @namgification

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[moonstruckme]

hello hello lovely! so the other day i donated blood for the first time and i felt perfectly fine the whole time but then like ten minutes after i threw up with like no warning?? (im fine now turns out i hadnt eaten enough during the day!!) but anyway i was wondering if you might please do a similar scenario with emt!marauders? doesnt have to be exact of course 💗 love you!

Oh I'm sorry that happened to you babe!! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of past blood draw, nausea, lightheadedness

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 798 words

You’re bent over so that your head is almost resting on your knees when a pair of shoes comes into your periphery. It seems they’ve sent someone to make sure you’re not going to pass out. 

You force yourself to sit up, every muscle in your body feeling strange and overwrought, and oh. It’s three someones. You’d worry your vision was tripling if they didn’t look each very distinct, save for their black EMT uniforms. 

The owner of the shoes you’d seen sits in the chair beside you, all brown eyes and kind, gentle features. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Remus. Are you the one who had trouble with the blood draw?” 

You sigh. “Yeah.” Give him a small smile you hope looks reassuring. “I’m fine, though. It passed quickly. I’m just waiting for the go-ahead to go home.” 

“You got sick?” A second paramedic asks you as he sits down on your other side. This one has glasses and thick, curly hair that falls just above his eyes. The third, with sleeves rolled up to display arms full of inky tattoos, leans against the wall across the hall from you. 

You’re not entirely sure which one of them to look at, but you decide upon the boy who’d asked the question. “Yeah?” 

His lips tilt with a sympathetic sort of smile. “Probably best not to be walking or driving anywhere while you’re feeling ill, love. Do you feel up to some crackers?” 

You take the package of saltines he offers you. Notice for the first time how badly your hands are shaking as you try to tear it open. He notices, too. 

“Here, I’ve got that.” He takes it back from you, ripping it open with one easy motion. As he holds it out for you, he says, “I’m James, that’s Sirius.” The tattooed paramedic shoots you a wink. 

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble. “Look, I’m really okay. They didn’t need to send three of you to check up on me.” 

Sirius laughs. “Don’t worry, babe, no one’s worried you’re going to have a seizure. We’re just a package deal.” 

“The staff is all busy with the blood drive,” offers Remus when you still look perplexed, “and we’re between calls. We just thought we’d sit with you on our break, if that’s alright.” 

“Oh.” You swallow a bite of cracker. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.” 

He gives you a soft smile. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“You’re shaking down to your kneecaps,” Sirius says dryly.

“The nurse said you looked like you were going to faint after you got sick,” James tries in a lighter tone. “Do you still feel that way?” 

He keeps his eyes on yours, warm and gentle, as you chew the inside of your lip. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just a bit weird, I guess.” 

“Weird how?” Sirius presses. 

You shrink some under his gaze, and Remus says sternly, “Sirius.” 

“You’re scaring her.” James’ hand lands on your thigh almost absentmindedly as he gives the other boy a faux glare. “Go get some juice. Begone.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh, pushing off from the wall. “Pricks,” he says as he goes. 

James turns back to you, smile turned up to full wattage. “Don’t mind him. What were you saying about how you feel weird?” 

“Just…mostly fine.” It’s impossible not to grow shy under the attention of the prettiest guys you think you’ve ever seen. Remus nods for you to continue. “A little bit nauseous, I guess, and shaky. Just…weird.” 

James makes a sympathetic sound, rubbing your thigh. The way you go shock still at the touch appears not to catch his notice. “Yeah, sounds like lightheadedness to me. S’alright, though, we’ll get you fixed up in a minute here.” 

Sirius saunters back in with a cup of orange juice. “Look,” he says as he hands it to you, “I even got her a straw to prove I’m not mean. See?” 

“I didn’t think you were being mean,” you say quietly.

Sirius grins. “No.” He chucks you gently under the chin. You shrink even further into your seat. You swear these boys are only making your trembling worse. “You never said a bad thing, gorgeous. It’s just these two, they love to tyrannize me.” 

“You could stand to be tyrannized from time to time,” says Remus. 

“Yeah,” James agrees heartily. “Keeps you from tyrannizing everyone else so much.” 

Their easy bantering brings a smile to your lips. Remus smiles back at you, nodding to your orange juice. “Take small sips of that,” he says. “Don’t drink too fast and stop if you start to feel sick again.” 

“Attagirl,” James encourages when you raise the straw to your lips obediently, rubbing your thigh again. 

They’re lucky the orange juice doesn’t come out your nose.

[niwaart]

Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

[kings-highway]

Haikyuu fell first / fell harder headcanons for ships that I personally like

Daisuga: Suga fell first, Daichi fell harder. Suga, essentially, developed a cute little school crush in their first year and sort of just nursed it quietly for a few years. Suga says hello to Daichi one day in third year, and Daichi decided he was going to marry him on the spot, and then realizes he has a crush on him.

Asanoya: Asahi fell first, Noya fell harder. Asahi fell in love steadily and in time with their growing friendship, Noya had once instance where Asahi laughed at a joke he made and was whipped from then on out.

Iwaoi: Oikawa fell first, Iwa fell harder. Oikawa doesn't remember a point in which he wasn't in love with Iwa - Iwaizumi crashes hard into an uncontrollable crush in their second year when Oikawa falls asleep on his shoulder on the bus.

Kuroken: Kenma fell first, Kuroo also fell first. These two drifted at almost the same pace, together, over a decade into a slow, steadfast love that cannot be shaken.

Bokuaka: Bokuto fell first, Akaashi fell first, too, and harder. These two were love at first sight. But Bokuto's first sight was "Oh... I think this boy is the one" and Akaashi's first sight was incoherent screaming.

Ushiten: Tendou fell first and harder, Ushijima caught up later. Tendou fell in love hard, within the first week they met, completely overwhelmed by him. Ushijima took years, to slowly settle into a friendship and then a love that he became incapable of living without.

Kagehina: They both fell hard and they both fell later. Kageyama was in love with him from almost the first moment they met but didn't even realize it. Hinata realizes the moment he gets on a plane to leave and can't turn around. They have to suffer through the "later" without each other until Hinata returns, but at least theyre the same level of absolutely whipped.

Tsukkiyama: Yamaguchi fell first, Tsukki fell harder. Yamaguchi falls in love with him quickly and happily, content to be his best friend and confidant in any capacity. Tsukki hits puberty and has to completely reorganize all his life goals to include marrying Yamaguchi as soon as possible.

Arankita: Aran fell first, Kita fell harder, but they both fell slowly. Aran knew he was in love after a couple years of being his friend and teammate and getting to know him. Kita fell much faster, towards graduation, when he was thinking about what his plan was and realized anything without Aran would be dissatisfying. Kita confessed within 24h of realizing this crush.

[peachidin]

Crawlin' back to you

Maybe I’m too busy being yours, to fall for someone new.

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M- 5.7k

Divider by @/saradika

tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, use of nickname "Blue" for reader, strong language, physical fight (not with MMC), cheating (not by MMC or FMC), rival pilots, unprotected piv, cream pie, praise kink, yearning Poe, ass smacking, hair pulling, we love a reader in charge!

Authors Note: Hello! As I was writing this story, "We could be together, if you wanted to" has gained some traction, so thank you all for liking my work! This idea of a yearning and pining Poe hit me, so I had to make it happen. For context, in this story there are three squadrons with order importance, Black squad, Red Squadron and Blue Squadron. Black and Red squad work on high importance missions and are ranked 'higher' than Blue Squad, which leads you, dear reader, to the story! I hope you enjoy "Crawlin back to you" as it is spicier than the others, and I hope to update "On the run (with you)" soon! As usual, I haven't reread this, I just post and hope for the best. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you!

It was only meant to be a one time thing. 

A one time thing a month ago.

You gasp as Poe’s lips attach to yours with fervor, his tongue sliding parting your lips as his hands roam underneath your long sleeve. Your legs wrap around his waist tightly, making it oh so easy to arch yourself against the growing hardness in his pants as presses you harder into the wall of his room.

Allegedly, Poe Dameron never spent the night more than once with a lover. 

This was the third time this week you've met. 

He pulls back, gasping for air before his lips attach to your neck, licking and sucking that sweet spot below your ear so harshly you almost came on the spot. 

“Poe, wait-” 

He pulls back immediately, his lust darkened eyes meeting yours eagerly. “What is it, baby?” He hums, rubbing his thumbs on the soft skin of your thighs as he waits for, honestly, anything you want.

You smile, shaking your head as your hands thread through the soft curls on his head. This was a dangerous game, you realized. He was someone you couldn't have, no matter how addictive he was.

“I have a flight maneuver early tomorrow, I should head back to my room.” You reply back, letting your fingers drift towards the hot skin of his neck one final team before lowering them  to his chest, patting it gently. His hands gave you one last squeeze before he lowered you to the floor, taking a few seconds to pull your shirt down to where it normally sat. 

He was sweet.

It was dangerous.

Poe smiles softly, almost bashfully, “Wouldn't want you to miss out on sleep.” He agrees, but his hand still lingers on your waist. One word and you could have another night of pleasure.

You nod, gently stepping away from him and gathering your pants from off the floor, quickly stepping into them as you move around his room to collect your few belongings. “I promise I didn't come here just for this, I swear I had an actual question-” You begin to ramble, suddenly feeling the need to explain yourself, why you showed up so late. 

Maker, you have never acted like this before.

Poe shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed as he watches you move through his space. “It’s fine, I’m always glad to be of service to you.” He grins good naturedly, not a trace of sarcasm escaping him. You pause in front of him, mouth opening to say anything to relieve this tension between you both. 

You come up empty.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You say softly, giving him a small wave, as if this man were just some regular pilot and not the man who gave you back to back orgasms just the night before. Poe chuckles softly, his head dropping forward before he begins to stand up, joining your side as you both move towards the door. 

“Sure, Blue.” He responds softly, and you can feel his hand lingering on the small of your back as you step out of his room, the sensation burning into your skin as his touch so often did. You turn around to face him, to try and explain the visit again, but his eyes are already locked onto yours and stealing any words you could have formed from your mouth. The air between you was thick, electricity striking your body with every noise coming from around you in the living quarters. Poe bites his lip as he raises a hand to your face as if to cup your cheek, the motion so quick you barely had time to close your eyes before a small flick hits the end of your noise.

You let out a shocked gasp as he laughs.“Be safe tomorrow, okay? Don't do anything stupid like you usually do when you get stressed.” The bedroom door slides to a close before your eyes even open again. A huff of irritation leaves your lips at his childishness, but you can't help the smile on your face as you take the long walk back to your own quarters. Even within your living space, there was no tie to the man. His room is filled with posters and plans strewn about his floors. The thick smell of cologne that almost seemed to hover like its own atmosphere. His room was so like him, warm, well lived, and well loved. Your room was bare boned. A bed and desk. Stacks of files for missions and maps coordinating future attacks organized by dates on your dining table. Straightlaced and to the point. This was who you both were. Two entities that orbited around one another but never should have met.

This was how it should have stayed.

The admired Black Squadron leader.

The calculated Blue Squadron leader.

The Blue Squadron was only a few achievements short of being on equal par with your fellow Squadrons. Poe and the Black Squadron were the primary team for any rebellion led missions, Red following as second in command. Today was your first chance of the year to prove to the general your squad was more than capable of handling complex missions, to be given the same opportunities as the Black and Red Squadrons. Your team was ready, you had been practicing for months now, and you felt it was now or never to prove to the rebellion what an asset Blue Squadron is.

And you blew it.

It was a standard attack formation, one you had prepped for so many times before. One you could do in your sleep. Your fingers moved robotically as you adjusted your coordinates, your team flying perfectly behind you. Your hand skims over the edge of the tiller, and before you realize it, your mind is drawn back into a memory of the other night.

Poe lying beneath you, his chest heaving as he bites his knuckles, your hand squeezing at his length with nervousness as you tried to sink yourself down onto him. “You couldnt mess this up if you tried, baby.” He had said to you, his hand resting on the back of your neck as you moved hesitantly against him. 

“I don't know, he didn't think I was good at this-” Your words are cut off as his lips sear into yours, his hand threading through your hair to crush your face to his. Your muffled gasp is replaced by a small moan as he sheaths himself into you, already hitting that sweet spot with ease.

“I dont give a fuck what he thought, youre perfect, Blue.” He had hissed, bucking his hips up harshly to draw out another whimper from you.”Say it.” Poe demands, gripping your hips as he plows into you from below, your hands holding onto his shoulders tightly as you nod.

“I’m perfect,” You whisper, trying to muffle your cries against his neck as the sound of your skin connecting reverberated through his quarters. Poe moans in encouragement and you have the desire to bottle up that sound for yourself. 

“Fuck yes, y-your perfect baby, so perfect for me-” He gasps, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his breath begins to come out in shorter spurts. Poe leans forward, pressing hot kisses along your chest, biting into the soft flesh of your breasts. You cry out louder, your climax nearing at a rapid pace as he pounds into you.

“P-Poe, please-”

“Please what baby, where do you want me?”

Another thrust has your vision darkening, a buzz sounding in your ear as he fucks into you harder. It was stupid. This wasn't meant to happen again. Not after the first time. But you were always a sucker for complexities. You brush your lips against his jaw, kissing messily along his skin before whispering into his ear.

“I want you to finish in me, I want you to be the first.”

If Poe wasn't gone before, he was now. His thrusts grew harsher, his fingers bruising your hips as he slams into you, mumbling incoherently. “Fuck, you want me to cum in you so bad, my perfect girl-” He groans, moving one of his hands to your slick folds to rub hard and fast against you. A sharp scream leaves your throat and you topple against his chest, your body pulsing around him tightly as you reach your orgasm. You can feel the last few thrusts before hot spurts coat your insides, Poe whimpering as his head falls against your shoulder, his back heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You tilt your head back. Your eyes glazed over with satisfaction as you both ride out your high together. You let out a little laugh and his hand quickly smacks your ass, Poe’s muffled voice coming from below you.

“I’m sensitive, you sadist.” He growls, and now you can't help the tumble of laughter pouring out from you. Poe lifted his head to glare up at you, but in that moment, your smile was so bright he couldn't help but chuckle along with you.

You shake the memory from your head, your squadron already approaching the final bend sooner than you anticipated.

“Focus, Blue, focus.” You whisper to yourself, watching your squad carefully as you begin your turn. It was sharp, but even a rookie could get through this, and you soar through it with ease. Next was more difficult, but you had practiced, you knew the formation like the back of your hand by now. You carefully lock your X-wing in, breathing out slowly as you wait for the harsher turn. The mind was always so fickle, that's why you preferred equations and plans. You could feel yourself slipping back into that same memory, a heat pooling in your lower belly. Then you hear that maker's damned voice once more.

“One more baby, give me one more.-”

“My sweet girl, taking me so perfectly-”

“I could stay in you forever-”

A hard jolt shoved you deeper into your seat, your X-wing began losing altitude. Your squad's voices blaring through your comms, overwhelming your mind as you tried to straighten your ship. 

“Squad leader-”

“You’ve been hit!”

“Land now-”

And as if your ego couldn't take enough of it, that same voice from your mind rings out, but this time unfortunately through your headset like the others.

“What the hell are you doing, Blue?!”

Your teeth grind together as you pull yourself back into place, barely registering the sound of the flight tower calling your squadron back to base. Everyone was down there. Everyone had seen. 

Cold sweat began to drip down your neck as you carefully took the time to land your X-wing, mechanics quickly running over to assess the damage to the outside exterior. You huff as you climb down the ladder, shaking your hair out of your hemet and relishing in the open air as you struggle to take deep breaths. You can hear your crew clambering to get to you, and you can hear their questions already.

What happened?

What happened?

What happened?

“Blue, what happened?”

Your eyes snap up to meet those soft brown ones you had come to know so well. Poe was gripping your shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into you whether he noticed or not. Your relief at seeing him was short lived as you remembered just why you crashed. 

“I’m fine, Dameron.” You snap, shaking his hands off of you. Poe looks at you first with worry, then agitation. 

“Obviously you're not fine, Blue. You could do this course in your sleep and you crashed!” He hisses, clenching his hands at his side. You frown, and begin to respond before another set of hands grip your shoulder. You only needed one look at Poe's glowering face to know who it was. One you had done so well at avoiding until now.

Red One.

Poe's second in command.

“Hey, what happened up there? You okay?” He asks quickly, his eyes raking over your appearance.You force a smile, brushing him off with ease. 

“Honest mistake, I was-” Your eyes flickered to Poes before returning to the helmet in your hand, “I was just distracted was all.” 

Red One was born on a planet near yours, the commonality making you both acquaintances in flight school. You both studied vigorously, and desired high marks, yet somehow both of you were always beaten by the one named Poe Dameron. The three of you grew and eventually joined the rebellion, him and Dameron taking over the Black and Red Squadron while you were assigned Blue. Despite the large amount of rebellion members, it was easy for you to drift back to him, the reassurance of something familiar in your life. While Poe was off gallivanting with his squadron across the galaxy, you both worked together on unit tactics. It wasn't long before you both began to reach for one another, quick meaningless acts of pleasure when it was needed. It was easy for it to mean nothing to you, because you both knew this wasn't forever, but at least you had one another.

It worked then.

Until Poe came around again. 

Poe was always smart, but he was also warm, and charismatic. People were drawn to him like the sun, wanting a chance to feel that splendor for themselves. Despite the fact everyone wanted to be around him, after a recent 5 month journey he had decided to follow only you around aimlessly. 

“Dameron, don't you have someone else to bother?” You muttered, clutching new plans from the general tightly to your chest. Poe walked behind you with a grin, his hands carelessly tucked into his jacket pockets as he kept up with you.

“When was it a rule that I couldn't spend time with a fellow squadron leader?” He retorts, gently nudging your shoulder with his own. You let out an exhausted sigh, rounding the hallway corner into the row of living quarters right before yours. Maybe you thought you could evade him, you weren't sure, but what you didn't expect was the door nearest you to slide open with a smooth hiss, giving you a clear look into the room. You stop so abruptly Poe barely had time to avoid colliding with your back. 

“What the fuck, Blue-” He complains before glancing down to your face. Your eyes stared blankly into the room, one you had become very familiar with over the years.

Red One’s, now occupied by the pilot himself and a mechanic you recognized from the Droid depot, clothes littering the floor as they cling to each other near the door. Red One's eyes widen and he curses, fumbling around to slip back into his flight suit. 

Now normally, Poe would make a sly comment, or laugh off the awkwardness with ease. But he couldn't. Not when he saw the expression you were making. Despite his games and jokes, he knew you well. Poes fist tightened as he stalked into the room, shoving Red One back a step. “Now, why the fuck would you do this?” He growls darkly, his brown eyes darkening with rage. You weren't sure if you have ever seen Poe like this, not even after a failed mission. Poe never resorted to violence. Never.

You move quickly, stumbling forward to grab onto his arm, tugging him back. “It's fine Poe, it's not that serious-”

“Not that serious? He had the best damn pilot in the rebellion and it wasn't serious to him?” His words make you pause, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tighten your hand on Poe's arm, giving him one last tug. 

“Blue, I can explain-”

“It's fine Red, we're going now.” You respond calmly, carefully dragging Poe out of the room until the door can slide shut. Poe tugs you along swiftly moving down hall after hall until you recognize the path to your own living space. Your hand was still on Poe’s arm, and you could feel his body shaking underneath. 

“Poe, it’s fine-” 

“How long were you two together?” He asks, his tone softer now than it was previously. You glanced up at him, his brown eyes soft once more as they bore down into your own. You blink quickly, thinking of just how many months it had been. 

“Since our first mission to Nevarro.” You answer honestly, and you don't know what to think about the string of curses that leave his lips. “Why does it matter, Poe? It was just a fling-”

“Was it just a fling to you?” He asks suddenly, his gaze hot and piercing. You try to answer, to conjure up some response, but all you can do is shake your head. “We both got what he wanted, and I'm actually surprised he waited this long to find someone else.”

 The look of anger that flashes across his face has your brows furrowing, unsure of why it bothered him so deeply. You open your mouth to speak again before Poe lets out a deep sigh, turning to face you fully as his back rests against the metal wall. His hand reaches up slowly, gently touching the soft skin of your cheek. 

“Still, are you okay?” He asks in a gravelled tone, continuing to stroke your skin with small movements. His touch was far different from Reds, you quickly realized. Red touched you briskly, his hand roaming over your body as if you would disappear. 

Poe touched you with reverence. He kept his movements small, keeping contact with your skin as if you were his center of gravity. “He's an idiot, Blue, you can do so much better than him. He can't even coordinate a landing path to Jakku without using a droid.” A surprised laugh tumbles past your lips, pleasing Poe as he stares down at you. 

“And you can't fly a straight shot to Crait even if you tried.” You shoot back, a smile still tugging at your lips. Poe’s eyes soften as you laugh before him, your usual icy exterior melting away to that young pilot he once knew so many years ago. He takes a breath, biting his lip before he speaks in a soft whisper. “I would have made you my second, if it was my choice.”

You can't control the deep flush that rush to your cheeks as you hear him. “Red is a good second in command, I still have a lot to learn-”

“You think I don't know who drafts our tactile formations? I could practically see you solving the broken flight patterns while reading them.” His voice grows more firm, demanding you to accept his praise. “I can only be a good leader with someone like you supporting me, and I'm sorry they don't realize it yet.” 

You don't cry. You don’t even cry as Poe leans in closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek as he coos words of praise to you in the dimly lit hallway. Red never acknowledged the work you did, smooth talking his way into putting his name on the plans alongside yours. You would shrug it off, under the impression if one Squadron succeeds surely the other would too. This never changed even when he began to take more missions farther out into the galaxy, while you and your squad stayed back, waiting for the chance to chart your own paths.

The truth now laid out so plainly in front of you.

You had been used.

What did you want? Had you wanted Red to choose you? Only you? Did you ever even think you would have options?

Your hands tighten into fists, sharp pain shooting through your hands. Poe pulls back with a lazy smile on his face, but it quickly falters as he sees the scowl etched onto your face. “Hey what's wrong Blue, did I overstep? I’m sorry-”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Poe's mouth hangs open as your words hit his ears, sending palpitations straight to his chest. “You want me to…”

“I want you to fuck me, yes.”

Poe can't help but chuckle as he shakes his head, his hand covering his face as he inhales deeply. “You don't want that, Blue, you're just mad and understandably so-”

“I am choosing this, Poe Dameron, I am choosing you to make me feel something. I know it's just a one time thing with you, I want one night”

Well, now this was an interesting statement. 

This he could work with. 

Poe tries to quell the smile tugging at his lips as he leans back, knocking his fingers on the cool metal wall as if it could cool down the heat racing through him. “Just one? I'm afraid you'll end up wanting more, Blue.” He murmurs, taking the chance to glance back down at you. Your eyes meet his, fiery and unwavering. Maker, you meant it. Poe tried to stifle the groan threatening to spill out of him.

“One night, I just want one night.” You promise, stepping in even closer to him. With one deep breath, your chest would rub against his, and you tried to ignore the shaky breaths emitting from the man before you. 

“But I want to set some ground rules first.” You say in a soft voice, moving your hand so it begins to trail up his arm. Poe can only nod as he stared down at you, captivated by your movements. 

“This happens in your room, I don't need you making a mess of my space.” Poe can't help the snort that leaves his mouth, but he nods his head anyways. “Two, I want to be in charge.” You were proud of how little your voice wavered as you spoke, “I get to decide how this goes.” 

Your words make Poe's jaw twitch. How often did you get what you wanted with Red?

“I promise I will be your devoted servant.” He agrees, reaching for your hand and pulling it to his lips, placing a slow and sensual kiss on your pulse. 

Maker, this was going to be harder than you thought. 

“This is a one time thing, we don’t acknowledge it after, and we dont let it change our working relationship.” 

Poe's throat only constricts a little before he nods, “Of course.” He drops your hand gently, waiting for you.

Now Poes stares at you with a burning look in his gaze, his jaw clenched as he stares between you and Red One. 

“Distracted? Blue, you could have hurt yourself.” He hisses, running a hand through his hair in an irritated manner. You frown, noticing the crowd gathering around you all now. 

“It was a mistake, a stupid one, but I’m fine-”

“Maybe if you weren't so busy sleeping with our Squad leader you wouldn't have messed up.” The insult stabs through your chest. You turn slowly to face Red One, a grim look on his face as he sighs before continuing, “I really thought you were smarter than this Blue, you really couldn't wait for me to explain what happened before you just moved on to the next available guy who would fuck you-”

You honestly aren't sure who moved first. One minute your hearing began to ring, your heart thundering in your chest, and then here you were, standing over a bleeding Red. Your fist felt like it was on fire but honestly, you didn't care. Then you feel Poe’s arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back as people begin to shout, surging in to watch the scene. 

“All those years I spent underneath you were absolute shit compared to what Poe’s made me feel in one month-” You spit out, years of rage boiling over as you watch Red sit up, his hand shakily touching the blood pouring out of his nose. “And I hope you can prove you know how to draft a mission plan because I’m going first thing tomorrow to get your name removed from all of my work, my work.” You seeth, tugging against Poe's grip one last time. You can feel his face near yours, his nose gently running along your cheek as he squeezes your arms gently. “Let's get out of here, Blue.” He whispers, and you nod, giving Red one last glare before moving through the parting crowd. You swear you can almost hear cheers as you and Poe enter the flight squads quarters, shutting yourself off from the rest of the world. 

You feel yourself enter a room, and you finally feel the world unblurring as you realize Poe brought you back to your own quarters. You can feel him gently pull at your clothes, removing your flight suit with great care, reaching into your drawers to find some comfortable clothes he slips onto your body without an ounce of alternative means. A sudden hiss leaves your lips as he bumps his hand against your injured one, and he quickly moves you to your bed. He curses before you, kneeling between your legs as he tentatively grabs your hand, assessing the broken skin on your knuckles. 

“Shit baby, you got him good.” He smiles, taking a clean rage and gently dabbing at the bloodied wounds. You wince and he immediately pulls back, waiting for you to let him continue. 

“I shouldn't have hit him,” you mumble, biting your lip as he hits another painful spot, “I’ll probably get written up.” 

Poe snorts, shaking his head. “I dont it won't be any worse than what he's gonna get. Plagiarizing plans? Falsifying records? He's lucky if the general even lets him get drinks for us.” You can't help the laugh that tumbles out of your throat, nodding along to his words. He quickly wraps your hand in a simple bandage, just tight enough to keep your hand from throbbing. You meet Poe’s gaze as he looks up at you, crouched between your legs with a serene look on his face. 

“What?” you ask softly, gripping your sheets with your other hand. Poe just shakes his head, “So, I've given you a better month than he could in years?” 

You groan as you drop your head to his shoulder, embarrassment flooding your senses. “I didn't mean to say that in front of everyone.” Poe just laughs, letting his hands run up and along your thighs. 

“It was pretty hot to see you claim me in front of everyone like that, baby.” He smiles, gently using his hands to lift your face so he can look at you. You flush brightly, your eyes unable to look anywhere else but his gaze. “Im sorry, I'm sure that was uncomfortable for you-”

 Poe shakes his head, his nose brushing along yours. “You still don't get it, huh?” Before you can speak again he pushes the two of you up and back, laying you down onto your bed as he hovers over you. “I want to be yours, Blue, I think in some way I always have been.” He says softly, intertwining your hands together as he presses them beside your head. “I've slept with people, yes, but none could get you off my mind.” His lips gently trail down your neck, biting and kissing at your skin. You gasp, your body reacting so easily for him. “You were always there, since flight school, in my mind, always competing with me. Then I leave, and I come back to tell you-” He carefully slips his hand under the edge of your shirt, feeling your skin with a gentle touch. 

As if he can't believe this is still happening.

“I come back and see you look at him like that, and I would have supported you baby I would have, but-” He hisses as your body arches against him, brushing together as heat begins to flood your body. “Lucky for me he was an idiot.” Is all Poe can say as you crash your lips to his, gripping his jaw tightly as you angle him in closer to deepen the kiss. “Fuck, I can only ever think about you Blue-” He gasps as your hand trails in between you, running your fingers along the seams of his length. “I only want to think about you, I want to be yours forever-” He rambles on, your hand moving rhythmically against him as you listen to him beg. His words fill your chest as he speaks, so plainly yet undoubtedly true. 

“Poe?” You say softly, watching as his eyes open to find yours, dark and glazed over with lust, but his attention undivided. You smile softly, only slowing your movements ever so slightly as you take a breath to speak. “I'm yours.” You whisper softly, your smile widening as you see his eyes begin to water. You gasp as you tugged up, pressed against his chest as he buries his face into your neck, holding you impossibly tight. 

“Fuck, Blue, I almost didn’t last when I heard you say that.” Poe grumbles, and you laugh loudly as your hands pull his hips to yours. 

“We're just getting started, Dameron, I can't have you tapping out so early.” You grin, letting your hands snake up the bros expanse of his back to caress his head. An idea strikes you as you hold on to one another, your hands running along the carved muscles of his body. 

“Poe?” You ask softly, turning your head to look at him as he pulls back slightly from your neck. “Can we try something?” 

His smile is lethal. 

“How do you want me, baby?”

You carefully pull back from his embrace, eyeing him playfully as you turn onto your hands and knees, movings towards the headboard with a sway to your hips, Poe’s eyes practically glow with desire, and you feel his hand run along your spine, gripping your hips dangerously before you grab onto the headboard, arching yourself against him. You can feel his chest contracting behind you, his hands moving to your hips instinctively. You loved this, feeling so crowded by his body and scent.

Poe wasted no time in shucking down your pants, tilting your head to meet his lips in a fiery kiss as the cool air of your room blows against your exposed lower body. You reach a hand behind you, finding the edge to his pants and working to pull them down, releasing his cock between the both of you. 

With a practiced precision, Poe sheathes himself into you, a satisfied gasp leaving your lips. You can already feel the headboard creaking under your grasp, but you don't care.

“Shit, baby, I'm not gonna last long-” He pants, kissing your neck while giving you another small thrust. He leaves one hand on your waist as the other snakes to your slick folds, teasing you gently as you let out another moan. “I don’t care, just fuck me Poe, please-” You whine out, pushing yourself against him with need. You gasp as you feel a sharp slap to your clit, only making you infinitely wetter. 

“I’m going to take my time fucking my girl.” He growls, and pulls you in for another thrust. Your face turns towards the board, hot pants of air escaping you as he thrust into you from below, perfectly hitting that spot within you that makes your toes curl with pleasure. He leans forward, wrapping a hand over yours as he fucks you into the headboard, his other hand tightening on your hip as he slams into you.

“My beautiful girl, so wet for me. Do you like making me so hungry for you? Driving me wild seeing you so lost in pleasure? Absolutely drenching my cock?” His words almost send you over the edge alone, only capable of giving him a choked sob in reply. 

He fucks into you mercilessly, grinding himself against you with every thrust, his own orgasm approaching as quickly as yours. “Fuck, baby, you were made for me, never gonna let you go-” You feel him shake as he begins to unload into you, his hand rubbing tirelessly over your clit and quickly sending you over the edge into your own pleasure. 

“Fuck!”  You cry out, shaking as he continues to thrust into you, emptying himself entirely. The room is filled with pants as you both lean against each other, your hands trembling as you use the headboard to hold yourself up. You feel so impossibly full. You shift gently, feeling his body tense behind you as his head rests in the crook of your neck. 

“Still with me, Dameron?” You smile, turning your head to gently press a kiss to his temple. You can feel him smile against your skin, placing his own soft kiss on your shoulder. “Always, baby.” He whispers back softly, lifting his head to gaze at you with pure adoration. You eventually separate, slinking down into your bed wrapped in each other's embrace. Any other clothes were shed, the need for urgency long behind you both as you tak in these moments of being utterly at peace. 

You rest your head on his chest, your eyes drifting close as you listen to the steady beat of his heart. “Poe?” you ask softly, running your hand along his sternum. You can feel him shift, knowing he was looking down at you.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He asks gently, running a hand through your hair and you swear you are in heaven. 

“When did you realize you liked me? You…we, we’ve just been together for so long and I never realized.” You ask, turning your head up to look at him easier. Poe smiles, so easy and carefree, and just shrugs. 

“Maybe always?” 

You swat at his chest, a chuckle rumbling in him as he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Be serious!” You scold, but the smile on your face tells him all he needs to know.

“I am serious. It was always you.”

Your smile only grows softer as you listen to him, your hand continuing to rub small circles onto his skin. “I’m sorry I took so long to realize it.” You whisper to him, reaching up to rub his jaw. Poe grins and moves over you, flipping you both until he rests on top of you. He surges forward,  kissing you as if you had all the time in this world. You both stay close, his nose brushing against yours as you gaze into each other's eyes. Poe speaks, whispering into your ear, and you know he means it.

“I would have waited forever for you”