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#I had something at 1 pm
twotailednekomata · 1 year
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So, after replaying the scene a couple times, I feel like mentioning the Ghost Chatter (I think that's what it's called, I couldn't fully tell).
The Ghost Chatter, as mentioned by Jack, takes 'the mysterious sounds that ghosts make' and translate them into English. When Danny speaks 'boo' into the device (after some deliberation), the device translated it as 'I am a ghost, fear me'. Danny has a freak out and yells 'I better get to school!' which the device leaves the sentence the exactly the same with an added 'fear me'. (Bonus: a video I remember watching about the word 'boo')
While the translated lines above were most likely added for comedy, I feel the concept could be tweaked in interesting ways. For example, what if instead of the second instance being the same sentence but with a few added words, it instead translated as 'I have to get away. School is far enough. Safe with my friends. Have to leave now' since Danny is part human and speaking English, which means the sentence should've stayed the same, but he was feeling a sense of fear at the moment, which effected the 'mysterious sounds' he would be producing due to his ghost half, which caused the sentence to be distorted in the translation. (think of this concept as Twisted Translations (youtube), in a sense)
I, also, feel it is accepted fanon that ghosts project their feelings outwards for others to sense so maybe that could be what the device is translating which means the result of the 'have to go to school' line could've been:
Danny: I better get to school! Ghost Chatter: fear-can't know-safety The rest of the Fenton family: *confused & concerned stares*
This is just me suggesting a couple of stuff based on a short scene but I hoped you guys enjoyed the speculations.
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anon-lemon · 9 months
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neil is very respectful of andrew's autonomy, especially in their relationship. we know that. we love that for him. (mostly angst) fics of him not realizing his and andrew's relationship being exclusive are popular. i love reading them.
what if. what if he becomes a tad bit possessive of andrew, though. (a little tug to pull him close, a sharp glare directed to wandering eyes, etc.) andrew would normally find that concerning for all the reasons we all know and understand. possessiveness can imply ownership, can lead to a controlling relationship. andrew would normally dislike that. neil being possessive of andrew, though? andrew fucking loves it??? andrew is very into the idea that neil is obsessed with him, obsessed enough to be possessive of him. like. most people didn't want andrew; some people wanted andrew but they were the bad kind; and very few are the people who wanted andrew who he wanted back. neil's possessiveness isn't caused by insecurity and neither is it because he wants to control andrew. it's more that he always held himself back from wanting and having that when has the chance to actually have something, he clings to it. (hence andrew thinking of neil as a racoon.) (it's also very much like how andrew is, yeah?)
anyway, a headcanon i indulge myself in is neil showing a healthy amount of possessiveness of andrew and andrew loving and even encouraging it. what if. what if.
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cinnamon-notes · 2 days
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:')
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anonymusbosch · 9 months
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really truly Feelings about coming back to my hometown and seeing it as an outsider (I only knew it as a child with my motion constrained by school and parents and being under 18) and an outsider (it's changed since I've been away these last 8 years) and an outsider (showing it to my partner and finding it both familiar and unfamiliar, and special and inadequate) and an outsider (my parents and sister have all moved and my childhood home is no longer mine - staying in a building with a door code to learn and furniture still being moved in) and an outsider (my favorite places have changed, moved, closed, repainted) and an outsider (new murals! new buildings! new bike lanes) and an outsider (how the Fuck do the bike lanes on the east bank connect) and an outsider (it's changed [you can never step in the same river twice] and I have too)
#i think I need to make art about this#wanting to show off the things I love about it and realizing so much of that love is for the mundane details and tiny quotidian things#seeing people in the bike lanes and feeling the pang of just Being Around People Enjoying the Outdoors#how much fun you can have for free#at the same time not having lived here at all as an adult#i don't know the public transit here! i biked when it wasn't snowy and when it was snowy i was in school til like 9 pm#i don't know the flashy fun city things i know where me and my cousins would go to have a pretzel and maybe a beer and play board games#i know where u can do martial arts for cheap and fun but that's not a nice day out to show someone it's part of being there for months#years#i know where you can get food at 1 AM but they've moved#i don't know dinkytown or any of the north side#i want to show you how good it was to be a kid here in the summer but we're not kids anymore#i want you to feel the same pang of love when passing my best friend's childhood home#ALSO!!!! saw california friends/acquaintances in the home they bought together with dual software engineer california salaries#living in MN making CA money#a huge huge 3-story-plus-basement million-plus dollar home since that means something here#you're 28 what the fuck are you doing with a nicer house than anyone I knew here ever had#'this is what you get with CA money in mpls' yeah i fucking know actually except I don't make SWE money and I don't live here anymore#i know some local mechanical engineers who have got starter homes at like 300k a few years out of school.#that's like. good for them.#anyway I'm leaving the city today and still just feeling Things about it
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serpentblccd-moving · 10 months
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t.umblr. fix yourself please. now i know when some peoples post appear, or don’t appear on the dash. or appear like later on, so it’s all confusing!!! 
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oars · 1 year
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BORED
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Domestic 241
Whump-a-Woman AngstApril Day 1:: Doorstep Collapse. 
Notes :: The is my dabbling in the BBU. I’ll very likely do a lot more with this story. :) Title will be change.. eventually. Kinda getting weirdly attached to this one. 
TW’s :: BBU, Lady Whump, Implied Past Noncon & Torture. 
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She wasn’t thinking. Just running. Her mind was so clouded with pain, she couldn’t even recall her own number. 
No name. Just a number. 
She had sold her name, her identity. 
That’s what they told her anyway. 
If she really had, she often thought it must have been the worst decision of her life. 
She had been sold. As a domestic, she did housework, and cooked, in return for a place to sleep.  
Peaceful, right? 
Wrong. She was a housekeeper for the man who bought her, yes, but he used her too. And liked to watch her bleed. 
She often protested, hurting her must be against some rule, that wasn’t what she was trained for, she couldn’t clean if she had a knife in her hand. 
To this, he simply threatened to take her voice. 
That shut had shut her up pretty quick. 
She saw her chance to run a few hours ago, and took it. 
She hadn’t stopped running since. 
Her hands shook, and tears ran down her cheeks. This was wrong. She should go back. 
No, she’d gone to far. If she went back, it would only get worse. 
She just needed to get somewhere safe. 
Her footsteps slowed, and after a few moments, she saw a place. 
A church. 
There were no lights on inside, but she ran up the steps and banged on the door. “Anyone there? Someone, I need help...” She started off shouting, but suddenly felt very weary. She’d been running for hours. 
It would be... it would be okay if she rested... right? 
And so the second she decided, yes, it would be, the adrenaline running through her veins faded, and she promptly collapsed to the ground.  
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quirkeduptransguy · 2 months
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At this rate I think I’m getting at most like 2 or 3 hours of sleep tonight 🫡
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westernsunshine · 6 months
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No one really talks about how the first period you have after fully coming off birth control will absolutely fuck you up
#haven’t freeballed my period since april and oh my GOD how have i put up with this for fifteen years#and i have probably close to 30 to go??? 😵‍💫#maybe i should rethink my stance on not wanting to be sterilised. like on the one hand i don’t want to have an unnecessary surgery#and i don’t trust doctors to give a fuck about whether they’re doing the surgery correctly or not#And i know someone who has inoperable stage 4 blood cancer because they left tissue behind when she had a hysterectomy#however. howwwwever. never having a period again? it is a compelling thought i won’t lie#i need to get my blood pressure to shoot through the floor so i can take microgynon again. i mean i’m 90% sure it was only so high because#i wasn’t moving my body because i was recovering from a knee injury. i have been moving more & i don’t eat as much salt now#i’ve cut crisps out of my diet and i don’t add salt to my food. please clap. i’m miserable#(i still eat food that has salt in it because cutting it out 100% is dangerous but like. i stay under 5 grams a day easily)#gotta get back on microgynon so that i won’t want to kay em ess once a month lol. or get put on antidepressants?#the thing about it is that every female doctor at my local surgery has gone on sabbatical for what i’m sure are fairly valid reasons#so there are just two male doctors now. and nurses and a pharmacist who can vaccinate you and do basic stuff#so i’d have to tell a man about my female hysteria and i’m sorry but i think i’d rather just let the thoughts take me#like does anyone have experience of telling a male doctor about EXTREME pms and him actually caring/doing anything#i’m not even going to bother mentioning the pain because i know even a woman doctor would just say it’s normal#but i need to do something because this… this can’t run. i can’t function if 1/4 of the time i want to die#personal
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inkskinned · 6 months
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
#writeblr#warm up#this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru#but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist#ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work#part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just#like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r#ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week#this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism#imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY#''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''
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joelscurls · 5 months
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I wanna show you off
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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 4.1k
summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!
If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.
Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.
It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.
The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.
You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.
You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.
You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.
Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.
It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.
They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.
Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.
One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers. 
He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.
“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.
“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.
“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”
“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”
You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”
Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.
Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!
“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”
“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.
“You know I love you, right?” 
You sniff again. Nod. 
“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”
“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself. 
Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.” 
You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.
You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.
You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath. 
“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”
He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face. 
“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?” 
And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.
You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him.  Ruined him for any other woman.
So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.
“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.
“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.
“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch. 
Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.
“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.
He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim. 
Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull. 
“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”
His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.
Yours, yours, yours. 
And nobody else’s.
“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you. 
“Got it.”
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It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox. 
“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all. 
“Uh-”
“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”
“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense. 
But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.
You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.
“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him. 
Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.
“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”
“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.” 
Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.” 
You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward. 
Sheila pays you no attention.
“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”
Your vision blurs scarlet. 
Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides. 
“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“
“Sheila,” she reminds him. 
“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”
You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.
And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. 
Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.
“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.
You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now. 
“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated. 
You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush. 
With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours. 
Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 
And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.
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Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.
He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears. 
So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.
“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”
“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?” 
Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes. 
Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 
You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?
“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”
You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.” 
He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”
His belt falls to the floor with a clang.
He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.
It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.
“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.
“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.
“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.” 
His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy. 
“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.
“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?” 
Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from. 
Sheila is home. 
Perfect.
It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. 
You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea. 
“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?” 
“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.” 
“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip. 
Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used. 
“You sure?” 
It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise. 
But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you. 
You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.
You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length. 
Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx. 
The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop. 
He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him. 
“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.” 
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat. 
He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it. 
“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” 
You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.
The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.
You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”
“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.
His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in. 
“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.
“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”
“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”
It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.
When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.
The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. 
“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep. 
“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”
He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.
“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”
A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile. 
Do you hear that?  Yeah; what is that noise?
Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you. 
“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”
Oh my word!
Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp. 
The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast. 
If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.
“Joel, fuck-”
“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”
This is vulgar!  We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.
His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted. 
Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt. 
He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle. 
A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.
Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!
And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth. 
“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air. 
“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?” 
“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.
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end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3
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Are You Bored Yet?
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Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader
Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:
a/n:​​​ I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️
Masterlist
~~
12:59 pm.
The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.
Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 
Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties. 
Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be. 
With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall. 
Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job. 
But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day. 
One minute. 
Two minutes. 
The library really needed new ceiling tiles. 
1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done. 
You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.
With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes. 
“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. 
Your jaw ticked. “Home.” 
His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon. 
“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.” 
“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.” 
He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.” 
“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?” 
“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.” 
“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.
Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?” 
You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned. 
The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window. 
He was lucky you accepted bribes. 
~~
“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.” 
“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?” 
It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend. 
“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.” 
You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?” 
He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?” 
You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time. 
Not that that sounded the least bit grand. 
Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense. 
You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?” 
“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities. 
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.” 
“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.” 
You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote. 
“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text. 
“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over. 
Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.” 
“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?” 
He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.” 
You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”
“Something like that.” 
He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible. 
Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you. 
You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice. 
The duality of man. 
It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.
“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.” 
You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.” 
“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.” 
“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.” 
“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way. 
“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.” 
He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.” 
You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips. 
“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite. 
“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back. 
You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.” 
“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?” 
Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier. 
This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small. 
“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.” 
Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.” 
“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks. 
Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.” 
Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.” 
Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more. 
“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.  
You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.” 
He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.” 
Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud. 
“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.” 
“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?” 
“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.
Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.” 
You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had. 
~~
Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend. 
Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes. 
Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing. 
Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met. 
Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan. 
“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house. 
“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.” 
The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore. 
You: Your house is soooo dirty
Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission. 
After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went. 
The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face. 
“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?” 
The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.
“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.” 
“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.” 
“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?” 
You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection. 
“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”
Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat. 
“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.” 
You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.” 
Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied. 
He asked again how much you’d had to drink. 
You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments. 
And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” 
You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.” 
His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.” 
“M’not even that drunk!” 
“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.” 
“Maybe I want to be in your room.” 
“We both know that’s not true.” 
You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.” 
Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?” 
“So much.” 
“How much?” 
You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed. 
“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat. 
“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum. 
“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.” 
His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.” 
You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.” 
You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.
Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.
“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing. 
“You’re so fucking pretty.” 
He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement. 
“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—” 
“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.” 
“You’ve… thought about me in your room?” 
Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.” 
This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met. 
Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating. 
But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking. 
“Are you going to kiss me?” 
Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them? 
“Would you let me?” he responds. 
“Yes.” 
He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you. 
But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore. 
A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted. 
A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work. 
“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.
Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.
You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered. 
You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.” 
Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.
You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out. 
You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up. 
He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating. 
You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.
That you should be different, somehow.
~~
Bucky: You’re here???
Bucky: Where are you?
Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone
Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming 
You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one. 
You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it. 
Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it. 
When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing. 
Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one. 
From: University Peer Assistance Program 
Dear Y/n Y/l/n, 
This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours. 
Thank you, 
University Peer Assistance 
You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.
This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on. 
But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you. 
You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible? 
Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls. 
Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you? 
The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine. 
His mistake. 
That word felt wrong. 
You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs. 
Ice cream would fix this. 
The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off. 
Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head. 
You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register. 
“Nice outfit.” 
Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good. 
“Thanks,” you quietly replied. 
He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?” 
You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.” 
“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.” 
“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked. 
You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort. 
The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.” 
You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist. 
“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels. 
“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip. 
“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.” 
“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight. 
Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine. 
You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.” 
Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again. 
“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist. 
“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.” 
He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work. 
“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again. 
He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking. 
“Please let go of me.” 
The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it. 
He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes. 
“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.
“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled. 
Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”
Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.” 
When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?” 
His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting. 
“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither. 
The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking? 
A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor. 
“Look at me, y/n.” 
You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything. 
“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed. 
He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too. 
“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?” 
You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine. 
Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.
He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form. 
“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.” 
“Of course.” 
There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high. 
You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him. 
“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.” 
He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?” 
“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.” 
“You get harassed all the time too?” 
“No…” 
“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.” 
“Bucky—” 
“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.” 
Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go. 
“I’m not following,” you finally relented. 
A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.” 
“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”
“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off. 
“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.” 
He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks. 
“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less. 
“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.” 
“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful. 
“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about” 
“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.” 
“You ever hear of lying?”
“Why would you—” 
“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?” 
You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring. 
It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway. 
“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 
He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that. 
“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.” 
You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground. 
“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.
“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.” 
“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.” 
You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache. 
His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.
“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.” 
You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.” 
“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.” 
“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”
He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.
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over-rated-cheese · 1 year
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nothing worse than sending all day writing a fan fic (on ao3)
just for ur tab to glitch delating all of it
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emmyrosee · 1 year
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Kaminari watched with a quirked brow as you walked straight into the common room and plopped right down next to Bakugou, who opened his arm to allow you to curl into his side.
Sure, it amazed him that Bakugou even had the means to score a partner, let alone one would could just come in and plop next to him, interrupting whatever game he was playing on his switch, but…
Kaminari was moreso interested in whatever you two were doing than thinking about the other complexities of your relationship.
“What do you want?” Bakugou asks, his nose burying in your hair.
“Hngg.”
Bleach blonde eyebrows furrow in frustration, “you do realize it’s almost 10 pm, right? I’m not doing that.”
“Mmmnn!” You push your head against his shoulder, and he snarls at you.
“Don’t you ‘mmmnn’ me! It’s fuckin’ dark out.”
“Do you have any lick of a clue what the hell is going on?” Kaminari whispers, a hand covering his mouth in an attempt to keep his question between himself and Kirishima. Kirishima tips his head as he watches you and Bakugou… talk? to each other on the loveseat just feet away.
“Honestly man,” the redhead sighs, tipping his head in thought. “No idea.”
“You want Aizawa to kill me?” Bakugou mumbles, gently rubbing your arm with his thumb. “Dumbass. Because he will.”
“Hmph..”
“Yeah, I should’ve expected you to say that.”
“Say what?” Kaminari whispers, the pitch turning into a whine, gentle fingers tugging at Kirishima’s tee-shirt. Kirishima shrugs and continues to watch the… conversation.
“Come on,” Bakugou pleads, “can’t I just give you some of my chips? I’ll take ya to get some snacks tomorrow, I promise-“
“Mmmmnnnn…”
Bakugou groans and tips his head back, blinking up at the ceiling as if trying to work up some strength. “Hey, idiots,” he grumbles, making the two of his friends tense up in fear; Kaminari visibly trembles, he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he just really wanted to know if you were okay-
“What time does that stupid convenience store close for the night?” The blonde asks, and Kirishima watches as your lips, peeking from Bakugou’s neck, curl up into a smile.
Kirishima shrugs, “I… think they’re 24 hours. Or at least open until real late. I think they stop making food at 1 am though.”
Bakugou groans. Kaminari sees you stifle your giggles, your fingers curling on his shirt. You grunt again, and Bakugou rolls his eyes.
“Fucking- fine.” He turns back to his friends with a snarled lip. “You dickheads want anything?”
“Uh…” Kaminari begins. “I’ll… take a strawberry juice, if you’re offering.”
“I’m not, but my insignificant other is.”
Kirishima chuckles, “I’ll take an egg roll. Thanks man.”
Bakugou gives a subtle nod and turns his head back down to you, “you’re coming with me-“
“Mmmnnnn…”
“Oh hell no!” He barks. “If I go down, you’re coming with me, you shitfuck!”
Once again, you laugh into his neck, and even if kaminari and kirishima don’t understand the dynamic, it feels good to see Bakugou smirk in your hair and nuzzle into you.
“Mmmuvyounnn.”
“Yeah yeah… love you, too, or something.”
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reinainaric · 2 months
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HATE THAT I LOVE YOU || part 3
mean!ryomen sukuna x fem!reader
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It's already a part of Sukuna's personality to be mean, always throwing insults at every person he finds annoying here and there. And you were no exception. You ran after him like a lovesick puppy, happily smiling at his rejections, confessing to him multiple times how much you like him, and Sukuna wanted so much to strangle you for your persistence.
But when you stopped showing interest, maybe... just maybe, Sukuna didn't like the sound of it.
contents: sukuna x reader, soft!reader, reader is oblivious to sukuna's insults, mean!sukuna, golden retriever x black cat trope, reader is a happy pill (not to sukuna tho, yet), hurt/slight angst, modern college AU, sukuna is in a band, bassist!sukuna, not proofread, jjk characters in a band, siblings yuji and sukuna
warning: cursing
links: < part 1 > < part 2 >
***
You don't remember anything that happened last night.
Waking up with a throbbing head and no memories of what occurred when you were drunk was not something you were happy about. You were still dressed in your last night's clothes, your heels discarded on the floor, a blanket being over your body the whole time you were sleeping. You didn't even know how you still got home or how you even ended up on the living room couch, assuming that maybe Nanami took care of you because of the text he sent last night.
2:17 PM
Nanami: I hope you slept comfortably. Drink some water when you wake up.
You smiled at his message. Nanami is surely the gentleman out of everyone in the band, he really never forgets to take care of everyone.
So when Monday comes by, you immediately look for Nanami to thank him personally. It was during lunch period when you caught sight of the person you've been wanting to see, and without further ado, you ran after him as you called out his name.
Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna was just a few steps behind when he found you talking to Nanami. And the words that escaped your mouth sent his blood levels high.
“Nanami! I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me last Friday night!”
“Friday night?”
“Yeah? I was really drunk, but I do remember someone taking me home. And you texted me that morning too, so I concluded it was you. Anyways, thank you so much–”
That's all Sukuna needed to hear as he walked right past the two of you, his eyes shooting daggers at everyone who walked in his way.
What he witnessed somehow left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like there's a poison corrupting his veins, eager to suffer him to death as he clenches his hand in a fist to restrain himself.
All Sukuna could do was walk away.
He couldn't accept how you dare to think that another man took care of you and drove you home. He couldn't believe how you're thanking another man right away, instead of clarifying who did what first, and he's just really going to hate you more for this.
“Wait, what do you mean?” Nanami asked you with an evident confused look on his face. After rambling about how you appreciated his act of concern towards you last Friday, you finally focused on him and saw how he looked clueless about the situation.
“You… took me home, didn't you? Because… I was really drunk…”
“Oh.” He nodded, now realising what you said. “It wasn't me, though.’
You were entirely confused by the situation now. Your feelings had tangled up in your mind and you don't know what to believe anymore when you saw Sukuna walking past you in the hallways.
The surroundings seem to quiet down as you focus your eyes on him. His figure, his stare, his inevitably handsome face. It's all coming back to you again. The beat of your heart, like a slow motion film everytime he walks by, and you feel like you're a teenager for these feelings.
You were about to open your mouth to talk to him, when he brushed you off so easily as he spared you no glance, walking right past your shoulder. Mouth agape, words left unspoken, mind wandering elsewhere, your cheeks blushed in embarrassment.
If he's the one who took you home after the party, then why is he not taking any credit for it?
Did he do it out of pity or something? Did he just feel bad to leave you alone in there?
You knew he didn't have any feelings for you, so maybe it is the latter. And after that, he doesn't care anymore where you thank him anymore, because that's just how he is.
Sighing, you clutched your bag in your hand and thought of another time to thank him still.
On the other side, Sukuna is mad mad. He doesn't even know why. He can't even explain it himself because he feels like it's nonsense.
It's like a feeling of wanting to throw a tantrum for all his bottled up feelings of anger at you, but if he did do such a thing, he'll come out whiny. Plus, only Yuji does that.
He just hates it. Everytime he looks at you, that anger starts becoming intense in some type of way. His hatred makes him want to lock you in his arms, and just… and just…
Why is he thinking about this anyway?
He hates you for your annoyance. For your persistence. For always smiling at everyone. For always making his day feel incomplete if you're not there.
He hates you even more for thanking Nanami for something he had done. And he wants to knock some senses in you at some point.
He hates how you've changed. How you're slowly fading away from him.
He hates how he's maybe starting to feel different about you now.
“You might pierce a hole in her head if you keep staring like that…” Yuji whispered close to Sukuna’s ear. Sukuna flinched, but immediately hit Yuji with his elbow, leaving the latter hissing in pain.
The football field was yet again full of people. Girls would walk over and say hi to Sukuna and Yuji to where they sat at the benches, and only Yuji would have the heart to flash them his cheeky smile. While Sukuna watches you who had been sitting a few seats far away, your back facing them, focused on whatever conversation you have with your friend.
“Tell me,” Yuji continues. “Are you starting to like her?”
Sukuna immediately turned his head to him with a glare. He scoffed, crossing his arms on his chest, “That's total nonsense, Yuji.”
Yuji shrugged as he stared at you as well. “Not to me… You look… troubled…”
“That… has nothing to do with that fool…”
Yuji laughs at his brother, shaking his head at his denial. “Whatever you say.”
This is it. This is the right time to finally talk to Sukuna.
You breathed heavily as you wiped your sweaty palms on your clothes. Your heart was thumping loudly on your chest as you stood right before the band's practice room door.
You've been looking for Sukuna the whole day and ended up asking Yuji where he was, and this is why you ended up here. The door seems to dread a dark presence before it, looming an ominous aura within, or maybe it was just you over exaggerating things.
You nervously twist the door, and there you see Sukuna on his usual seat, legs spread apart, his face resting on his palms as he had his eyes closed. You almost backed away after realising that he was sleeping, but stopped when he opened his eyes.
“O-oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you were asleep!” You panicked, bowing at him repeatedly for your mistake. “I'll leave–”
“Do you need anything?” His deep voice felt like thunder as it rang in your ears.
You purse your lips, feeling the heat rush to your face. You reluctantly nodded your head as you took a step inside the room, closing the door behind you.
“About last Friday…”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow as he stood up, taking a step forward as he placed his hands on his pocket. “What about it?”
“Y-yeah uhm… Thank you for… f-for…” You started stuttering, your hands shaking on your sides. Sukuna's eyes landed on them, which startled you to clasped your hands together instead to keep them still, but it didn't really help.
“Say it.” He demanded, and it made you even more nervous because he was staring at you too intently.
“L-last Friday night… I want to thank you for…” You take a breath to calm yourself down. “N-nanami said… you took me h-home?”
“Are you asking me if I did?”
You pinched your shaking hands, not expecting his question. “Y-yes? Did you…?”
“Tsk.” He took a step closer, reaching out to grab your shaky hands with one hand. “What's gotten into the sunshine brat I know, hmm?” He asks, staring at your shaky hands between his. “Nervous?”
“T-that’s not the question, Sukuna.”
“Alright then,” he let go of you, bringing his hands back to his pocket. “I did. Happy?”
You closed your eyes at his answer, your breathing becoming uneven as you opened them again. Sweat is starting to form on your neck, “Why?”
It was the question that had been running in your head for the whole time since Nanami told you that it was Sukuna. And you needed answers. At this instant.
“You were drunk,” Sukuna answered straightforwardly. “Did you want me to leave you alone?”
“N-no! B-but–”
“Don't put too much ideas in your head.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
The world seems to start crashing down, and that's all the answers you need.
What were you expecting anyway? That magically, Sukuna started to care for you just because he had the heart to act like a person towards you? That maybe, he started to realise that his feelings for you were never hatred but it turned into something deep?
No, that's impossible. Liking you the way you like him was never in Sukuna's vocabulary.
So what now?
“Right!” You nodded your head with a smile. “I wasn't thinking of anything! I really just wanted to thank you, that's all!”
Sukuna searched your eyes, trying to read you. But you quickly feigned your disappointment as you grinned at him.
“I just needed to confirm that. Thank you, Sukuna! I should get going now. I won't bother you anymore.” You waved him goodbye as you ran out of the room, and when he was finally out of sight, tears started rolling down your face.
Sukuna, on the other hand, just stared off into space from where you left.
He was… undoubtedly, regretting his words.
***
Is the update too short? lol, ill make it up to you guys once im done with schoolworks!! i promisee 😭 part 4 will be up in idk when ☺️
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nanaslutt · 4 months
Note
NEED A PART 2 OF MMA TOJI RNNNN
Pt 1. here
Contains: fem reader, angst to comfort, fluff, lots of screaming & crying, manhandling, Toji isn't the best with his feelings, confessions, mutual pining, cunnilingus, Toji cums in his pants, soooo much dirty talk, sweet sweet lovey dovey filth, hickeys, biting, crack :3
MDNI
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ
You woke up from your nap with the grating jingle of your phone ringing on your nightstand. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eys, glancing at the clock- 9:13 pm. "Fuck, I must've been tired." You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as you grabbed your phone right when the caller ID of Toji's assistant disappeared from your screen. It was then that you noticed how your phone had over 35 missed messages from the team, 5 plus calls, and even a text from your best friend, Shoko.
"What the fuuuuck?" You whispered into the room, standing up to flick on your light, your phone started ringing once more- Toji's assistant was calling again. You slid the green check over, answering the call, "Are you with Toji right now?" Her rushed voice spoke through the phone. "What? No, I was sleeping." You answered, sitting back down on your bed as you sat criss crossed on top of your sheets. "Fuck, he won't answer his phone." She cursed, the sound of a car revving could be heard in the background- why was she driving this late?
"You're scaring me, what's going on?" You said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you fiddled with the hem of your shorts. "I'm so sorry babe, it's okay, but I'm going to need you to stay off of your phone, I'm on the way to pick you up now." She said as calmly as she could muster. "Please tell me whats going on, is Toji okay?" You asked, holding your hand over your chest as you felt a sort of nauseousness come over you. "I don't know what that asshole is doing, he's probably drunk or something." She responded, cursing under her breath some more as she finished.
What the fuck did that mean? You put her on speaker and swiped out of the call, not wanting to give her any indication that you were scrolling through your phone after she just told you not to. The first message you checked was from Shoko.
Shoko: Is that video real?
Shoko: Babe, pick up your phone, what the fuuuck is going on
Shoko: This is not the time to be napping, fuck, pick up right now
You scrolled through was seemed like an endless row of texts from her that all read the same thing, until one caught your eye, making your heart sink to your stomach.
Shoko: Why didn't you tell me you were hooking up with Toji?
Your heart started beating out of your chest, you covered your mouth as you felt something rise up your throat, your face felt hot as you took in her words. How did she know you and Toji had been hooking up? Your swiped over to the work group chat that Toji was excluded from and started from the top.
Main manager: Someone get ahold of Toji NOW, and let me know the moment you do, he's playing with his fucking future here.
The thread continued with your coworkers all chattering about Toji, most of them saying how he wasn't responding, this and that- a couple girls you were close with were asking in the chat how you were doing. You were going to be sick. You saw one of his managers say something about a Twitter video in the thread. Faster than the speed of light, you opened up the blue bird icon, and your feed was immediately flushed with snippets of a video you had partook in earlier that day, of you and Toji fucking in the PT room, the most noticeable account that was posting them being Toji's himself.
It was only then that you registered Toji's assistant had been talking to you as her repeated call of your name left her lips and entered your brain. "Fuck." You covered your mouth with your hand and rushed to the bathroom, your name could be heard yelling out to you through the speaker as you barely made it into the restroom in time. Coughing as your knees lay next to the toilet bowl, you heaved air into your lungs as you tried to process what was going on. You were so scared; a million questions rattled through your brain.
Why would Toji post that now? The two of you had been doing this and filming it for months, so why now? Why could no one get ahold of him? Were you going to get fired? We're you safe right now? Toji has been the sex symbol of the MMA world for years, he had too many fangirls to keep track of, surely they had it out for your head now. You groaned into the small space of the bathroom, flushing the toilet you stood up on shaky legs and walked back into your bedroom.
Toji's assistant must've heard your breathing because she called out to you again, "Are you okay? I heard the toilet flush. Fuck I'm going to kill him I swear I-" Your weak voice cut her off, "I gotta go." You said, not hearing her protests as you clicked the big red button on the screen, ending the call. Anger, confusion, and sadness along with all of these unanswered questions consumed your entire being as you opened up Toji's chat and spilled your guts out to him.
You screamed, your voice cracking as fat tears rolled down your face, curses coming out broken as you choked on your words; and to think you were actually starting to like him. Of course, he was like all the others. You threw your phone against the wall, a loud thumb resounding against the hard surface as you buried your head in your hands, sobbing into the silent room as you waited to hear the knock of Toji's assistant through the wall.
--
Toji doesn't think he's ever felt so frantic in his life, even amidst all the chaos that would come with showing his face in public, especially around what was going on right now, he forgot to throw on a face mask as he ran into the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the numbers to decline, hitting the bottom floor.
How was he going to fix this? Could he fix this? He swore he would never throw another punch again if he couldn't make this right, fuck being the world champion MMA fighter, that didn't mean anything if you weren't there by his side. He was thrown back to earlier that day when he had invited you over to his house for drinks, feeling dejected when you had to decline, saying you had a lot of work to do and errands to run- and so little time to do so. He couldn't help but think how things would've been if you had come over for drinks.
The two of you would've drank some expensive liquor he got from some rich old man at a company dinner, probably bickered; as the two of you did. He bet you would've been rolling around together in his sheets right now, continuing what had occurred earlier in the day. He ultimately would've missed the text he got from the strange number from being so absolved in you-- or maybe the two of you would've been cuddling by then, your naked chest pressed to his as some show played in the background of his too-large bedroom while he sipped on the expensive liquor and felt your heartbeat against his skin.
There was always the possibility he could've seen the message after the two of you were finished, and clicked on it anyways; at least then you wouldn't be thinking he betrayed your trust and had leaked the video himself, and you could've delt with it together.
He couldn't stop thinking about how uncharacteristically sad and weak you sounded. The anger still being evident in your voice, but the sorrow and betrayal were thick in your tone, you sounded utterly defeated. He had never heard you curse his name in the way you did through the phone. You really sounded like you meant it. By the time he came to, he was already halfway to your house, he had no idea how he had gotten so far and not realized. He could have been running people down in the street and passing through every red light and not have known.
He prayed he would make it to your house before anyone else did, after all, he knows all the shortcuts to your home, he had spent a lot of time there over the past months you two had been doing whatever it was you were doing. He swerved past cars, ignoring his blinker signal as he raced through gaps in the lines of the road between vehicles, not being conscious of his well-being as the only thought on his mind was to get to you.
He pulled into your housing complex, parked his very expensive car on the side of the road, and didn't even bother locking it as he made a b-line for your front door. You were still crumpled on your bed and crying when you heard the frantic knock on your door, signaling to you that Toji's assistant had arrived. You pulled yourself off of your now tear stained sheets and wiped your wet cheeks before you started making your way for the front door.
The pounding continued, making you scrunch your eyebrows together in annoyance. You know she had no idea how to know if you heard her, but you were feet away from the door, have some patience. With a sigh, you turned the handle to your door and swung it open, stepping to the side to let her in, when you froze. Standing in front of you was none other than Toji himself, he was panting like he had just finished running a marathon, his hair was damp, his shirt was wrinkled, and he looked more of a mess than you did.
For some reason, Toji was the last person you were expecting to see, hearing about his disappearance from everyone and all. You registered his presence too late as he forced himself through the doorway and into your home. "Toji-" You started, feeling the anger start to rise, and the tears start to form in your sockets. "Let me talk." He said, quietly, shutting the door behind him as he took slow and careful steps toward you as you backed away.
You felt like the prey, and he was a predator the way he was stalking your movements. "Ill scream right now." You said as serious as you've ever said anything, keeping your eyes on him, unwavering. "It wasn't me-" He tried to speak. "Get the fuck out of my house!" You yelled, not wanting to hear him out. He called out your name softly, followed by a please. "Toji, get the fuck out!!" You repeated, pointing your hand angrily to the door behind him. Your sudden movements broke his stalking spell as he took long strides quickly up to you. "Stop!" you yelled again, louder this time.
You turned away from him to excape to another room, but you were too late. He grabbed your arm with a force that scared you, keeping your body in place as he wrapped the arm around your body, placing his other hand firmly over your mouth as he pressed you back against his chest, keeping you in place there. You tried yelling against his palm, curling your arms up to dig your nails into his forearms as you wiggled against his iron grip.
He knew this was absolutely the wrong way to go about this, but he had never done anything like this before, his emotions were too overwhelming. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered, holding you against him, making sure his hand placement on your hip wasn't hurting you too bad as he brought you down on the floor to your knees, all the while his hand stayed over your mouth as tears flowed freely down your face, curing into his hand.
"It wasn't me, baby it wasn't me who posted that video." He said softly, keeping his hand over your mouth while he got his words out, making sure you were listening. "I would never do that to you." He continued, while you gripped his large forearm with a force he didn't even know was possible for you to exert, breathing heavily as your screams and attempts to excapre from his arms died down.
How were you supposed to believe him? A part of you really wanted to, Toji did not seem like the kind of man who would do this, so boldly if anything. Why would he post your sex tape on his main account unless he was batshit crazy? But you knew there were definitely secrets this man had under his belt, which made you skeptical as you tried to listen to his words, taking deep breaths in through your nose to get your emotions under control.
"My phone got hacked, that's the reason no one could reach me, the reason you couldn't reach me." he made a point to emphasize. "I clicked on some stupid fucking link because my ego felt bruised.." He paused, to which you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion at his explanation, but listened nonetheless. "And my phone shut down. I got a call from my manager cussing me out for posting that shit, but I explained everything to him." He said softly, keeping his iron grip on your body.
The tears still flowed over your cheeks, dampening his fingers as he spoke, "When I saw your messages I came over here as fast as I could, I'm sorry for not responding I-" He paused, swallowing a lump in his throat, "I couldn't let you think I would do this to you, I had to know you were okay." He said, feeling his face heat up at the words he was saying, the man had never been so vulnerable in his life.
He kept his hand around your mouth for a couple moments after, letting you absorb his words before his hand fell from your mouth, the arm around your body loosening in tandem. "Never grab me like that again." We're the first words that fell from your lips, making him wince at your harsh tone. "Where is your phone?" You asked next. "My house." He responded quickly, trying to gauge your reaction now that you had heard the truth.
You stood from his grasp, his body staying on the floor as he watched you get up and walk forward a couple steps, looking like you were wiping your eyes while you faced away from him before you turned around to look at him, and with a quivering lip you sighed, sliding your body down the wall adjacent from him, only a couple feet in front of him as you tipped your head back against the wall and let the hot tears roll down your flushed cheeks, "Fuck." Your voice came out cracked, "What am I going to do." You cried, covering your mouth as you kept your eyes shut, sobbing in front of him.
"The team is meeting at my house, we'll figure this out." He spoke, trying to reassure you, but his words only resulted in you snapping at him. "Easy for you to say! Everyone is in love with you! Do you have ANY idea how many people would kill to sleep with you?" You said, dropping your chin as you raised up from your spot on the floor, now standing in front of him.
He called your name, slowly standing from the floor as well as you continued yelling at him, "Those people are going to hunt me down for this Toji! Fuck! This is such a fucking mess, I should've never slept with you in the first place." Toji's breath caught in his throat as your words hit him harder than any punch he's ever received in the ring. You continued pacing in front of him, running your hands through your hair and cursing under your breath.
"You really mean that?" He said, making you stop your pacing. "You would really take all of that back?" He was trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice, but you were too overwhelmed to notice it anyway. "Well we wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't kissed me all those months ago would we?" You spat, looking him up and down. His eyebrows scrunched together as his eyes squinted at you, "This isn't my fault." He spoke, tilting his head at you.
"Who's fault is it then?" You challenged, walking up to him and placing your chest inches from his. "YOU hired me on the team, YOU kissed me first, YOU took the first video, YOU started this." You said, poking your nail into his chest with every point you made. "So were just going to skip over how YOU accepted this job, YOU kissed me back, YOU begged me to take the video, this is not my fault!" He yelled back, shaking his head at you.
"Well, It's sure as hell not mine!" You defended yourself, backing up from his body as you shook your head in disbelief. "I never fucking said it is!" He yelled your name, "This is not out fault!" He tried to keep his composure, but you were making it so fucking hard. "Then who's is it then, huh? Who's is it?" You challenged, tilting your head at him and squinting your eyes as you waited for a response that never came.
"That's what I thought If we just never fucking started this in the first place, we. wouldn't. be. here." You spat through your teeth, making the vein on his forehead pop out in annoyance as he felt his heart sink to the bottom of his feet. Maybe he was wrong about you, he really thought there might be something here but the way you were so willing to wish so easily that you never started this with him in the first place was making him rethink that. "Fuck!" You shoved his chest when he didn't answer, walking into your bedroom to excape this conversation, you felt like you were going to be sick again.
"Where are you going?" He yelled, walking after you as you made your way through the doorway into your personal space. "Anywhere if it means you're not there." You said back, biting your lip between your teeth as you tried to take deep breaths to calm your angry stomach. You weren't sure you were even mad at Toji for this, you just needed someone to blame. He was right after all, you took on this job, you chose to cross this line with him, you consented to everything, but the thought that you might even be a little responsible for this was driving you to deflect, deflect, deflect.
"That's it then? We're done talking?" He said, following closely behind you as you distanced yourself from him with the bet between you. "Toji I don't know what else you want me to say." You said, waving your arms out in front of you as you sighed, shaking your head at him. "Tell me you don't regret this." He said, the sadness returning to his voice. "Tell me you don't regret the last 12 fucking months we spent doing this just because of this." He said like the current situation was nothing.
You laughed incredulously, finding no humor in the situation, "This, could very well be the end of my career." You said, ignoring his first demand. "This might be nothing to some big hot shot celebrity like you, whos sitting on some fucking gold mine, but I'm a little different Toji, I'm not some famous celebrity who can just never work again after this and be fine." You said, your lip quivering as you spoke.
"That's not what I meant." He tried to interject, to no avail as you continued ranting. "Who is going to hire the slut who whored herself out for the number one MMA fighter in the world? No company wants that kind of baggage." You said, shaking your head. "Don't say that shit about yourself." He said, looking sternly into your eyes. "That's all they fucking see Toji, that's all everyone thinks I am." You said, huffing out a curt laugh once more.
"Who cares what a bunch of strangers think about you? They don't matter!" He tried to reason. "You don't fucking get it! You're not listening to me!" You responded, raising your voice. "No, You're not listening to me!" He yelled loudly, catching you off guard at the desperation in his voice. "It doesn't matter what they think because I know. I know what you are. Do you want me to spell it out for you? Huh?" He yelled, his voice cracking as your crying picked up again, hot tears running down your face.
"I love you, okay? I'm in love with you." He yelled, his chest heaving. "Do you see me talk to anyone the way I talk to you? I don't even fucking look at anyone besides you." He said, exasperated, watching the fat tears roll down your cheeks as you watched him with a slack jaw as he made his way to your side of the bed. "The first person I look at when I finish a match, it's always you. It will always be you." He said, grabbing your face in his hands as you stared up at him, silently sobbing, your hands coming to rest on the small of his wasit.
"So tell me you don't regret what we've built, tell me." He said, clenching his jaw under the weight of his teeth. Your red eyes gazed up at him, iris swirling with confusion, sadness, anger, reciprocation. You were thrown back to what started all this as you stood on your tippy toes and crashed your lips with his, hot tears flowing freely from your eyes.
Toji inhaled sharply, wiping the hot tears from your cheeks before dropping his hands to your waist he pressed you against his body, moving your lips together needily. You whined shortly into his mouth, smoothing your hands over to the front of his chest as you started pulling up his shirt, trying to get him naked. Toji understood fully, pulling away from the kiss, he yanked his shirt off of his body in one swift movement and placed his large hands back onto your hips, connecting your lips again.
Toji walked the both of you back a couple feet, bumping the back of your shins against the bottom of the bed frame. You wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him pick up your body, his hands coming to grip under your thighs as he wrapped your legs around his torso and climbed onto your bed, laying your back down on the sheets.
The two of you gasped and panted into the other's mouth through the messy kiss, quiet moans could be heard from the both of you when Toji started humping his hips shallowly into your clothed cunt, to which you wrapped your legs tighter around his large frame, encouraging the feeling. "I don't-" kiss "regret this-" you whispered against his lips, opening your eyes that locked onto his darker ones, blurry from the proximity. "Yeah?" He breathed into your cavern, one of his hands coming down to pull your legs off of his waist so he could pull your night shorts off.
"Yeah~" You wined, running your hands over his toned chest while he leaned back on his heels and pulled your shorts and panties down your body in one swift movement, exposing your already-soaked cunt to his eyes. Toji wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed you higher up on the bed, making room for himself as he slotted himself between your legs, gripping around the fat of your thighs, he let you sling them over his shoulders as he pressed soft but needy kisses to the insides of your thighs.
"Toji~" You whimpered, keeping your swollen eyes on his as he looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He tightened his hold on your thighs, squeezing the fat in comfort, "It's just us baby, let me take care of you." his deep voice spoke softly. The rapidness in which you were experiencing all of your emotions at once was giving you whiplash, but Toji's comforting thumb rubbing your skin was helping you ground yourself.
You nodded, and with that, Toji vacuumed his lips to your clit and got to work. "Ffuuck~" You wined breathily, tipping your head back against your familiar sheets-- heavy eyes shutting in pleasure as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, humming against it. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, soaking in each and every one of your reactions. He released your clit with a pop; sticking out his tongue he dragged it through your folds before bringing the wet appendage back up to your clit and drawing his name across it.
Toji started humping his hips into the mattress, not being able to handle your soft moans echoing into his ears and his alone. He felt like the two of you were the only people in the world, he hoped you were feeling the same. He knew he couldn't fix this situation with the snap of his fingers, and it was sure to come with some level of consequence for the both of you, but he didn't want you to think about any of that right now, he just wanted you to focus on his tongue, and the pleasure it was bringing you.
He wished he could make you feel like this all the time, you looked like you were experiencing complete bliss, the way your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrashing, you looked like you were in another world mentally from his tongue. Toji felt extra sensitive at this moment; maybe a combination of the confession and your sweet moans, the way you were squeezing his head with your thighs, your taste, all of it was making him feel like a virgin.
The mattress was also working him over surprisingly well. The ache in his cock was so strong, so he appreciated any sort of relief, he just didn't expect humping the bed sheets like some pre-teen would feel so good-- once again he thinks he had you to thank for most of what he was feeling. He couldn't help but wonder if he could get off like this; losing himself in your cunt as his thoughts kept rolling, he rapidly flicked his tongue on your sensitive bud, keeping his eyes on your flushed face.
"Right there- Fuck- Toji-" You wined, thrashing your head back and forth against the mattress, you laced your hands with one of his on your thigh, the other threading itself through his hair, still damp from his shower, as you gripped onto the strands for support. He headed your words, rolling his warm tongue over your clit as he drew shapes and words onto the bud, loving the way your back arched and the muscles of your thighs tensed under his hands.
He groaned into your wetness when you started rolling your hips against his face, moaning 'mhm''s into your cunt at his approval. He knew you were getting close when you started holding your breath, your moans pausing for a period of time before a larger one echoed throughout the room, another telltale sign being the way your thighs started to shake. "B-baby I'm gonna cum- 'ur gonna make me cum-" You whimpered, squeezing his hand in yours as he rapidly brought you to your high.
The man between your legs pinched his eyebrows together while he watched you fall apart on his tongue. He Humped his hips against the bed he felt himself feel dizzy watching your eyes roll back in your head as you repeated his name like a mantra. He felt his own orgasm crash over him as well, right when you gripped your nails into his hair and started riding out your own.
He moaned loudly into your cunt, sending delicious vibrations through your pussy as he worked you through the shocks of your orgasm. Toji's eyes were rolling back in his head as he felt rope after rope be realized into his pants, firmly pressing his hips into the bed for as much relief as possible as he shook his head against your wetness, letting you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm out on his tongue. "Fuck-" You heaved, releasing your grip on his hair you pulled is back to push your own out of your face, blinking away the fuzziness your orgasm created in your eyes.
Toji left one more kiss against your oversensitive clit before pulling away and raising his body to sit back on his heels, your thighs now slung over his more muscular ones. Your half-lidded eyes dropped to his crotch, noticing the twitching from under his sweats as a dark grey spot had formed right where his cock was. "Toji, did you-" You started, raising your eyes back up to meet his and blushing at the sight.
Toji was breathing heavily, his jaw dropped in a small o as his eyes flicked between your own, and the mess he made between your thighs. That same mess was coating the entire bottom half of his face, some on his nose and upper cheeks from how sloppily he had been eating you out. "Didn't know you liked eating my pussy that much." You smiled at him, wrapping the naked bottom half of your body around his hips as he leaned into you, placing his strong forearms by the sides of your head.
He leaned down to the crook of your neck and started leaving slow, teasing kisses against the skin, making you gasp softly. "Has there ever been a time we fucked that I didn't eat you out first?" He asked, his hot breath tickling your neck as he used his hand to tip your chin toward the ceiling to give himself more room. "Even when we have five minutes to get our shit done," kiss "I still eat your cunt out first don't I?" His deep voice vibrates into your skin, making you moan at his words.
"Yes, you- you do-" You respond, letting him spoil you with his heavy neck kisses. "I love makin' you feel good. Makes me so fuckin' hard to see you squirmin' like that cos of me." He continues, shallowly humping his semi-hard on against your naked cunt as he speaks. "Every time I feel you cum on my fingers before I fuck you." A bite could be felt on your neck, pulling the skin towards him before he let it drop back into place, "Makes me feel like I'm goin' fuckin' crazy." You whimper, grinding your hips into his as you meet his slow thrusts.
"Love hearin' you too," You giggle when he kisses a ticklish spot. "Okay I get it, you're in love with me~" You tease, running your hands through his air as he sucks purple bruises into your neck. "It's just that though." He says, pulling his head away to look at you directly. "I think I'm falling in love with you."
You've never seen the expression that was currently lying across Toji Fushiguro's features right now, it didn't look wrong; just unusual, and you think you could get used to it. He looked so bashful, almost pouting as he blushed down at you; he looked so soft. He leaned down for a kiss slowly, the two of you looking between your lips and eyes before-
*ring ring ring* ..... *ring ring ring .....
Toji dropped his head back into your neck defeatedly with a sigh, he almost forgot what was happening right now, you had that effect on him. You laughed at his reaction, feeling him leave weak kisses against your shoulder as you reached over to the nightstand and grabbed your phone, sliding the green button across the screen as you held it up to your ear.
"Hello?" You spoke into the receiver, wincing when the grating voice of Toji's assistant screamed through the phone. "I'm here, tell me why Toji's car is outside your house right now?! Are you with him?! Why did you not tell anyone!!" She yelled, Even from Toji's place on the opposite side of your neck, he could still hear her words loud and clear. "He got here not too long ago, and wanted to explain everything to me." You answered, running your hands through his hair absentmindedly as you spoke.
"Explain?! Explain what?? Why he leaked a fucking sex tape on a major social media sight, ON HIS PUBLIC ACCOUNT??" She yelled. You had to admit, her rage on your behalf felt nice, you always did like her, but you couldn't help but giggle at her words. After a brief back-and-forth explaining the situation to her, she sighed, and you heard her car start up again in the background. "Next time Toji goes MIA and the entire team is going batshit trying to find him, please at least let someone know." She sighed, feeling a headache come on.
Toji snatched the phone from your hand and pressed it against his ear. "We were a little busy." He said, rendering her completely speechless for a couple beats. You made sure to smack him upside the head, wrangling the phone back from him you muttered out a quick 'sorry' before letting her process Toji's words some more. "I don't want to know what that means and don't tell me. I don't wanna be liable for any of this shit, I don't know anything." She deadpanned, making you laugh into the receiver.
"Oh, so this is funny to y-" Another loud sigh could be heard from miles away from the intensity of it leaving her lips, "The two of you meet the team at Toji's in ten, hanging up now." She said before the dial tone blared through your phone. You turned your phone off, your body going limp against the sheets as you were brutally forced back into reality. If you had it your way you would stay in this bed forever, embraced in Toji's arms as the two of you lived your whole life out in this one room.
With a groan, he begrudgingly rolled himself off of you, walking over to your desk he grabbed your purse and turned back around to watch you sling your legs off the side of the bed and start sliding on your pants; the expression on your face was distant. Toji placed your bag on the mattress before he slotted himself between your legs and held your hands in his face, making you look at him. "It's going to be okay." He said, nodding his head. You shut your eyes, feeling the nausea start to creep back over you, Toji's words aided in keeping most of it down.
"Fuck, I don't wanna go" You said, leaning your heavy head into the side of his palm. He wasn't used to seeing you so soft, but it pulled all the right strings in his heart. He knew this was an absolutely horrid situation, but he couldn't help but want to engrain this exact moment into his brain forever. "It'll be alright, well get through this together." He reassured. You cracked your eyes open and stared at him blankly, pouting your lip at him.
"I meant I didn't wanna be seen with you and that very obvious cum stain on your pants, but that part too--sure, we'll figure this out." You said, forcing back a smile. Toji licked his teeth before the warmth of his hands were gone, and he walked over to where you kept your pants in your closet, you laughed as his figure disapeared into the open walk in closet, his wet pants and boxers being comedically thrown out of the room as he found something suitable to put on instead.
He walked out in a pair of your plaid pajama pants, that were about a foot and a half too short on him. "You know what, I'm glad your sex tape got leaked." He said, placing his hands on his hips as he looked at you all too seriously for the silly outfit he was adorned in. You covered your mouth as you burst into a fit of laughter, the scene made Toji internally sigh in relief, he knew you were trying to play tough to protect yourself from all those scary emotions, so he was glad to see you genuinely smile tonight.
"Let's go big boy." You said, throwing your bad over your shoulder and swiping your phone from the desk as you headed for the entrance of your bedroom. Toji followed hot on your heels, bumping into you when you stopped in your tracks and turned your head over your shoulder. "I think I'm falling in love with you too." You spoke into the quiet air, welcoming the feeling of Toji's warm hand rubbing on your arm before you trekked forward and made your way out the door to Toji's penthouse to meet the team.
Bonus scene:
You and Toji walk into his main room, every member of Toji's team sitting in his living room already as the chatter bustles loudly, computer keyboard clicking resonating through the room, men yelling at poor representatives on phones mixing with the conversation.
The room goes completely silent as soon as one of them looks your way, the rest of their eyes following; you swear a pin dropping could be heard.
They took in your states, Toji, his hair slightly wavy, slightly straight, sticking in every direction. The pants he wore bursting at the seams of the thighs as the ankle of the pant rested bellow his knee. You, adorned in black leggings and some band T-shirt, two different colored and different length socks hugged your ankles, your entire body wrapped in a snug looking grey robe- and of course, the dark purple hickeys that scattered across the expanse of your neck.
Toji raised an eyebrow, his lip curling upwards as his deep voice spoke. "Somethin' on my face?"
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