#Window Design Assignment Help

[sixxels]

it girl

nerd!gojo x popular!model!reader

wc: 20.1k

part 1 ! part 2 !

!!disclaimer!! will include major mentions of fling!sukuna x reader, smut, fluff, angst w/comfort. m.list

you were his most well kept secret, scrolling your instagram for hours on end, collecting each and every magazine that you'd ever featured in, satoru was obsessed with you, the gorgeous goddess who just so happened to go to his university. what happens when he sees you struggling to reach a book in the library and plucks up enough courage to finally go up and talk to you? how will the resident bad boy sukuna disrupt his fever dream come true?

the old campus library felt like a different world, ornate woodwork climbing up the walls, interrupted only by tall leaded-glass windows that caught the soft amber glow of autumn. outside, the trees were aflame with color, copper, rust, deep crimson, and their reflection danced on the polished floors. inside, the air was quiet and thick with the scent of time, yellowed pages, candle wax, and the faintest trace of dust that even the best-kept secrets couldn’t shake.

this was satoru’s sanctuary. dim corners, forgotten shelves, long tables where no one noticed if you stayed for hours. it was the one place he could be invisible. which is why his heart damn near exploded when you walked in.

you didn’t belong here, not in the best way. you were all shimmer and gloss, y2k fantasy made flesh, swishing through the hushed aisles like you were on the catwalk of a juicy couture fever dream. pink cheetah-print mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips catching the library’s warm light, a bedazzled phone clutched in one hand and a louis vuitton pochette tucked under the other. your heels made the kind of clack that had half the students peeking over their books.

and gojo? he saw everything.

he watched as you scanned the shelf, rising up on your tiptoes, your acrylics fluttering helplessly just inches from the book’s spine. of course it had to be the top shelf.

of course no one else was around.

gojo adjusted his glasses, heart hammering in his chest. his fingers hovered over his laptop, still stuck on line 43 of an astrophysics assignment he stopped understanding twenty minutes ago.

he’d memorized every one of your photos, every cover shoot, every tiktok q&a where you smiled that same glossy smile.

but this? this was real. this was his chance.

the goddess of his screen, right here in the dusty old sanctuary he never thought you’d step foot in, struggling to reach a book that he was tall enough to grab without even trying.

clearing his throat almost as a way to prepare himself, he closed the lid of his lap top and stood.

his palms were sweating. he wiped them on his jeans as subtly as he could, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to escape. every step felt unreal, like he was glitching through a dream he wasn’t supposed to be part of. he could hear the faint squeak of his sneakers against the hardwood floor, echoing too loud in the silence, like the library itself was watching him with bated breath.

you didn’t notice him at first, too busy tiptoeing, a pout forming on your glossy lips as your fingers swiped at nothing but air. your pink mini rode a little higher as you stretched, glittery charm bracelet jingling with the effort, and satoru had to drag his eyes back up to your face like a gentleman. his throat went dry.

he cleared it quietly. “uh—need some help?”

you turned, and wow.

up close, you were somehow even more perfect. highlighter catching on your cheekbones, the faint scent of candy and designer perfume floating around you like some kind of spell. your eyes met his, confused for a split second, then amused. not mean, not mocking. just… curious. like you were trying to place him. like maybe he was a page you’d never noticed before.

“errr, yeah,” you said, with a breathy little laugh that made his stomach flip. “not built for reaching stuff that high.”

he blinked, then smiled, nervous but trying to play it cool. “lucky for you, i majored in tall.” you laughed again even though it was kind of dry, real, sparkly, light. and satoru swore he’d never heard anything more perfect in his life.

“you’re funny,” you said, stepping aside to give him room. “what’s y'name, hun?” he froze for a half second. she’s asking your name, idiot, say it!

“gojo. i mean, satoru. gojo satoru. either one. or uh. both, at once.” he winced. smooth satoru, real smooth. you just tilted your head, smiled like you didn’t mind at all, and watched him pluck the book down with one easy reach.

“thanks, but satorus too long, and i hate calling people by their last name.” you said, cradling the book in your arms like a purse dog. satoru's eyes widened like he was surprised you'd say that so outright. he cleared his throat and runnned his neck. "oh, i see... what would you like to call me then?" he said bashfully.

“hmm. toru, ill call you toru." you said lazily chewing whatever pink gum you had in your mouth.

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “toru... it's sounds good on your tongue- i mean! in your mouth- holy shit wait, that's not what i meant to-.”

you cut him off with a loud giggle, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth once you realized you were in a library, not that it did much to muffle the still continuing melody.

his brain short-circuited.

he was sure of it. neurons fried. circuits blown. oxygen? never heard of her. because you were standing there, laughing like he was actually funny, like this wasn’t a scene straight out of one of his most unhinged daydreams.

you gave him a look, amused, playful. god, he was dying. his soul was ascending like a cartoon ghost floating up from his body.

you shifted your weight, resting one hip against the shelf. the fluorescent light overhead made the rhinestones on your bebe cami sparkle. you tucked the book under your arm like it was a designer clutch and popped another bubble of gum, watching him with a kind of lazy, feline curiosity.

“so,” you drawled, “what’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone in a dusty place like this?”

pretty. you called him pretty.

he almost choked.

“i, uh—” he coughed, adjusting the frames on his face, trying to stall while his brain caught up. “i like… books?”

you laughed again. it was dangerous, the way you looked at him like that. like he was adorable. like he wasn’t wearing a hoodie with digimon on it and sneakers he hadn’t replaced in three years. like he wasn’t the guy who built computers in his dorm for fun and had a separate folder of your magazine covers saved on his hard drive labeled “for science” even though no science was involved.

“you’re cute,” you said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious.

and satoru? satoru was gone.

he stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, face flushed a gentle pink that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. the air was suddenly thick. too warm. too sweet. it smelled like your bubblegum perfume and fall leaves and something else he couldn’t name, something that made his chest ache.

“y-you think so?” he asked softly, stunned.

you tilted your head again, hair bouncing. “don’t be weird 'bout it, 'course i do.”

he felt his knees weaken. he had to stay calm. say something cool. say something flirty. you’ve practiced this in the mirror for god sake!

“you’re, uh—” he tried, mouth dry. “you’re like… really symmetrical. scientifically speaking. your face, i mean. p-perfect proportions.”

you blinked at him, stunned for half a second before giggling again.

“are you trying to flirt with me using the golden ratio?”

“…yes.”

“oh my god,” you said, biting your lip. “that’s actually kinda hot.”

he almost moaned at your flirty tone.

he was talking to you. you. the girl whose instagram he checked religiously, zooming in on every new post like it was a secret message just for him. he knew what your favorite lip gloss was. he knew you preferred oat milk. he’d bought three different issues of vivi just to see the full spread of your beach shoot, and had one of them hidden in the bottom drawer under his spare laptop cables. the girl he had fucked his fist raw to.

you were standing right in front of him, telling him he was hot for quoting fibonacci.

this couldn’t be fucking real.

“do you, like… study fashion or something?” he blurted out, trying to keep the conversation going.

he couldn't lose this opportunity.

“not that you need to. you look like… like you walked out of a y2k time capsule, but in a cool way. like, the hottest- i mean coolest way.”

you grinned, chewing your gum thoughtfully. “nah. i'm in marketing. but i do part-time modeling gigs. keeps my followers happy. and my bank account.”

'oh, i know.' he thought, but smiled like he didn’t. like he hadn’t memorized your last seven ad campaigns and tracked the rise in your follower count every week.

“that’s really cool,” he said instead. “you’re, like, really good at it.”

you raised a brow. “you’ve seen my stuff?”

he panicked. “uh. once. maybe. a few times. like… it came up. on the internet.” he cleared his throat.

you smirked. “just came up, huh?.”

he felt the heat rush to his ears. “i… no… maybe.”

you stepped a little closer, still grinning, glossy lips curving like you knew exactly the effect you had on him.

“it’s okay, toru,” you whispered conspiratorially. “i'm fine with hot guys like you looking at my stuff.”

he snorted, loud and awkward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. your laughter followed, softer this time, almost sweet. you didn’t seem like you were judging him. if anything, you seemed like you were delighted by how much of a mess he was.

you leaned back against the bookshelf, flipping the book’s cover open lazily. “what were you working on, before i came over and distracted you with my tragic lack of height?”

he glanced back at his table, his laptop still open, screen filled with half-written code and tabs full of equations.

“just… homework. physics stuff. not super interesting.”

you hummed. “oh wow physics! you really are a genius? not some nerd poser or something?”

“or something,” he said with a sheepish grin.

you eyed him again, like you were scanning him. tall. gangly, but in a model-off-duty kind of way. platinum white hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. piercing blue eyes behind round glasses that only made him look more ridiculously pretty, like a gorgeous professor with no idea how hot he actually was.

you popped another bubble. “you're hot toru, y'know that?”

he groaned, covering his face. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you nudged his arm with your elbow. “in an endearing way, though.”

his heart did a full backflip. she’s flirting with me. she’s actually flirting with me. this isn’t a simulation. this is real.

he was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way your perfume lingered in the air. the soft click of your nails against the book cover. the scuff on your pink heels. your lip gloss glinting like a disco ball every time the light shifted. his eyes trailed down to the perfect curve of your tits, god what he would give to cop a feel for just a secon-

“so,” you said, as casually as if you were asking for the time, “you gonna ask for my number or just keep eye fucking me like that?”

his jaw dropped.

you giggled again.

“i—I wasn't- i was gonna-,” he stammered, clutching the edge of the bookshelf for support. “i just didn’t know if, i mean, you’re, like, you. and i’m just—”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re toru.”

he blinked.

“my toru, if you play your cards right.”

he was dead. buried. emotionally incinerated.

“uh—can i—yeah—your number, please. definitely. like. right now.”

you pulled your phone from your purse, bedazzled case catching the light like a chandelier. “here."

he shakily took your phone.

you peeked at it and burst out laughing. “just 'gojo'? that's lame.”

he shrugged, somehow managing a grin. “oh! uh... i guess you'll have to make up the name...”

he saw your lips curl as you typed in a new name. you turned the phone around and he read the contact.

'toru 🫦'

“you’re so... flirty...”

“yeah i get told that.”

you tilted your head again. “i like you, toru, you're cool.”

he didn’t think anything in his life had ever sounded better.

"r-really? you're like, really cool to-"

"y/n! hurry the hell up or we're leaving without you!"

a foreign voice interrupted the moment, and you looked over your shoulder through the book cases to see sukuna and yuki looking around for you.

"ah shit, sorry toru but i gotta run. parties am i right?"

satoru stammered abit before straightening up and nodding his head quickly like he knew anything about parties. he gulped looking at sukuna, he alone looked 100x more likely to be dating a hot model like you, he was tatted up, smoking hot and oh so boyish. you were hanging out with guys like this on the daily? it made satoru's self confidence waver.

"no, yeah, totally. uhm... it was really nice meeting you y/n-"

"you too toru see yah! i'll text you!"

you replied, fast walking off to your popular friends that seemed to be pretty adamant in you returning quickly.

satoru watched you walk away, heart still pounding in his chest. the weight of the moment, of you, was slowly sinking in.

he stared after you, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching the way you moved—effortless, like a star gliding through space, not a care in the world, completely unaware of the way the whole library seemed to be holding its breath in your presence, just like him. he saw how students whispered as you passed by, you were already back in your element, heading toward your friends. your heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as you weaved through the bookcases.

'she called me toru. she called me toru.'

he could barely wrap his mind around it. you were her. the goddess he’d collected magazines of, the one whose photos kept him up all night, the girl whose life seemed so perfect and out of reach. and you’d called him toru, a nickname only his mom called him.

like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he felt his pulse racing again, the aftershock of the interaction rippling through him. 'there was no fucking way this was real. it couldn’t be. not in a million years.'

he stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching your figure shrink as you disappeared into the crowd of students waiting at the library exit. a part of him wanted to run after you, but he stayed rooted to the spot, trying to calm his breathing, trying to get his bearings.

'i'll text you' your words rang in his ears.

he fumbled for his phone, eager to check for the message. he knew it wasn’t going to be anything mind-blowing, just a quick “hey” or maybe an emoji, but it didn’t matter. it was something.

his hands shook as he unlocked the screen.

no new messages. his heart sank, and for a brief moment, he was ready to throw his phone out the window. 'don’t overthink it, satoru. it’s just one conversation. stop acting like she’s going to text you back immediately, you idiot.'

he paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind in a complete fog. the sound of his footsteps was the only thing that seemed to ground him, the reality of the library pulling him back from his spiral of thoughts.

'okay. okay, you need to calm down. what just happened is… insane. but it’s not like she’s your girlfriend. hell, you barely know her. but fuck…'

he sat down at the nearest table, pulling out his laptop and trying to force himself to focus. his fingers hovered over the keys, but the words weren’t coming to him. the physics problems blurred together on the screen, the equations meaningless in comparison to what had just happened.

he laughed to himself, a quiet sound that felt a little too much like a nervous breakdown.

'she called you pretty. she said you were hot. and she didn’t run away. she didn’t laugh at you. she just called you cute! god, you’re fucked, satoru.'

he couldn’t stop smiling, even though he knew he was being ridiculous.

'this is real, right? she actually liked me. she didn’t just see me as some… weirdo in the corner of the library. she saw me.'

~

you didn’t think much more about it after that. after all, you were you, and satoru? well, he was just some pretty nerd who you had a quick flirty conversation with. sure, it was fun, but it wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.

but you couldn’t help thinking about his smile. the way he stammered and blushed. the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours, like he was afraid he might melt if he looked too long. he wasn’t the first guy to be nervous around you, but there was something… refreshing about the way he acted. not like he was trying to impress you, but like he was genuinely just happy to be talking to you.

it was cute.

you were knocked out of your thoughts when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders as yuki walked next to you out of the library.

“took you long enough,” sukuna drawled, his voice low and rough in that way that made heads turn even when he wasn’t trying. his rings clinked lightly as his fingers settled on your shoulder, all casual possessiveness and knowing smirks. “don’t tell me you were actually studying?”

“she was flirting,” yuki chimed in, tugging her black leather jacket tighter around herself. “with glasses.”

“glasses?” sukuna raised a pierced brow, looking amused. “you mean the lanky nerd who always camps out in the back corner like he pays damn rent?”

you gave a lazy little shrug, chewing your gum thoughtfully as your pink acrylics tapped against your phone screen. “y'know him? he’s cute.”

yuki nearly choked on a laugh, slapping a hand to her chest. “cute? you think he’s cute?”

“like, awkward cute,” you clarified, eyes scanning your texts, pretending not to notice how sukuna’s grip subtly tightened. “he called my symmetrical face hot.”

yuki actually wheezed. sukuna just stared down at you for a second, unreadable. “you fuckin’ with him?” you gave him a sugary smile, lips glossed just right. “no. he was just sweet, helped me reach a book.”

“sweet,” he repeated flatly, like the word offended him on a molecular level. but you were already ahead of them, weaving through the quad, your low-rise mini skirt swishing, a little pink blur in a sea of neutrals. you didn’t even need to look back to know they were following you. people always followed you.

you were the kind of girl people stared at. you were the girl. the one in the center of every group pic. the one who got handed aux at parties. the one every guy either wanted or bragged about knowing. and yeah, it got exhausting sometimes. but it was better than being invisible. it was better than being left behind.

sukuna and yuki flanked you like always, your unofficial bodyguards, your chaos and calm. people moved for the three of you like you were royalty. “what’s his name?” yuki asked as you all approached the parking lot. she was already pulling her keys out, ready to drive you to the party.

“satoru,” you said absently. “but i’m calling him toru.” sukuna scoffed, you were oblivious to the drop in his stomach.

~

back in the library, satoru still hadn’t moved. his brain kept replaying the moment you said his name. toru. he never knew two syllables could make him feel like his chest was going to explode. and then your friends had shown up. those friends.

satoru had locked eyes with the pink-haired one for only a second, but it was enough.

he was tall , broad-shouldered, ink running down his arms like artless declarations of rebellion, slick black piercings catching even the dimmest light of the library. he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear like it was an afterthought, like he didn’t even need it to look dangerous. his shirt clung to him like it didn’t dare wrinkle. his stare was deadpan, half-lidded and bored, like he’d already sized satoru up and decided he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to speak.

his eyes said it all, 'i’ve done things your virgin brain can't even fathom. i’ve had her in ways you��ll never even understand.' satoru felt small, smaller than he had in years.

this guy, sukuna, looked like the kind of man girls wrote warnings about in their diary. the kind your friends begged you to stay away from but you never did. he looked like he lived in red lights and black leather and bad decisions. like he didn’t even need to try to get a girl like you. like he already had.

he looked like the kind of guy you did date.

satoru’s fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous impulse to hide himself behind his sleeves. behind his hoodie. behind something. anything. 'they’re probably just friends,' he told himself. but the words didn’t land. not really.

not when you were surrounded by people like that, cool, popular, hot in a way that didn’t come from filters or good lighting but from raw, lived-in confidence. people who belonged in glossy polaroids, in afterparties, in stolen moments behind closed doors.

people who weren’t him.

he thought about the way you’d laughed at his dumb jokes, called him toru like it was something soft and special. how you’d looked at him like he was something worth looking at. but it didn’t change the fact that he was stammering and akward.

meanwhile, sukuna probably had you pressed against a wall the night before, hand on your throat, like he owned you. satoru blinked down at the ground, heart clenched, throat dry.

what if he does? what if you weren’t just flirting? what if sukuna was the one you called when the party ended? the one who got to see you undone and bare and real?

the image hit him hard, a flash of you in someone else’s bed, laughing the way you had in the library, except it wasn’t for him this time. he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, but the thought had already burrowed in.

'you’re not her type.' and god, wasn’t that the worst part? because he wanted to be.

he wanted to be everything you liked. everything you needed. but standing there in that hoodie with his backpack half-zipped and his heart in his mouth, he wasn’t sure he even belonged in the same room as you.satoru dropped his forehead to the desk, groaning softly.

'get a grip. you’re spiraling. again.'

but he couldn’t help it. not when he’d spent the better part of his freshman year zooming in on pictures of you on the cover of “tokyo street glam.” not when he had a folder on his phone labeled “math notes” that was really just full of screenshots from your instagram stories.

you were his secret. his guilty pleasure. the one girl he let himself obsess over even when he swore he didn’t do that anymore. and now? you were real. not just real, but you’d talked to him. you’d liked talking to him. he finally lifted his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still slightly fogged from the heat of his own forehead.

'snap out of it, satoru. she’s not a fantasy anymore. you met her. she smiled at you. she gave you her number. that has to mean something.'

his phone vibrated. his whole body went rigid he snatched it up off the table so fast he nearly dropped it.

[new message: unknown number]

xxx xxx xxx: heya toru :)

his mouth dropped open a little. he just stared at the screen, like it might disappear. like it was a mirage. his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped quickly.

toru 🫦: hey :)

and then, as fast as he could, he threw his phone face-down on the table and physically shoved his chair away from it like it might explode. his heart pounded. his ears were ringing.

'holy fucking shit she texted you.'

he let out a shaky breath, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and scrubbing them over his face.

~

“he texted back,” you told yuki, holding up your phone lazily.

“he’s probably combusting in that dusty ass library right now,” she grinned, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “you just turned that boy’s world upside down.”

you blew a bubble, letting it pop slow. “good.”

“you gonna see him again?” you shrugged, but your smile betrayed you. “depends. maybe.”

yuki eyed you. “you like him.”

“i don’t not like him.”

from behind, sukuna made a low noise of disapproval.

you ignored it.

~

back inside, satoru was still buzzing. his fingers hovered over the keys, unsure what to say next. he wanted to impress you. to be funny. to be hot. but mostly, he just didn’t want to blow it.

he checked your profile again, he didn’t mean to. it was just instinct now. all your selfies, your campaign shoots, your y2k party outfits, the way you always looked like you stepped out of a dream and into a flashbulb.

your most recent post was from a few minutes ago where you snapped a photo of you and yuki getting ready for a frat party. 'of course.'

~

the alpha phi frat house was already buzzing by the time you and yuki pulled up. the thump of bass-heavy music vibrated through the ground, mingling with the distant chatter and laughter of students spilling out onto the lawn. fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, while the scent of alcohol and pot hung thick in the air.

you stepped out of the car, your mini dress hugging your curves perfectly. your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was a flawless blend of early 2000s glam and modern chic. yuki, ever the contrast, sported a sleek black ensemble, her dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner giving her an edgy allure. as you made your way through the crowd, the familiar faces of your inner circle came into view.

choso was the first to greet you, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in hand. his long, dark hair was tied into two high ponytails, and his deep-set eyes held a quiet intensity. choso was the enigmatic artist of your group, often lost in thought but always present when it mattered. despite his reserved nature, he had a soft spot for you, often sketching portraits of you in his notebook.

“y/n,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“heyy cho,” you replied, giving him a quick hug. “still acting all edgy brooding in corners?”

he chuckled softly. “y'know it.”

nearby, suguru lounged on a couch, his long black hair tied back, revealing a perfectly sharp jawline and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he raised his glass in a silent toast as you approached.

“y/n, always a vision,” he drawled, his voice deep, sexy and smooth as silk.

“awe how sweet of you. not sleeping with you tho, sorry!” you shot back, smirking.

suguru was the charismatic leader, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit. he had a way with words and a confidence that made him irresistible to many. your relationship with him was flirtatious, filled with playful banter and lingering glances.

"that's too bad, pretty."

shoko, the group’s resident medical major and drunkard, sauntered over with a bottle in hand. her short hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“y/n! shot?” she offered, already pouring two.

“you know i can’t say no to you, girl,” you laughed, clinking glasses with her.

shoko was the life of the party, always ready with a drink and a sarcastic comment. she balanced her wild side with a deep loyalty to her friends, always there when it mattered most.

sukuna, ever the token bad boy, leaned against the wall, his tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. his pink hair was tousled, and his eyes followed you as you moved through the room.

he gave you a once over and approached you, slinking an arm around your waist and hooking his head down to inhale you're perfume with a groan.

sukuna was your on-again, off-again fling, the tension between you two palpable. he exuded danger and allure, and while your relationship was complicated, especially with his tendency to be extremely unloyal, there was no denying the chemistry.

you giggled before pushing him off and working your way further into the party, dodging bodies as you progressed.

nanami stood nearby, his tie loosened, a drink in hand. he offered you a nod, his expression as stoic as ever.

“y/n,” he greeted simply.

“nanami, letting loose tonight?” you teased, leaning against his side looking up at him. “as much as i can,” he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he dipped his drink.

nanami was the responsible one, always the voice of reason. he kept the group grounded, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to the chaos. maki zen’in, fierce and unapologetic, approached with a confident stride. her athletic build and sharp eyes commanded attention.

“y/n, looking sexy,” she complimented, giving you a nod.

“maki, you look so fucking hot.” you responded.

maki was the strong, silent type, her loyalty unwavering. she was someone you could always count on, both in and out of a fight.

~

as the group settled into their usual banter, yuki leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes, capturing their attention.

“guess who y/n was flirting with today?” she announced, drawing everyone’s attention. the room quieted slightly, all eyes on you.

you shot her a sideways glance and felt for the phone in your pocket, remembering you needed to text a certain someone back.

“a nerd,” yuki continued, grinning.

sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

“a nerd?” suguru echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, glasses, stammering, the whole 9 yards,” yuki elaborated.

“he was cute,” you defended, shrugging, about to hit send on the message you were about to send satoru when sukuna interrupted.

he scoffed, pushing off the wall.

“i’m getting another drink,” he muttered lowly, disappearing into the crowd.

the group exchanged glances, the tension palpable.

“well, that was dramatic,” shoko commented, taking another sip.

choso snorted abit and suguru just shook his head.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. sukuna fucked around with all kinds of girls, what gave him the right to get all pissy? you didn't really like him like that anyways, he just knew how to fuck...

you watched sukuna’s retreating figure push through the crowd, jaw locked, shoulders tense. he didn’t even glance back.

you waited a beat. maybe he was just being dramatic. maybe he’d cool off and come back and pretend like nothing happened.

but he didn’t.

and something about that made your blood boil.

“i’ll be back,” you muttered, not really addressing anyone in particular.

yuki gave you a knowing look but didn’t stop you.

you slipped past sweaty bodies and neon-lit walls, the music thudding behind you like a heartbeat as you pushed open the sliding glass door to the patio. it was colder out here. quieter. sukuna was leaning against the railing, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, jaw clenched tight like he was chewing on all the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

you stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

“you always do this,” you said softly, voice sharp in contrast to the quiet. “get weird whenever someone else so much as breathes in my direction.”

he didn’t turn around. just took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air like it was supposed to calm him.

“so now you’re into nerds?” he said, voice flat. you scoffed. “is that really what you’re mad about?” he glanced over his shoulder, eyes flashing. “i’m not mad.” you stepped closer, irritation prickling under your skin.

“bullshit. you stormed out like i cheated on you or something.” he turned fully to face you now, arms spread slightly like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“we’re not together.”

you laughed, bitter and tired. “exactly. we’re not together. so why the fuck do you care?”

he looked at you then, really looked. and for a second, something flickered in his expression, hurt? jealousy? possession? it vanished almost as quickly as it came.

“i don’t,” he said coldly. “you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”

“then why are you acting like this?”

he stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. “because you act like you don’t care, like it’s just casual, and then go around flirting with other guys like it’s a game.”

“you sleep with other people all the time.”

“yeah, but i don’t shove it in your face.”

“i wasn’t trying to shove anything—” you snapped, taking another step forward, “—you just can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

his eyes narrowed. “and you can’t stand the idea that someone might not want you.”

that one stung more than it should have.

you blinked, lips parting, breath catching in your throat for half a second. then you swallowed it down and stared right back at him.

“fuck you.”

he smirked. “you already did.”

you rolled your eyes and turned, ready to walk back in, to let this whole thing rot where it stood. but then—

“he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” he called out, venom laced in his voice.

you stopped.

turned.

walked right up to him.

“maybe not,” you said sweetly, “but he doesn’t talk to me like i’m disposable.”

sukuna didn’t say anything, jaw tight again, eyes unreadable.

you stepped back. “enjoy your drink.”

and with that, you left him there, cigarette burned down to the filter, staring at your back as you disappeared into the party.

~

you stalked your way back into the party, turning heads as you walked. you navigated back to a some what secluded couch and sat down trying to calm yourself, and think. and maybe, okay, definitely, text that nerd.

you reached for your phone that had been vibrating on and off all night in your purse. as expected, a few dms, a couple mentions from the party, sukuna had liked one of your thirst traps from last week, typical, but it was the one message that you'd received a few hours ago that made your heart do a weird little flip.

toru 🫦[10:03]: wydddd?

you [12:47am]: u still up nerd?

you paused. stared at it. then hit send before you could chicken out.

you rolled onto your back, biting your lip, phone clutched to your chest.

the reply came way faster than expected.

toru 🫦 [12:48am]: im always up for you

you stared at the screen, mouth open.

“what the hell,” you muttered, smiling like an idiot.

you [12:49am]: that was smooth toru. didn’t know you had game

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i don’t. im literally panicking rn

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i had to rewrite that message like five times. you don’t wanna see the first drafts

you snorted.

you [12:50am]: ok show me the deleted ones

toru 🫦 [12:51am]: i think one said “yes i am awake haha as a human does” and then another one just said “gulp”

you [12:51am]: stopppppp LMAO

you [12:52am]: that’s so cute it’s disgusting

toru 🫦 [12:52am]: glad i could repulse you into liking me? i think?

you [12:53am]: don’t get cocky bud ur just some cute guy i met

toru 🫦 [12:53am]: you think i’m cute?

you laughed again, your cheeks a little warm despite the hour.

you [12:54am]: you’re literally the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh my god

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: you’re just saying that

you [12:56am]: i’m not lol. you looked so good in the library today. like… ridiculously good

toru 🫦 [12:57am]: i was sweating so bad. i think my shirt was sticking to me. you looked like a dream tho. a bratz doll kinda dream

you grinned.

you [12:57am]: i am a bratz doll. kinda my whole label lmao. yk what i really like?coffee. speaking of!

you [12:58am]: wanna get some tomorrow? 1pm ish? bluebird café?

your finger hovered for a second before you sent it.

across campus, in a dorm room cluttered with textbooks, half-eaten candy, and his favorite hoodie tossed over the back of his desk chair, satoru gojo was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

he read the message once.

twice.

three times.

and then he launched himself face-down into his pillow and let out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal.

“yes,” he whispered into the sheets. 'yes yes yes fuck yes.'

his thumbs scrambled to reply.

his response came in seconds.

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: yes. yes. yes pls

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: i mean yeah sounds cool lmao

he immediately smacked his forehead. sounds cool?? what was wrong with him?? you were literally the hottest person he’d ever seen and he was texting like someone’s nervous little cousin.

still.

you responded instantly.

you [12:59am]: ur such a loser

toru 🫦 [12:59am]: ur such hottie

he stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding. he could still see you in that tight little outfit from earlier, that confident swing of your hips, your glossed lips twitching when you called him hot, like you already knew what that did to him.

and god, what didn’t it do to him?

he was so far gone. the way you talked to him, like you were toying with him. like you knew he’d let you. like you knew he’d beg if you asked nicely enough.

fuck.

he shifted on his bed, adjusting himself under the sheets with a hiss.

you had him half-hard from just a few texts and a smile.

his phone buzzed again.

you [1:00am]: wear a shirt like you were wearing today again. the tight one. pls. for science.

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: yes ma’am

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: but only if u promise to sit close to me

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: like. real close

you bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck and down your legs.

you [1:01am]: i was gonna sit in ur lap anyway?

gojo made an honest-to-god whimper.

toru 🫦 [1:01am]: brb. passing away. dying. deceased. funeral tmrw before coffee

you laughed into your hands, locking your phone as the giddiness spilled over.

you didn’t know why you were getting all hyped over this guy.

he was awkward. kind of dorky. always blushing.

just an awkward guy with a pretty face.

and you?

you were already dressing to impress. already picturing how he’d react when you leaned in close, lipgloss shining. already planning which perfume would drive him crazy.

just coffee.

totally chill.

except your pulse wouldn’t slow down, and your smile wouldn’t fade.

not even a little.

~

meanwhile, sukuna stood on the patio still, cigarette ash crumbling between his fingers, the cold air biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. all he could think about was the look in your eyes when you told him off. the way your voice didn’t even shake. the way you walked away like he didn’t matter. like he was just another hookup who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

'fuck.'

he dragged the smoke in deep, holding it in his lungs like it might cauterize the part of him that still gave a shit. but it didn’t. it never did.

you always did this. wormed your way under his skin like a parasite. made him feel things he swore he didn’t have in him. and every time, he let you. like a fucking idiot.

you weren’t his. he wasn’t yours. that was the deal. and he liked that. needed it. no strings. no expectations. he fucked, you moaned, and then you went home. clean. efficient.

but tonight?

you had the audacity to smile about some four-eyed loser in a cardigan. to say he was cute, cute, in front of everyone like you weren’t the same girl who’d been choking on his cock last weekend, mascara dripping down your cheeks, begging him to keep going even though you were shaking.

and now? you were giggling over some soft-spoken virgin with library dust in his hair?

fuck off.

he could see it. this “toru” guy blushing like a fucking idiot when you touched his arm. stuttering through compliments. looking at you like you hung the stars. and worse—way worse—he could see you liking it. eating it up. letting yourself be doted on like you were something sweet and fragile.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were a brat. a tease. a bad girl in a tight dress with too much lipgloss and not enough shame. sukuna knew that. he liked that. you weren’t soft. you weren’t gentle. you were fire and sharp teeth and split thighs. that’s what he fucked. what he owned.

and now you were giving that soft shit to someone else?

nah.

he got the real you. the parts no one else could handle. the parts that needed someone like him. the late-night chaos. the bruises you didn’t want to explain. the shame-soaked mornings where you wouldn’t look him in the eye.

he got the truth.

that nerd didn’t know you. he didn’t know the mess under the makeup. the desperate texts at 2am. the neediness that bled through every time you swore you didn’t care.

and you?

you didn’t get to act like you were someone new. like you were pure now, just because some pretty boy batted his lashes at you in the nonfiction aisle.

fuck that.

he scoffed under his breath, flicking the dead cigarette into the grass and watching the embers scatter.

this wasn’t supposed to matter. none of it was supposed to matter.

you were hot. you were cool. and he thought if he kept it physical, kept it casual, he wouldn’t get sucked in.

but there you were. invading his thoughts, ruining his night with one stupid, flirty smile at someone else.

you shouldn’t get to do that.

he dug into his pocket for another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.

he was spiraling and he knew it.

he hated this.

hated how you’d crawl into his head without even trying. hated how you made him feel sixteen again, jealous, stupid, insecure. hated that you didn’t even ask him to stay. hated that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to.

and he really fucking hated the idea that you’d text that guy tonight.

maybe you already had.

maybe he was texting you back right now, saying something dumb and sweet like you looked really pretty today, and you’d eat it up because that was the shit you liked now, wasn’t it?

and sukuna would be out here, sucking down his second cigarette, pretending it didn’t gut him.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, tossing the second one too.

he stared up at the night sky, jaw locked, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could force the feeling down if he just stood still enough.

but it sat there anyway, heavy in his chest.

you were slipping away from him.

and he didn’t even know if he wanted to stop you.

~

he walked back into the house like he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes outside trying not to feel things. the bass of the music hit him first, pulsing through the floorboards, drowning out whatever was left of his pride. he grabbed another drink just to keep his hands busy. he didn’t even know what it was, probably something sugary and cheap,but he needed something to hold so he wouldn’t punch a wall.

he spotted yuki first, dancing near the kitchen with shoko and maki, drinks in hand, glittering under the soft lights strung along the ceiling. he didn’t bother looking for you at first. he told himself he wouldn’t. told himself it didn’t matter.

but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the room like they always fucking did.

and there you were.

sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, grinning down at your phone like it had just told you the funniest joke in the world.

he didn’t have to guess who you were texting.

he knew.

the look on your face said it all. soft. dreamy. your glossed lips tilted into a little smirk, teeth poking through as you bit back a laugh. your fingers moved fast, typing something with a kind of excitement he hadn’t seen in you in a long time. not with him. not for a while.

you never looked at your phone like that after fucking around with him.

no, you usually ghosted him the next day, like you needed to forget it even happened. like he was something you regretted once the high wore off.

but now you were sitting there in a tight little dress, glowing from the inside out, because some nerd made you smile with a few well-timed texts.

he clenched his jaw, setting his drink down before it cracked in his grip.

' fuck that guy.

fuck his stupid glasses.'

fuck how easily he got your attention after one day.

he took a slow breath, trying to shake it off. he wasn’t going to be that guy. the clingy one. the bitter one. he had girls. options. people would kill for a night with him and he knew it. he didn’t need you. he never did.

but goddamn, it felt like you were the only thing he wanted in that moment.

he forced himself to move, leaning back against the counter, trying not to watch you as you texted.

you glanced up once, eyes sweeping the room, and you caught him. just for a second. your smile faltered, and you looked away fast, back to your phone, back to 'toru.'

sukuna’s stomach twisted.

you didn’t come over.

you didn’t even wave.

you just kept texting.

he swallowed hard and looked away.

suguru came up beside him, handing him a new drink. “you look like you’re about to rock someone's shit.”

“i might,” sukuna muttered, taking the cup.

“you know she’s not yours, right?” suguru said casually, like he wasn’t cutting sukuna open with the truth.

sukuna didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

“just saying,” suguru added, sipping his own drink, “you act like you don’t care, but every time she entertains someone else you look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

“she’s not like that with me,” sukuna said quietly.

“yeah,” suguru said, looking back at you, “and maybe that’s the problem."

he hated that look on your face.

soft. sweet. like someone actually deserved it.

like he hadn’t just had you moaning into his neck a week ago.

“unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, jaw twitching. he pushed off the counter and made his way across the kitchen, bumping past some guy in a letterman jacket hard enough to make the drink in his hand slosh. the guy looked ready to say something, but one glance at sukuna’s expression shut him up.

he thrived on that.

the fear. the respect. the control.

he didn’t lose.

and now here he was, second place to some awkward little library rat who probably still asked his mom how to do laundry.

pathetic.

you weren’t even that special. not really.nat least that's what he told himself.

you had a pretty face, sure. tight body, knew how to use it.

but god, were you exhausting.

always wanting to “talk” after. getting weird if he didn’t text back fast enough. acting like he owed you something when all you ever were was convenient.

it wasn’t his fault you caught feelings.

it wasn’t his fault you mistook a few orgasms for meaning.

and now? you were all smiles and fluttery lashes for some guy who’d probably cum in his pants if you so much as kissed his neck.

he laughed, bitter and mean, dragging a hand through his hair.

you’d be bored in a week. two, tops.

guys like that didn’t know what to do with girls like you.

he did.

he knew how to make you fall apart. knew how to get under your skin, pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know you could make. he’d ruined you for other guys, he was sure of it.

and yet there you were, looking like he didn’t exist.

looking like he never even mattered.

he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the cup aside like it disgusted him, then stalked toward the hallway without a word to anyone. if he couldn’t have your attention, he’d find someone else’s.

you weren’t the only hot girl at this party.

and if you wanted to pretend he didn’t matter?

fine.

he’d show you just how easy it was to forget someone.

even if it was a lie.

even if it tore him up inside.

he was good at pretending.

you taught him that.

~

you lock your phone, the ghost of a smile still clinging to your lips, cheeks warm as you sink into the couch cushion. the room buzzes around you, low bass, clinking drinks, scattered laughter, and for a second, you forget where you are. all you can think about is the way satoru types like he can’t get the words out fast enough. like he’s trying to hold your attention before you disappear.

you tuck your phone into your purse and push yourself up, brushing your hands down the sides of your dress. no use staying curled up in the corner when the night’s still young and the liquor is just starting to hit.

“finally decided to rejoin the rest of us?” suguru calls as you weave through the crowd toward the kitchen.

“was that you smiling at your phone like a puppy?” choso adds, lifting a red solo cup to his lips with a grin.

you snort, accepting the tequila shot suguru passes you. “shut up.”

“no, really. that was some schoolgirl shit,” choso teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “who’s got you blushing like that, huh?”

you shoot him a look as you throw the shot back, the alcohol burning a slow, sweet trail down your throat. “nobody.”

“mhmm,” suguru hums, not buying it for a second. “not like you to be giggling like that, especially not when sukuna’s in one of his moods.”

you shrug, licking a little salt from the back of your hand. “he’s always being weird.”

choso raises his brows. “you good with him?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” you say, a little too quickly.

they exchange a look but don’t push it. instead, suguru downs his shot and offers his hand. “come dance.”

you let him pull you onto the living room floor, the music thudding loud enough that it vibrates through your heels. choso joins, the three of you falling into a loose rhythm, spinning and swaying under the hazy glow of the string lights. suguru’s hands find your waist, steady but never greedy, while choso twirls you around with a flourish that makes you laugh.

it feels good, easy. warm bodies, familiar faces, and the distraction you didn’t know you needed.

you let go for a little while. lose yourself in the music and the alcohol and the safety of your friends’ touch. suguru dips his head to murmur something that makes you laugh, choso pretending to swoon dramatically in response. you throw your head back, laughing harder, spinning until the room blurs

and then your eyes land on him.

sukuna.

he’s leaned against the far wall, and he’s not alone.

there’s a girl tucked into his side, long legs, shiny hair, tiny black dress, and she’s all over him. her hand drags a lazy line down his chest, and he just stands there, smirking like it’s nothing. like she’s nothing. like you’re nothing.

his fingers ghost along the hem of her dress, drifting lower with zero subtlety. and still, he doesn’t look at you. not even a glance. not even a twitch.

you pause mid-step, not frozen exactly, just… confused.

because wasn’t he the one who got all tense when he heard you talk about another guy? wasn’t he the one looking pissed earlier, jaw tight, eyes sharp, when yuki teased you about your little crush? wasn’t he the one who always acted like he hated when you gave anyone else your attention, even though he never wanted to claim you outright?

and now this?

your stomach doesn’t twist, it just sinks, low and slow. not with jealousy. not with hurt. more like: what the hell is his problem?

you keep moving. force your body to flow with the music again as suguru slides behind you, hands warm at your hips. you’re still dancing. still laughing. still here. but your mind keeps circling back.

it’s not that you expected anything different. not really. you and sukuna were never official. never had rules. never had to check in with each other. but still… there was always a tension, a pull, something unspoken between the two of you that made it feel like no one else could come close.

and yet, here he is. practically letting that girl climb him like a tree. acting like you didn’t spend last weekend tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t tell you just days ago that you made his head spin.

you down another shot when suguru hands it to you, nodding in thanks. it burns going down, but it keeps your face smooth. keeps your smile intact.

choso leans close, voice low in your ear. “you good?”

you hesitate. nod. “just don’t get him.”

he follows your gaze. sees the way sukuna is still letting that girl grind against him. the way his hand now fully cups her thigh.

“he’s being a dick,” choso says plainly. “you know that, right?”

“yeah,” you murmur. “i just don’t get why.”

suguru cuts in, quiet and even. “because you scare him.”

you blink. “what?”

“he doesn’t get to control how you feel about someone else. and it’s killing him,” suguru says. “so he does this. acts out. pretends he’s unbothered. he’s not.”

“but like…” you glance over again, brows furrowing. “if it bothers him so much, why go hook up with someone right in front of me?”

“because he’s immature,” choso replies. “and stupid.”

you exhale, a short breath through your nose. “yeah. that checks out.”

it doesn’t hurt, not exactly. it just leaves you feeling weirdly hollow. like something unfinished is hanging in the air between you, something you were never allowed to name.

you pull away from the guys with a small, grateful smile. “i’m gonna go outside for a sec.”

“you sure?” suguru asks.

you nod. “i’m fine. just wanna clear my head.”

you step out onto the porch, letting the chill air wrap around your bare arms. your heart isn’t racing. your hands aren’t shaking. but your mind won’t stop running laps.

you’re not mad at sukuna for messing around. you never expected monogamy from him. but you are mad, maybe a little, for the double standard. for how he acts like it’s betrayal when you even mention another guy, and then turns around and grabs the first girl who bats her lashes at him.

it’s not jealousy. it’s not heartbreak.

it’s just… tired.

you deserve more than someone who only wants you when it’s convenient.

your phone buzzes.

toru 🫦 [2:07am]: i can’t stop thinking about u

you smile a little. softer now. gentler.

toru 🫦 [2:08am]: u looked so pretty tonight btw. i saw your post on instagram!

you [2:08am]: ur sweet. i needed that.

and you mean it.

you don’t even have to wonder about his intentions. satoru makes you feel wanted without playing games. without dangling affection like a prize. he doesn’t try to make you jealous. doesn’t punish you for being desirable.

he just likes you. for you.

toru 🫦 [2:09am]: good. i’ll remind u in person tomorrow :)

you laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. light and real and unfussy.

maybe that’s the difference.

with sukuna, it’s always been messy. volatile. a push-pull you never had the rules for. he likes you, but only when it hurts. only when he’s the one making the rules.

but with satoru?

it feels easy. like you could be soft without having to apologize for it.

you slide your phone back into your purse and square your shoulders.

you’re not gonna let sukuna take this night from you. he doesn’t get to own your attention. not anymore.

you head back inside, head higher than before.

the night isn’t over yet.

and tomorrow?

you’ve got a date with a boy who looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and maybe, for once, that’s exactly what you need.

~

satoru stood outside the bluebird café, adjusting his tight black shirt that showed off his sleeper build perfectly, for the fifth time. his hands were shaking slightly, heart thudding in his chest like a drumbeat. it wasn’t the coffee date that had him nervous. it was you.

you had that effect on him, on everyone, really. the thought of seeing you outside the chaos of the library, outside of that brief, awkward interaction where he’d fumbled through every word, made his stomach twist.

he’d told himself he was going to be cool, collected. he could do this. it was just a coffee date. no big deal. he’d gotten through way worse. but none of that had prepared him for how his breath caught every time he thought of how you’d looked in that stupid skirt and that ridiculous attitude that was so effortlessly attractive.

you were the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a music video, the kind who could walk into a room and immediately make every other girl look like they were wearing the wrong outfit. and every guy would look at you with that same dumb, slack-jawed expression.

satoru shoved his hands in his pockets, adjusting his glasses, and forced himself to open the door. he didn’t have to look around to know you were here. he could feel your presence. the tension in his shoulders had already relaxed, just the thought of your energy pulling him in like a magnet.

when his eyes found you—fuck. it was like a punch to the gut.

you were sitting at the corner table, like you owned the place. of course, you did. you had that undeniable “i’m too cool for you, but i’ll let you look” kinda vibe.

you wore a tiny denim skirt that was, to be frank, barely even a skirt. a rhinestone-studded top that clung to you in all the right ways, and those chunky platform heels that screamed “diva.” your lips were glossy and full, glistening under the soft café lighting, and your hair was perfectly messyx just enough to look like you’d rolled out of bed, but still looked like a million bucks.

satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

his eyes drifted lower, watching how the hem of your skirt just barely grazed the edge of your thighs, how the way you moved your hand to adjust your drink made his brain short-circuit for a second.

your eyes locked with his as he approached the table, and for a second, time stopped. you smirked, that damn smirk that sent a rush of heat straight to his chest. he could feel his body temperature rise, and before he could stop himself, his brain ran through a dozen inappropriate thoughts at once.

fuck. you looked so gorgeous. he wasn’t prepared for just how gorgeous. his mind ran through a series of scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for public spaces, none of which helped the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.

you were so… confident. he hated it. no one should have that much power over him, especially someone who he was almost two times bigger than.

“hey,” you greeted, your voice a little too smooth for his liking, like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him. he could see the way your eyes roamed over him, amusement dancing in your gaze. you probably knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“hey,” he managed to say, sitting down across from you, trying to act normal, trying to ignore the way his thoughts were spiraling.

you leaned forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around the cup of iced tea you had already ordered as you took a sip, a slow, deliberate motion that only made things worse.

“so, i see you listened,” you teased, your lips curling into that seductive smile. “that shirt looks so hot on you, toru.”

satoru flushed, already regretting that he had let you get under his skin so easily. but when you looked at him like that, eyes gleaming, lips glossed and soft, he couldn’t help it.

“thank you, you look stunning.” he muttered, his voice suddenly rough. his mind was already back to thinking about what he’d seen when you smiled like that, the way his body reacted in ways he definitely shouldn’t have let it.

he couldn’t help but imagine what you would be like in his bed. not that he’d ever say it out loud, but the thought haunted him. could he make you beg for him? could he make you moan his name like you probably did for that pink haired guy you were with at the library? would you let him pull you closer, your breath hot and needy as he kissed you until you couldn’t think anymore?

god, he hated that you could make him think about these things.

satoru shifted in his seat, trying to seem nonchalant but his body betrayed him. “thanks for asking me to come along, didn’t know you were the one to make moves, especially not on boring nerds like me,” he said, a cocky grin finding its way to his lips despite the growing ache in his chest.

your eyes narrowed, amusement twinkling behind them. “i like that you know your place,” you said, the words light but with an edge, as if daring him to challenge you.

he shifted in his seat again, fighting the urge to lean forward and test the limits of that challenge. “trust me,” he said, “i know exactly where i stand.”

you laughed, low and sweet, and he almost lost it right there. his hands gripped his cup tightly, knuckles white, as he tried to focus on anything but the way your lips curved when you smiled. you were dangerously close to being everything he wanted, and he hated it. hated that he wanted you so badly.

~

by now you two had fallen into comfortable conversation.

you laughed at something he said, something dumb and not nearly as clever as he wanted it to be, and satoru thought he might melt into the floor. it wasn’t just the sound of your laugh, though that alone could wreck him; it was the way your hand rested casually on the table between you, your fingers brushing his every now and then like it was nothing. but to him, it felt like everything.

you tilted your head, giving him that soft little smile that made him feel like you saw right through him.

“you’re adorable when you’re trying so hard to be smooth,” you said gently, voice lilting like a secret between friends. your tone was sweet, not mocking, but it still made heat crawl up the back of his neck. “like, you’re actually pulling it off. just barely.”

satoru smirked, covering up his absolute internal collapse with a shrug. “i don’t try. i am smooth,” he said jokingly, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his foot was tapping under the table from nerves. “this is just my natural charm.”he said with a big goofy smile.

you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, elbows on the table. your lips curved into the softest, most devastating smirk. “oh? so you’ve accidentally been giving me bedroom eyes this whole time?”

he choked on his coffee.

you giggled and reached over to lightly pat his chest, like you were soothing him after delivering the most casual, lethal blow. “relax, toru. i think it’s sweet. guys like you don’t usually give me the time of day.”

he blinked, stunned. “guys like me?”

“you know,” you said, like it was obvious, “the smart, weirdly-pretty ones. the ones who don’t realize they’re hot because they’ve been sheltered their whole life.”

he stared at you, utterly ruined. “you really think i’m hot don't you? keep on saying it. not that i mind.”

“oh, baby,” you said with a little laugh, “you don’t get to sit across from me all soft and shy and pretending not to stare at my lips, and act like you don’t know the effect you’re having.”

his mouth went dry.

but your voice softened again, gentler this time, like you could sense he was hovering right on the edge of overload. “you’re really sweet, toru. funny, too. i like how you get flustered when i push you a little.”

he tried to summon a coherent response, but his brain was short-circuiting. you were too much, kind and confident, beautiful and bold, and now you were complimenting him like it was nothing?

“i—uh—yeah, no, i like you too,” he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. “a lot, actually.”

you smiled at him, soft, fond, and then stood slowly, adjusting your mini skirt with deliberate care. your sweater slipped a little off one shoulder and you didn’t bother fixing it. you let his eyes linger.

“so listen,” you said casually, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “i have this little shoot i need to do for a brand deal tonight. just a few instagram shots. nothing crazy. cute little set, fluffy lighting, all that.” you tilted your head again, voice syrupy sweet. “you good with a camera, toru?”

he blinked. “uh… i mean, yeah. i guess? i’ve done some stuff for the yearbook.”

“perfect.” you smiled like a cat who’d just caught something in her claws. “i think you’ll be really good at capturing all my... angles.”

his brain stuttered.

“you wanna come by?” you asked, already typing something into your phone. “you can help me out. i’ll feed you. and maybe after… i’ll let you pick which photos i post.”

his mouth opened. no sound came out.

you looked up and smiled, soft, radiant, but still with that glint of mischief behind your lashes. “unless you’ve got better plans than coming back to my place and watching me pose in a juicy couture set?”

he almost knocked over his drink standing up.

“great,” you said brightly, as if you hadn’t just set his entire nervous system on fire. “i’ll text you my address. bring your hands. i might need help adjusting.”

and with that, you leaned in, kissed his cheek so softly he thought he imagined it, and walked out, hips swaying, head high, leaving him to sit there, stunned and overheating, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive whatever came next.

~

'holy fucking shit.'

satoru was still in his seat, mouth parted slightly, the ghost of your kiss burning on his cheek like it had been stamped there. his hands trembled around the now-lukewarm cup of coffee he hadn’t touched since you started chatting and proceeded to ruin his entire internal equilibrium.

you were gone. walked out like it was nothing. like you hadn’t just asked him, him, to come back to your apartment and help you take instagram photos, like you hadn’t just tilted your glossy mouth toward his skin, kissed him soft and sweet and unearned.

he blinked.

then blinked again.

was he dead? was this a near-death hallucination? maybe the universe was punishing him for all those nights he zoomed in on your thirst traps at 2 a.m. with trembling fingers and a blank expression, whispering, “jesus christ,” to no one like it was a prayer.

you were god. you were everything. and you’d just invited him over like it was casual. like it didn’t undo months of fantasies. years of longing. this was not how it was supposed to happen. he was supposed to pine forever, secretly. obsess quietly.

not…this.

his phone buzzed, and when he fumbled for it, his screen lit up with a new message.

you [3:14pm]: here’s my address. text me when you’re outside. :) come over sometime later, yeah?

satoru almost dropped the phone.

you [3:16pm]: don't forget to bring your handsss!

bring your hands.

he rubbed a hand down his face, cheeks flushed, ears burning. his brain was running at 200mph, playing reel after reel of every single post you’d ever uploaded. every grainy mirror pic, every behind-the-scenes video, every thirst trap with the caption “don’t text ur ex, text me instead <3”—which he had once seriously considered replying to with “ok” before deleting it like a coward.

you were chaos incarnate, dripping lip gloss and destruction. the human embodiment of the for you page and he’d liked every post. every single one. anonymously. pathetically. from the dark corner of his bedroom, dim blue light glowing against his glasses as he muttered things like, “she’s unreal. she’s actually not real. they made her in a lab.”

he’d saved your bikini pics. zoomed in on the brand tags like a freak. reverse searched your lipstick shades. bought the magazines you were featured in, yes, plural. he had a stack of them in a drawer under his bed like some kind of teenage dirtbag, some with his computer cables in his drawer.

pages dog-eared, his favorite ones burned into his memory. one of them had a spread where you wore this ridiculous rhinestone bikini on a beach, holding a dripping popsicle with your tongue out, and he was still not okay from that shoot.

satoru stared at your text like it was written in gold. like it would vanish if he didn’t cherish it hard enough.

he groaned. out loud. in public. attracting a confused glance from the barista cleaning the counter. he stood up fast, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder like a man on a mission.

~

by the time he was outside your apartment door, his palms were damp.

you lived in the bougiest building on campus, the kind of place with gold-trimmed elevators and a concierge who looked like he’d sooner tase someone than let them loiter. satoru had to buzz up, which was another level of humiliation he hadn’t mentally prepared for.

you answered with a playful, “be right there,” and he swore your voice alone could short-circuit his brain. when the door finally opened, he almost blacked out.

you were in a tiny zip-up hoodie, baby pink, cropped at your ribs with juicy scrawled in rhinestones across the back, and the tiniest matching shorts he’d ever seen in his life. you were barefoot. you looked like a trashy 2000's supermodel. like an ashanti music video vixen. like someone who’d ruined countless men’s lives just by biting their straw.

“hey, toru,” you said, sweet as sugar. “you brought all of you, right?”

he swallowed hard. “i brought all of me.”

you giggled and tugged him inside by the wrist.

he nearly tripped over his own feet entering your place. the air smelled like vanilla and something dangerously flirty. your apartment was exactly how he imagined it: mirrors everywhere, pink lighting, framed photos of you on the wall. a vanity covered in makeup. pink fuzzy rug underfoot. was that… a pole in the corner?

'jesus christ.'

he tried not to stare too hard as you sauntered across the room, hips swinging, grabbing your phone and ring light.

he noticed how you kicked a hoodie that looked way too big to fit you under your bed discreetly, he managed to read 'kappa' printed on the back. wasn't that sukunas frat? he was pushed out of his head by the sound of your voice.

“so,” you drawled, throwing a wink over your shoulder, “you’ve stalked my instagram enough, you know my angles, right?”

satoru’s laugh came out strangled. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally.”

he did. he really did. he knew exactly how you posed, how you tilted your head just slightly for selfies, how you arched your back just a little for those mirror pics, how you gripped the waistband of your juicy pants like it was the most natural thing in the world to drive men to insanity with a pose. he’d studied them. like they were scripture.

you sat down on your velvet couch and grabbed a tube of gloss, reapplying it with a pout. “you nervous?”

“no,” he lied. “i’m... i’m excited. yeah. i’ve always wanted to see the magic happen live.”

“oh, baby,” you purred, “you are the magic.”

he made a noise. an embarrassing one.

you tossed him your phone and struck a pose, leaning back on your palms with your knees spread just slightly. “go on, toru. get my good side.”

you didn’t have a bad side.

he fumbled with the camera app, trying to focus on anything besides the way your tank top stretched across your chest, the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, the glint of a belly button ring catching the light.

click.

“you’re shaking,” you teased.

“i’m fine.”

“mm. i’ll be the judge of that.” you repositioned, crawling forward on your hands and knees across the couch like you weren’t trying to end his entire life.

click. click.

“toru,” you said sweetly, “are you blushing?”

“absolutely not.”

you laughed and flipped your hair over one shoulder. “you’re so cute. i like you.”

he was going to die here. he was going to drop dead in your living room with nothing but his own frantic, horny thoughts and your body burned into his retinas.

you held out a hand. “gimme. i wanna see.”

he passed you the phone with trembling fingers. you scrolled through the shots, nodding in approval. “these are actually good. like, really good. i’m impressed.”

“thanks,” he said, voice cracking. “i, uh… do some photography stuff on the side. for class.”

“mm, bet you do,” you said, not looking up. “bet you’re good with your hands, huh?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.

you glanced up, expression sweet and wicked. “you okay, toru?”

“i’m great.”

“you look like you’re gonna combust.”

“i might.”

you leaned back into the couch, phone in your lap, and studied him with that same soft-lipped smile. “you’re adorable,” you said, voice quieter now. “all that brainpower, all that quiet nerd energy, and you’re sitting here losing your mind over me in shorts.”

he groaned into his hands. “can you blame me?”

you laughed. “not at all. i like it. you make me feel powerful.”

he peeked through his fingers, helpless. “you are powerful.”

you tilted your head. “then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

he sighed dramatically. “because i’m in your apartment. you just crawled across a couch like a centerfold. i’ve seen your instagram stories like, eighty million times. i subscribe to the magazine you’re on the cover of. and now you’re here. being cute. and sexy. and funny. and calling me toru like we’re... like this is normal.”

your expression softened, something real flickering behind your lashes.

“toru,” you said, and this time it was less teasing. more intimate. “you really like me?”

he nodded. “kinda obsessed with you, actually.”

you smiled. slow and sweet.

then you got up, crossed the room, and straddled his lap before he could blink.

maybe sleeping with satoru is what you needed to make your conscience stop thinking about sukuna and that bitch at the party earlier.

his heart nearly fucked itself over.

you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “good,” you whispered. “because i kinda like you too.”

he swallowed. “kind of?”

you grinned. “well. i liked you in the library. i love you with a camera in your hands... my own personal photographer.”

his breath hitched.

you shifted on the couch, camera forgotten in your lap, as you studied satoru’s face, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that gorgeous white hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. you looked like a vixen straight off a low-res 2004 myspace album, lips glossy, attitude filthy-sweet, thighs barely crossed. he was already unraveling.

“okay toru,” you said, voice dripping in something syrupy, slow, and dangerous, “i think we’re gonna start with something a little more… intimate.”

his mouth went dry the moment you pulled out the velvet rope. pink. soft. sensual. his brain blanked.

“rope?” he choked.

“yeah,” you smiled, casually, like you weren’t turning his entire nervous system into static. “i want you to tie my wrists. loosely. make sure i can still move my hands around.” you leaned forward, offering your arms like it was a fucking privilege. “think you can handle that?”

no. he absolutely could not. but he still nodded, taking the rope with shaking hands. his fingers brushed your skin as he looped it around your wrists, and that alone had his dick twitching in his jeans. he swore under his breath.

'she smells like vanilla and heat and fuck me,' he thought, looping the velvet. 'i haven’t even touched her properly and i’d die for her right now.'

you let your arms fall back, raising your bound wrists over your head in a pose so casually provocative that his mouth parted on instinct. the rope pulled tight just enough to bite. your top slid higher, barely covering anything. the whole scene looked like it belonged in a magazine he would’ve hidden under his bed in high school, and now it was real. in his lap. begging to be remembered.

he swallowed hard. 'i’m gonna wet dream about this forever.'

“you look ravishing,” he whispered hoarsely.

“do i?” you teased, tilting your head. “want to see more?”

you let one strap of your tiny rhinestone top fall. then the other. and when you pulled it down just enough to expose one perfect breast, nipple glossy from a layer of shimmer lotion.

you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

his brain short-circuited.

'holy shit holy shit i’ve jacked off to pictures of her and now she’s half naked in front of me and i’m not gonna survive this.'

click.

the shutter snapped and he wasn’t even sure if his hand had moved. he took another, then another, each frame of your body more brazen, more artful, more his.

you arched under the dim light, toes pointed, eyes lidded. your lip caught between your teeth as you said, “these ones… they’re only for you.”

his heart fucking stopped.

“they’re not going online,” you added sweetly, glancing up through your lashes. “no other one of my fans gets to see me like this. just you, toru. my number one fan."

he clenched the camera harder, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and thank the gods for whatever good karma led him here. 'only me. fuck. fuck. she’s mine.' even if it was just for tonight. even if it was only temporary.

you shifted again, slowly opening your legs as you lay back, balls if your heels digging into the cushions. the hem of your panties, bright pink and sparkly barely clung to you. he could see the outline of everything. and then you stretched, arms over your head, making your stomach tighten and your tits rise beautifully, rope still binding you just right.

“toru,” you breathed, eyes locked on his, “do you want to see me take them off?”

'god yes. god fucking yes. i want to see what’s under that glitter. i want to taste it. i want to ruin her. fuck.'

he nodded. “yeah,” he rasped. “please.”

your fingers slipped under the waistband slowly, deliberately, dragging the panties down your thighs with an elegant arch of your spine. and he watched, stared, like it was the last thing he’d ever see.

“don’t worry,” you said, tossing them onto his lap. “these aren’t for instagram either.”

his cock throbbed. it was unbearable. it was heaven.

he took more shots, each one filthier than the last, legs spread, lips parted, bound wrists clutching the edge of the couch as you moaned softly for him. you looked like you belonged in a pornographic museum. like a goddess on her throne letting her chosen mortal worship.

and you’d picked him.

'she’s gonna kill me. i’m gonna nut in my jeans like a fucking loser. oh my god.'

you sat up, resting your chin on his shoulder while he adjusted the camera. “you okay?” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear. “you’re breathing kinda heavy, baby.”

'call me baby again and i’ll fucking bark.'

“just… warm in here,” he muttered, cheeks red, voice strained.

you smiled and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “poor thing. want a break?”

he looked down at you, your chest still bared, your body shining with light, legs folded in perfect lazy confidence. “you think i could survive a break?” he asked, voice lower now. rougher.

you laughed. soft. wicked. “fair point.”

then you took the camera from his hands, placed it on the table, and straddled his lap in one easy motion.

“no more pictures,” you said. “now you can just look.”

his hands flew to your waist on instinct, gripping you like you were the only real thing in the universe. and honestly, to him, you were.

'how did this happen? how the fuck did i go from jacking off to her tiktok thirst traps to having her in my lap, tits out, moaning my name?'

you cupped his face, voice softer now. “you okay?”

he nodded.

you leaned in and whispered, “do you want to touch me?”

he nodded again, too fast.

you smirked. “then do it. but be gentle. i like being handled like i’m expensive.”

“you are,” he said instantly, voice ragged. “you’re the most expensive thing i’ve ever touched.”

you kissed him for that. deep and filthy and grateful. and as he dragged his palms over your ass, up your waist, over your bare chest, he was already gone.

and somewhere in the back of his hazy, lust-soaked brain, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

these pictures?

these moments?

they were only for him.

and if you ever asked, he’d burn the whole world to keep them safe.

you gasped into his kiss as his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. his breath was hot and ragged, mixing with yours in the close air of your living room. you felt the curve of his mouth against your neck, the brush of his stubble as he nipped gently at your skin.

'he’s so warm,' you thought, sliding your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft white strands. 'and he’s mine, right here, right now.'

he moaned low, almost lost in the feeling of you beneath him. you’d taught him how to pose you like a goddess for the camera; now he was learning how to worship you in real time. his hand slid up your back, then lower, fingertips grazing the top of your panties still bunched around your thighs.

“you know,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with want, “i’ve wanted this for so fucking long. i don't even think this is real.”

you smiled against his skin, tugging at his hoodie so you could slide it off his shoulders. “i can tell,” you purred. “i promise i'm real toru. real and all yours right now.”

he lifted his head to meet your eyes, those pale blues shimmering with need.

your laugh was soft, sultry. “oh, baby,” you said, rolling your hips against him, “i wanted you before i knew your name.”

his pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. “fuck,” he breathed. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you cupped his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. “only if you want me to,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, your tongue brushed his, and he groaned, hands fisting in your hair.

'holy shit,' he thought, 'this is real. she’s here, wanting me, touching me.'

you pulled back, slipping off the last barrier, his jeans, until both of you were just skin and heat. you guided his hands to your body, showing him where to touch, where to press, encouraging him with soft moans and glowing praise. every direction you gave him made his confidence soar, made him believe he could be the one to make you melt.

he paused, looking into your eyes. “i… i want to make you feel good,” he said, voice husky. “really good.”

you smiled, heart swelling. “then show me, baby.”

he nodded, then bent to kiss you again, this time more tender, more deliberate. he let his palms roam your body, over your breasts, down your waist, skimming the curve of your hips. you pressed into him, encouraging him, letting him know just how right it felt.

'he’s so gentle' you thought. 'so respectful. and so fucking good with his hands.'

you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “toru,” you gasped, “fuck me.”

he hesitated only a moment, surprised by your boldness, and then he was inside you, filling you in slow, delicious thrusts. your breath caught, and you clutched his shoulders as he moved, your rope-bound wrists sliding free in the heat of the moment.

“shit,” he groaned, chest pressed against yours. “you’re perfect.”

you arched against him, closing your eyes. “yeah… perfect for you.”

his pace quickened, fueled by your praise, your soft encouragements, your needy gasps. every time he hit that sweet spot, you cried out his name, and it sent a thrill rippling through him.

'my name on her lips…' he thought, 'this is everything.'

you rode him hard, matching his thrusts until both of you were breathless, skin slick with sweat and sheen of your own arousal. you held him tight, panting, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

“let’s finish the shoot later,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with satisfaction and warmth. “right now… just us.”

he kissed you back, slow and tender, and you felt his body tremble. “just us,” he echoed.

and in that moment, tangled together on your couch, every magazine cover, every instagram scroll, every stolen fantasy he’d ever had of you crystallized into this single, perfect reality, warm, messy, intimate, and wholly, irrevocably yours.

~

you were now tucked beneath the folds of your plush throw blanket, legs tangled with his, head resting against his bare chest as the glow from your salt lamp bathed the apartment in a hazy, honeyed light. his arm was slung loosely around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. satoru had never been this close to someone, physically, emotionally, and his brain was still catching up.

you were real. warm, beautiful, half-naked and still glittering from the camera flash and sweat. and now you were curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you okay?” you murmured, voice soft, a little breathy.

“am i okay?” he huffed a quiet laugh. “i just lived out the most insane fantasy of my life, and now i’m laying here with the hottest girl in the universe like it’s normal.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded and mischievous. “hottest girl in the universe, huh?”

“scientifically proven,” he said, smug but still pink in the cheeks. “objectively. you broke the hotness scale.”

you giggled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, slow and sweet. “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered against his skin.

his heart thumped. he wanted to keep you here forever, in this little soft bubble that smelled like your body lotion and sounded like your quiet laughter. but instead, you stretched like a cat against him, bare legs brushing his, and said, “so…”

he blinked, brain short-circuiting again. “so?”

you propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him with that glittery, effortless confidence of someone who knew she had him wrapped around her finger. “there’s a party tomorrow night,” you said casually, tracing patterns on his stomach. “you should come.”

satoru blinked. “a… party?”

“mm-hmm. like, a real one,” you teased. “not like a dungeons and dragons meetup or whatever you nerds do.”

“hey,” he laughed, “first of all, rude. second of all… are you serious?”

“dead serious,” you purred. “it’s at suguru’s place. it’ll be mostly my friends. you’ll meet everyone.”

satoru’s stomach dropped a little. your friends. the one he saw with face tattoos and designer sunglasses and mysterious piercings in places he couldn’t guess. the ones who always looked like they just stepped out of a campaign ad for a luxury fashion line. the ones who probably wouldn’t even look twice at him if he wasn’t draped in your attention like an accessory.

“won’t they think it’s weird?” he asked before he could stop himself. “me being there.”

you raised an eyebrow, amused. “why would it be weird?”

“because…” he swallowed, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “i’m not exactly in your league.” you sat up, straddling his waist now, your eyes burning into his. “toru,” you said, serious, “don’t ever say that again.” his breath hitched.

you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “you’re sexy, smart, and you make me laugh. you made me nervous. so if you’re coming to the party, you better show up like you belong.” he stared at you, stunned. “you were nervous?”

“duh.” you smiled. “you were wearing that little tight black shirt and looking all hot and mysterious. i thought you’d ghost me after coffee.” he buried his face in your neck, groaning. “i literally thought i was going to faint when i saw you in that skirt.”

“good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “i wore it just to fuck with you." he moaned dramatically, pulling you closer. “you’re evil.”

“and you like it.” he couldn’t deny it. you were fire and silk and sugar and bite, and he was hopelessly addicted.

“so?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “you coming to the party or what?” he nodded, breathless. “yeah. fuck it. i’m coming.”

you grinned. “good. bring your charm, toru. my friends are gonna love you.” you said it like a promise, not a possibility. like he already belonged.and for the first time in a long time, he almost believed it.

~

group chat: the pretty committee

(you, yuki, choso, suguru, shoko, maki, sukuna, nanami, shiu)

you ✩ [9:43pm]: kappa mixer on saturday night. i’m bringing a plus one btw

yuki 🧃 [9:43pm]: oh?? do we know him or is this another random model-slash-dj you found at pilates

you ✩ [9:44pm]: neither. it’s toru. the library one

choso 🥀 [9:44pm]: wait toru?? like. satoru gojo??

maki 🥋 [9:45pm]: the one you said looked like he types in html for fun?

you ✩ [9:45pm]: he does. it’s hot

shoko 🚬 [9:45pm]: you’re bringing your nerdy little fantasy to the mixer? this is big

you ✩ [9:46pm]: we’re just friends. chill

suguru 🐍 [9:46pm]: uh huh. just friends who take steamy photos together and then go silent for six hours. got it.

you ✩ [9:46pm]: not steamy. artistic, and how did yk i only told yuki 😭🙏🏼

shoko 🚬 [9:46pm]: mm. “artistic.” sure.

yuki 🧃 [9:47pm]: oops... anyways please tell me you at least warned him that sukuna might bite

you ✩ [9:47pm]: he’s a big boy. he can handle it

maki 🥋 [9:47pm]: he survived a coffee date with you, he can probably survive a frat party

you ✩ [9:48pm]: exactly

nanami ⏳ [9:48pm]: just tell him not to drink anything suguru hands him. that’s the only advice that matters

suguru 🐍 [9:48pm]: excuse me?? i’m a generous host

shiu 🕷️ [9:49pm]: generous with what. vodka or trauma?

you ✩ [9:49pm]: okay but actually. be nice to him

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: i’m always nice. he’s cute. nerdy. polite. kinda like nanami if he still had joy in his eyes

nanami ⏳ [9:49pm]: i can leave this chat

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: no you can’t

choso 🥀 [9:50pm]: sukuna? you good?

sukuna ⚡ [9:51pm]: fine. just didn’t realize we were inviting groupies to my frat

yuki 🧃 [9:51pm]: omg

choso 🥀 [9:51pm]: man. come on

maki 🥋 [9:52pm]: this is why we can’t have nice things

you ✩ [9:52pm]: gojo's not a groupie. he’s literally a person. y’all will be normal or i swear to god

sukuna ⚡ [9:52pm]: no one said anything. it’s your life. do what you want i ain't pulling up i'm busy

you ✩ [9:53pm]: thanks. i will.

suguru 🐍 [9:53pm]: and the drama begins before the drinks are even poured. we’re so back

shoko 🚬 [9:53pm]: love when the pregame starts in the group chat

shiu 🕷️ [9:54pm]: should i bring popcorn or bail money?

you ✩ [9:54pm]: anyway. toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.

~

meanwhile, sukuna was scowling at his phone. he stared at the last message you sent, thumb hovering over the screen like it was taunting him.

'toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.'

his jaw ticked.

satoru.

toru.

like he needed the nickname shoved in his face again. like he hadn’t already figured out you were letting that four-eyed pretty boy get his hands all over you. not that he’d said anything. not that he had a right to. not anymore.

you weren’t his. not officially. not really.

but you had been, in every way that mattered. in the way you used to climb into his lap without asking, drunk on vodka and power, whispering all your filthy secrets into his ear. in the way he could make you beg with just a hand on your thigh, in the way your eyes used to flick toward him at every party even if you showed up with someone else.

he used to be the one who got under your skin. the one you’d crawl back to after breaking someone else’s heart. the one you’d come to when you were sick of boys and needed a man.

and now? now you were bringing some soft-spoken, glasses-wearing, overachieving fucker to the mixer like you were introducing him to the family. like he was real. sukuna exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone on the bed.

he already knew who he was. satoru. the honors student. the tutor. the sweet one. the one you flirted with at the library just to prove you could. sukuna remembered watching it, how your voice dipped lower, how you tilted your head when you asked for his number, the way you said toru like it was already a pet name.

and now you were texting the group chat like he was coming to the damn cookout. it shouldn’t have bothered him. it wasn’t supposed to. he had girls on rotation. he had no shortage of hookups. but none of them were you. none of them had that glint in their eye, that attitude, that stupid, intoxicating mix of gloss and venom and sugar that made him feel like a rabid dog just for wanting a taste.

he lit a cigarette and opened your instagram.

he didn’t even have to search. you were at the top of his stories. you always were. he watched the one you posted two hours ago. a link to your new post, a perfectly captured album of you. a cropped hoodie. thighs out. caption: 'might delete later.'

fuck you.

he stared at the photo like it owed him something. your smudged lip gloss. the slight indent of a ring on your finger where you’d been playing with your jewelry. the shadow of someone in the background 'was that him?' no, just a lamp.

still.

he swiped back to your page. all those tagged posts from yuki, suguru, choso. none with gojo. not yet.but he was coming. he’d be there, saturday night, in your orbit, breathing your air, looking at you the way everyone did, like you were the sun, and maybe, just maybe, you’d start looking back.

that’s what scared him. not that gojo liked you. but that you might like him back.

he took another drag and let the smoke burn in his lungs longer than necessary, jaw tight as he exhaled. fuck it. he could play it cool. he always did. he’d smirk, talk shit, wrap his arm around someone hotter, louder, easier. make sure everyone saw. especially you.

pretend it didn’t bother him when your eyes skipped right over him in a room. pretend it didn’t fucking matter that you hadn’t come back.

like none of those nights meant shit. all that time you’d spent in his lap, tugging at his chain and moaning his name like it was gospel, just so you could turn around and let some floppy-haired loser in a tight black tee take your fucking instagram pictures?

you traded him in for someone soft. someone polite. someone who probably apologized after cumming too fast. he scoffed, tossing the half-finished joint onto the ashtray with more force than necessary. pathetic.

sukuna leaned back on the mattress, bare chest rising and falling slow under the dim red lights, smoke curling above him like it was trying to fill the silence. the room felt empty. stupidly empty.

he thought about texting you. something slick. something cruel. maybe 'hope he doesn’t cry when he finds out where that mouth’s been.' or 'you always go for the ones you can control, huh?'

but he didn’t. just sat there, jaw grinding, thumbs still, screen glowing back at him. eyes sharp. chest tight with that ugly kind of jealousy he swore he’d grown out of.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were his first. you were supposed to stay that way.

~

the uber pulled up to the kappa frat house which was the furthest frat from campus. the sun dipped below the horizon long ago, casting the sky in a warm, dusky glow. gojo sat in the backseat, watching you re-apply your gloss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he glanced over at you again, radiant as ever, your lips curled into a soft smile as you scrolled through your phone.

“you okay?” you asked, sensing his nerves.

“yeah,” he replied, voice a little too high-pitched. “just… a lot of people, you know?”you chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “you’ll be fine. they’re just people. my people, but still.”

he nodded, trying to steady his breathing. the memory of the night before flashed in his mind, your body pressed against his, the way you whispered his name, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. it felt surreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

“last night was… amazing,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours.

you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “it was,” you agreed. “but tonight’s about fun. let’s not overthink it.”the car came to a stop, and you both stepped out, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the street. gojo took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses.

“ready?” you asked, offering your hand. he took it, fingers intertwining with yours. “ready.”

as you walked up the steps, the door swung open, revealing a sea of faces. conversations halted, eyes turning to the two of you. gojo felt the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the curiosity. “who’s that?” someone whispered.

“is that her new guy?” another murmured. he swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back. you squeezed his hand, grounding him.

“ignore them,” you whispered. “they’ll come around.” you led him through the crowd, past familiar faces and curious stares, until you reached a plush couch in the corner. you both sat down, the noise of the party fading into the background.

“see? not so bad,” you said, leaning into him. he smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “yeah. not so bad.”

as you chatted about the party, your friends, and the latest gossip, gojo couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. with you by his side, the world seemed a little less daunting.

you’re halfway through your drink when you spot them weaving through the crowd, choso and suguru, side by side, both dressed in their version of “casual” which somehow still looked like a fashion campaign.

choso in a black sleeveless mock-neck that showed off his tattooed arms and a single chain glinting against his collarbone. suguru, laidback and smiling, with his hair tied low and a fitted shirt open at the chest like he’d just walked off a yacht.they zero in on you immediately, and you can already see the glint in suguru’s eyes.

“well, well,” he says as he gets close, his voice warm, teasing. “so this is the mystery man.” satoru stands to greet them, and you watch choso’s brow lift ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting him to be… that tall. that broad. that annoyingly good-looking.

“hey,” satoru says smoothly, extending his hand. “satoru. thanks for not jumping me right away.”

choso grins, shaking his hand, then clapping his shoulder with a kind of quiet approval. “we only beat up assholes,” he says, and then adds, “you’ve got a solid grip, man.” suguru’s eyes flick between you and satoru, clearly amused. “you been holding out on us,” he tells you, then turns to satoru again. “you always look like that or is this a special occasion?”

“this?” satoru gestures to himself, cocking a brow. “i’m barely trying.” you snort into your cup. he’s cool as hell on the outside, but you know better. his knee was bouncing a second ago and he keeps fiddling with the ring on his thumb.

“seriously though,” choso says, leaning back against the couch, sizing him up again. “did not expect you to be built like that. what the hell do you do?”

you glance at satoru, who flashes a sheepish grin that doesn’t match the cocky tilt of his voice. “freshman year i got into boxing,” he says. “figured if i was gonna be a nerd, might as well be one that could take a hit.”

“or give one,” choso mutters, clearly impressed. “you’re cut.” suguru raises a brow in appreciation.

“not anymore,” satoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. “haven’t had the time. but yeah, i trained for like, two years. gym in shibuya. coach was an ex-mma guy. real psycho, made me spar with dudes twice my size.”

“you won?” choso asks, grinning.

“got knocked out once,” satoru says with a shrug. “but i broke a guy’s nose, so. fair trade.” suguru whistles, clearly amused. “you’re full of surprises."

“oh, he’s full of a lot,” you murmur, sipping your drink again, and satoru shoots you a look that’s somewhere between mortified and turned on.

“so you two…” suguru gestures between you vaguely, like he doesn’t want to say together outright. “what’s the vibe?” you stretch lazily, one leg over the other, and smile. “friends,” you say lightly. “he’s been helping me shoot some things for instagram.”

satoru’s mind flashes, vivid, bright, to the way your hand had pulled his to your waist the night before, the flash of your camera catching the outline of your lingerie, the way you’d whispered just for you in his ear as you pressed your chest to his. he can still smell your perfume on his shirt. his fingers twitch just thinking about it.

“instagram,” suguru repeats, mouth quirking. “uh huh.”

“we get along,” you add, and it’s almost too soft. too real. “he’s sweet.” satoru stares at the amber in his glass, willing himself not to combust. sweet. how the fuck was he supposed to keep it together when you called him sweet like that, like he was a boy you actually wanted to keep around?

choso nods slowly. “he’s got a good vibe.” suguru hums. “solid energy. confident without being a dick.”

“yet...” choso adds, shooting him a warning glance.

satoru just laughs. “don’t worry. she’ll keep me in check.”you lean into him slightly, your thigh brushing his. “he’s already well-trained,” you murmur, just loud enough for choso and suguru to hear. suguru lets out a low whistle. “damn. it’s always the nerdy ones.”

“it really is,” choso agrees. “they bottle that shit up for years and then one day just, boom. thirst trap worthy.”

“he could literally crush a watermelon with those thighs,” you say dreamily, mostly to mess with satoru, and he almost spills his drink.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, laughing through the mortification. “you’re gonna give these guys the wrong idea.”

“what idea?” choso grins. “we’re just bonding.”

“team-building,” suguru adds.

“hazard training,” you say, with a wink. satoru shifts a little closer, brushing your arm. “you guys always this intense?”

“you should meet sukuna,” choso says dryly. you go still for just a second, but it’s nothing you let show. satoru feels it anyway, the way your fingers tighten slightly on your drink.

“he’s not coming tonight,” you say casually. suguru raises a brow but doesn’t push. instead, he turns his attention back to satoru. “so what’s the goal, man? you trying to get into modeling too or just vibing in the deep end?”

“i think he’s already in too deep,” choso mutters. satoru shrugs, keeping it chill even though he’s fully sweating under his hoodie. “just hanging out. making memories. flexing for the grid.”

you laugh, leaning into his shoulder like you can’t help it. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you say, voice low and fond. he turns to look at you, and there’s a flicker of something quiet in his eyes. “so are you,” he says softly. the pause that follows is short, but not empty. then suguru claps his hands. “alright. drinks?”

choso’s already standing. “i’ll grab tequila.”satoru watches them go, the easy way they navigate the crowd, like they belong in every room they enter. and somehow, they’d made him feel like maybe he did too. you turn to him, smiling, eyes glinting under the low lights. “see? not so bad.”

“yeah,” satoru breathes. “not bad at all.”

“i’m gonna go get us drinks,” you say, hand brushing satoru’s thigh as you stand. “tequila or beer?”

“uh—tequila?” he answers a bit too fast.

“that’s what i thought.” you wink, and just like that, you’re off, hips swaying through the crowd like you own the place. maybe you do, in a way. everyone watches you go. including satoru.

once choso and suguru return the nudge his shoulder friendly.

“bro,” choso mutters, following his line of sight. “you’re so cooked.”

“cooked?” satoru repeats, blinking.

“done. fried. beyond saving,” suguru says, grinning. “the way you looked at her just now? hopeless.”

“i wasn’t—i didn’t—” satoru fumbles, then groans. “fuck.”

“nah, it’s cute,” choso says, clapping him on the back. “endearing. like a golden retriever in love.”

“he’s got the hair for it,” suguru adds. satoru sighs, slouching further into the couch as if it’ll swallow him. “is this what you guys do all night? just nag each other in rotation?”

“mostly,” choso says. “but you’re new, so we’re going easy.”

“plus, you’re already getting the invite into the guy circle,” suguru adds, gesturing toward the two men approaching with solo cups in hand. “that’s nanami and shiu.” satoru straightens instinctively. he recognizes nanami from campus, business major, intense stare, kind of always looks like he’s five minutes away from quitting everything to become a lumberjack. shiu, he doesn’t know. tall, dark, lean, with eyes like he’s permanently unimpressed.

“nanami,” suguru greets, casually fist-bumping him. “shiu. this is gojo.”

“the gojo?” shiu arches a brow, handing him a cup.

“uh,” satoru says, taking it. “i guess?”

“the one she’s been parading around all night like a shiny new toy,” nanami says flatly, sipping his drink. “welcome to hell.”satoru laughs nervously. “thanks?”

“ignore him,” choso says. “that’s just how he flirts.” nanami gives him a blank look. “no, it’s not.”

“so,” shiu says, sitting on the edge of the armrest next to him. “you and y/n. what’s the story?”

satoru opens his mouth. closes it. tries again. “we’re just friends.” four disbelieving stares hit him at once.

“friends,” shiu repeats.

“sure,” choso deadpans.

“got it,” nanami mutters.

“you should hear how she says your name,” suguru adds. “like it’s a little treat.” satoru flushes instantly. “we really are just friends.”

“do your friends usually strip for you in front of a camera?” shiu asks, sipping. “or is that a special bond?” he nearly chokes on his tequila

“jesus christ,” he wheezes. “do you guys have, like, a hazing ritual or something?”

“you passed it,” choso grins. “we just needed to see if you’d fold.”

“and you did,” suguru says proudly. “folded like a lawn chair.”

“i’m so glad i came,” satoru mutters into his cup.

“so is she,” nanami says, not looking up. “she hasn’t stopped smiling since you got here." satoru pauses.

“yeah,” choso says, more gently now. “she likes having you around.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. so he doesn’t say anything. just sips and lets it sit in his chest, warm and blooming.

“by the way, don’t let sukuna get to you,” shiu says after a beat, and it’s the first time the name’s been spoken with any real weight. “i won’t,” satoru says quickly, then—“why would he?”

“because he’s an asshole,” choso says simply. "we love him and all but jeez. he's a handful."

“and because he doesn’t like sharing,” suguru adds. “not attention. not space. definitely not her.”

“wait—” satoru frowns. “were they a thing?” the group goes quiet. nanami speaks first. “not officially.”

“but?” satoru presses. shiu shrugs. “they hooked up. on and off. nothing defined.”

“he never claimed her,” choso says, “but he didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“toxic,” satoru mutters.

“bingo,” suguru grins. “he’s like if a red flag started a punk band.”

“and she’s…” nanami trails off, shaking his head. “better than that.” satoru feels his fingers tighten around his cup. “is he here?”

“not yet,” shiu says. “but he might show. he’s unpredictable.”

“he’s pissed,” choso adds. “we all saw the group chat.” satoru nods, remembering the texts he peeped over your shoulder to read. groupie. right.

“just don’t take it personally,” suguru says. “sukuna lashes out when he feels cornered. and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

“you like her?” nanami asks suddenly. the question knocks the wind out of him. satoru blinks. “i…”

'do i? yes. obviously. painfully.' he clears his throat. “she’s cool. really cool. and smart. and funny. and like, stupidly pretty.”

“so yes,” choso says, nodding.

“and you’re what?” shiu asks. “waiting for a sign from god?”

“nah,” suguru says. “he’s just scared.”

“i’m not scared,” satoru lies.

“you should be,” nanami says bluntly. “she’s a lot.”

“she’s worth it, though,” choso adds. “if you can handle it.”

“i don’t know if i can,” satoru says honestly. the four of them regard him for a moment. then suguru grins. “well, shit. at least you’re honest.”

“more than most guys around here,” choso agrees.

“better than sukuna already,” shiu mutters.

“he’s not gonna like this,” nanami warns. “you being here. with her.”

“he doesn’t have to like it,” satoru says, surprising even himself. “it’s not his choice.”

“now that’s the energy,” suguru says, clinking his cup against his.

“just don’t throw the first punch,” choso says.

“unless he does,” shiu adds. “then, by all means.”

satoru laughs, tension breaking just a little. he looks around at the group, four guys who could easily have iced him out or humiliated him, but instead welcomed him in like some weird brotherhood of unhinged protectors.

“thanks,” he says. “don’t mention it,” choso shrugs. “we like you.”

“you fit,” suguru says. “somehow.” they all laugh.

they all laugh.

and then—

“hey.”

your voice cuts through the circle, light and bright as you reappear with a full drink in hand. satoru looks up, eyes softening instantly.

“took forever,” you pout. “you miss me?”

“maybe,” he says, like it’s a secret. “a little.”

you hold the drink out to him. “your tequila, my liege."

“you’re too good to me,” he says, and takes it.

“i know,” you smile.

you glance around at the others. “you boys behaving?”

“'course,” choso says.

“mhm,” you deadpan.

you settle beside satoru again, arm pressing into his, and for a second, nothing else matters.

just the music, the warmth, the way his pinky brushes yours.

just the ease of it, even in the chaos.

just the five of them, chatting and drinking and laughing like they’d known each other longer than a single party.

just you, leaning in with a whisper meant only for him,

“told you they’d like you.”

and he believes it.

because for the first time in a long time, he likes himself too.

~

as the laughter from the group dies down, the tension in the air shifts, subtly but unmistakably. the door to the frat house creaks open, and it’s as if the entire room collectively inhales. gojo freezes, his attention snapping to the doorway. there’s something about the presence that disturbs the natural flow of conversation, something sharp, something unsettling.

a shadow falls across the room as sukuna steps in, his lean form tall and imposing against the backdrop of the house’s dimly lit interior. his eyes sweep over the crowd with the kind of disinterest that only someone as effortlessly menacing as him could pull off. his movements are deliberate, calculated, each step echoing in a way that makes the room quieter, the air heavier.

satoru’s heart skips, though his face betrays nothing. he’s heard about sukuna, of course, the chaos that follows him like a storm cloud, the way he can control a room without even trying. and now, standing in front of him, that reputation feels all too real.

“sukuna’s here,” choso says lowly, voice barely cutting through the tense air. the others shift, subtly bracing themselves, like they’ve been trained for this.

sukuna’s gaze flickers over to your group, locking onto you for a split second. the quiet hum of the party seems to die in that moment, like even the music knows to hold its breath when he enters. then, just as quickly, his attention flicks to satoru.

the tension is palpable, a crackling undercurrent of something no one dares to name. satoru meets his gaze with an unreadable expression, but inside, the nerves coil tighter. his mind races, what is it about this guy that makes everyone shift in their seats? the guy’s presence isn’t just intimidating, it’s suffocating, like being in the presence of something raw and dangerous.

“well, well,” sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, smooth and mocking. “the nerd’s here. funny, i didn’t think you were the type to be at a party like this.” his eyes twinkle with a dangerous amusement, his lips curling into a smile that could easily be mistaken for a sneer.

satoru’s first instinct is to say something snarky, to assert himself, but the weight of sukuna’s presence steals his words. he knows the others are watching, waiting for the first crack to form, the first move in this unspoken battle.

you clear your throat, cutting through the tension. “sukuna,” you greet, your voice light but firm, not giving away anything. “didn’t expect you tonight.”

sukuna’s eyes flick back to you, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable look between you two. it’s brief, but gojo catches it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere. it’s like a silent communication between you and him that doesn’t need words, a silent acknowledgment of something old and familiar.

“i’ve got my reasons,” sukuna says, eyes flicking back to satoru. “but i’m not here for small talk. just wanted to see who your latest… distraction is.” his gaze turns calculating. “is this the guy who’s been making you so ‘artistic’ lately?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and laced with a darker implication. there’s no mistaking it now, sukuna doesn’t just find satoru an interesting figure, he finds him a threat. a challenge. and gojo can feel it, this undercurrent of possessiveness that lingers in sukuna’s words, in the sharpness of his stare.

satoru’s heart rate spikes, but he forces himself to stay calm, keep his composure. he turns toward you, offering a lazy smile, though the back of his neck prickles. “didn’t realize i was a ‘distraction,’” he says, his voice light, though there’s an edge to it now. “but i guess that’s one way to describe me.”

you throw him a glance, warning in your eyes, and for a brief moment, satoru wonders if he’s being too obvious. too bold. sukuna doesn’t like that, doesn’t tolerate being mocked or even challenged, and the dangerous aura around him grows thicker the longer the interaction stretches.

sukuna narrows his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “oh, don’t get cute with me,” he warns, his voice smooth but laced with venom. he steps closer, his presence crowding the space. “you don’t belong here, pretty boy. you might’ve fooled some of them, but i can smell a pretender from a mile away.”

satoru’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his face cool, chin tilted just enough to show he’s not intimidated. “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even know me,” he retorts, voice dropping a little lower.

the tension in the air thickens. suguru and choso exchange a look, both noticing the way things are escalating. shiu, standing a few feet away, flicks his eyes over to you, trying to gauge your reaction.

you step in before things can spiral any further. “sukuna,” you say firmly, your voice sharper than before. “can we not do this here? this is not the time or place.”

sukuna gives you a look, something between admiration and disdain. his gaze flicks back to satoru, but this time, there’s something darker in his eyes. “whatever you say, princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous. “but this one? he’s not what you think he is.”

with that, he turns and makes his way deeper into the party, his presence still lingering like a shadow over the group. the atmosphere remains thick, the tension hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that hasn’t quite burned out.

satoru takes a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that sukuna’s words have left behind. he glances over at you, who’s still standing a little too still, eyes locked on the space sukuna just vacated.

“is he always like that?” satoru asks, his voice low, though there’s no denying the edge of concern there.

you let out a long sigh, turning to face him fully. “yeah,” you say softly, almost apologetically. “sukuna’s a… complicated person.”

“i can tell,” satoru mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. his earlier confidence is slipping, replaced by a twinge of doubt. he thought he could handle this crowd, but sukuna… sukuna was something else entirely.

“you don’t have to worry about him,” you say, your voice softer now. you place a reassuring hand on his arm, and for a brief moment, the world feels a little less heavy. “he just has a way of… testing people. seeing how much they can take.”

satoru lets out a breath, looking at you. there’s something about the way you say it, like you’ve seen this play out before, over and over again. something in his gut tightens at the thought.

but he nods, forcing a smile. “i can take it,” he says, though his voice is steadier than he feels. “but i’m guessing sukuna’s not gonna be my biggest fan, huh?”

you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “he’ll get over it,” you say, but there’s a strange bitterness in your tone. “he always does.”

satoru watches you, trying to read the unspoken words in your gaze. there’s a history there, a tension between you and sukuna that’s thicker than what’s on the surface.

he’s not sure how deep it goes, but something tells him that tonight was only the beginning.

the rest of the night stretches out before them, full of promises of fun and tension, of friendships and unspoken rivalries. but for now, satoru is left with the quiet certainty that his place in this world, your world, is still uncertain. and sukuna? he’s just the first of many obstacles that stand between him and whatever this is with you.

but he’s not backing down. not now. not ever. he was going to have you, even if that meant knocking sukuna around abit.

part two out! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[ozzgin]

Request/Idea-

Male Yandere Lawyer x Female Embroider Reader (a lady who works as a tailor is fine too)

Imagine a man falling head over heels for that newly employed lady who hand embroiders beautiful handkerchiefs in a luxury shop he visits to get his custom suits! And he just trying to coax her into dating him, marrying him, and becoming his stay at home wife (and mother of his children eventually) 🥰🤭

Age difference? I need some DILF Daddy energy more in my life (but don’t make him an actual father…yet)

P.S. I adore your OCs and writing. And your artwork is way too fucking good! You’re art is just *chef’s kiss* infuckingcredible

-👘

Yandere!Lawyer x Embroiderer!Reader Headcanons

Ooh, you know what this reminds me of? I have a yaoi volume from Scarlet Beriko, “Queen and the tailor”, about an interior designer that visits a legendary tailor whose suits will supposedly help you achieve success. The tailor turns out to be a scary looking, blunt man but nonetheless extremely talented. I liked the premise a lot, so it’s definitely interesting to try out a different perspective. In this case I have the image of a patient, soft-spoken reader and a hurried, short tempered lawyer. Comically different but in a way that eventually works out, you know? Also thank you for the kind words! Featuring a Reader that is blissfully unaware the lawyer she just stared dating has their entire life together already sorted out. Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, obsessive behavior

Your eyes begin to hurt mildly, so you look out the window and blink repeatedly, trying to refresh your poor sight. Such detailed works always strain you terribly, but you love seeing the finished result. Others must, too, given your handkerchiefs are often sold out the very same day. Right before your needle pierces the silk canvas anew, the door opens with a burst and you jolt. An older man in a suit, arguing loudly over the phone. He’s drumming his fingers over the counter, eyes darting around in search for an attendant. You know the type quite well, so you hurry over with the hoop still in your hand. “Might I help you with anything?” You mouth discreetly. He turns to you, stares for a couple of seconds, and promptly ends his call.

Out of all the places, he certainly didn’t expect regretting his rusty, unpolished flirting skills in a luxury tailor shop. Yet here he is now, clumsily mumbling something about his new suit he’s come to pick up and wondering how to connect that with your number. The name’s the easy part, as it’s neatly and conveniently printed out on the little badge pinned to your collar. Everything else, not so much. You excuse yourself and return moments later with his order. Shit. You tilt your head, confused by the delayed response, worrying whether you forgot something. Next time. He’ll figure it out for sure next time he comes here.

If there’s one good thing about his career, it’s that his eyes have been trained to spot every detail. For example the embroidery hoop you gently held while speaking to him, so he knows exactly what his next custom order will be. Truth be told, he didn’t anticipate your popularity and long waiting times, but a calculated raised tone with a sprinkle of intimidation has convinced the employee to assign him to you as earliest priority. Whether he can flirt remains to be seen, but arguing with others? Child’s play.

“Thank you for coming again today.” You bow slightly and extend the gift bag. “Although, I must say…I’ve never seen you using these before. What has caused your sudden interest in handkerchiefs?” Rather bold of you to begin such conversations, but your curiosity is too great. No matter how hard you try, you can’t imagine why a blunt, nonchalant man like him would abruptly become passionate about embroidery. A lover? You smile faintly at the idea. Whoever it is, they’ve taken quite the challenge upon themselves. The lawyer frowns at the inquiry. It seems you’re just as observant as him. Maybe this shall be the pretext he can finally cling onto. So he presents it in the factual truth you’d hear in a courthouse: it’s his excuse to see you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Well now, isn’t it just silly? He could’ve simply asked. Buying countless expensive handmade items instead of plainly confessing his intentions…He stumbles, flustered. The same man whose ruthless reputation has even reached your humble ears is anxiously awaiting your response with a deep blush on his face.

The childlike innocence doesn’t last long. You’ve agreed to date him and that’s great, but he’s a man with little time that has known exactly what he wants for many years. When he laid his eyes on you he didn’t imagine cheesy coffee dates as you discuss your favorite color and cautiously breach the topic of intimacy. What’s the point? He’s already certain he’ll spend the rest of his life with you. Skip the unnecessary steps. On the other hand, you’re not as cooperative as he’d wish. Truly, the tangible proof that opposites attract. You’re always calm and take your time with everything. It’s almost frustrating how easygoing you are. When asked when you’re moving in with him, you just smiled and wondered out loud what could be wrong with your small studio above the shop. Marriage? Good question, you never thought about it.

Oh, the irony. Last time a client was being particularly difficult, your lawyer boyfriend pulled him out by the collar under the mortified stares of the other attendants and shoppers. The exact attitude he himself would’ve shown before, yet this time it’s different. Of course it is, it involves you. His thin patience runs out if it’s you. That’s all there is to it. Can you blame a man for following his heart? They say you should always chase your dreams; he prefers hunting them down efficiently, and the shotgun is pointed in your direction. His sweet, exquisite prey he can never get enough of.

Finally you agree to move in with him. Your hesitation was maddening and he’d started coming up with downright psychotic alternatives to convince you, such as your studio burning down after a vicious attack of some unknown hooligans. So it was rather wise of you not to push someone that knows the law like the back of his hand, even if you aren’t aware of it yet. He enthusiastically guides you around your new forever home, omitting unimportant details. The spare office he emptied for a future nursery? You’ll get to that later.

He can’t wait to spoil you. See, that’s the advantage of dating an older man. He’s gotten his life sorted out a long time ago. All that was left was finding you. You just need to be a darling and behave. He knows you will. After all, you’re his talented little embroideress that won’t have to worry about anything else ever again.

[seokminfilm]

"better half" ── lee seokmin

🤍 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🤍 warnings, non idol-au, college au, short, photography major seokmin, graphic design major reader (neither majors are really focused on), fluff, classmates/friends to lovers, confession, kissing, lots of giggling and laughing (reader and seokmin are both so soft and shy around each other they don't know what to do)

🤍 summary, your confession to lee seokmin, photography major did not go the way you were planning it to.

🤍 author's note, this was requested by dawn (@realmofclouds) like a month ago....😭 when i got this request i was slowly entering a writer's block and then got out of it and forgot about the request for a while 🧍sigh hopefully this goes the way i want it...i rewrote this fic like 12 times when i was in writer's block sdjdjskfkdjfs

🤍 now playing, dream (seventeen)

🤍 word count, 900 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

"what, you never did that as a child? you never kidnapped ladybugs and tried to get them to marry each other?" you ask with a laugh, and seokmin shakes his head, slightly bewildered as he flushes.

"i was scared of most bugs when i was a child, so probably not," the laughter that erupts from both of you fills the whole study hall, and you're convinced that half of the student body can hear that you two aren't doing the project you were assigned to complete.

you and the photography major class were paired together for a graphic design project, and lee seokmin was chosen as your partner. the two of you had talked many times before but never had a full conversation until now.

seokmin was a great student and doubled as a great partner and even better talking buddy, and the two of you had grown close over the months. he was like your best friend now, hanging out with you and helping you out when needed. you don't know where'd you be without him.

the two of you sat on the floor in one of the study rooms as you finished up the final draft of the design. the warm spring sun was filtering in through the windows, and you could feel the warmth on your hands as you worked on your laptop.

seokmin looked illuminated by the sunlight, smile radiant and laughter contagious as his dark eyes watched you with intent. seokmin had worn a button-up today, light blue fabric soaking up the warm light.

you had found yourself looking at him more and more as the months went on, and you couldn't answer the question of whether you had a crush on him or not. your friends had caught onto the way you talked about him, and you couldn't bring yourself to deny it anymore, either. maybe you did like lee seokmin.

"hey, i'm really glad we've talked over these few months." seokmin says randomly, and you lock eyes with him, warm blush on your cheeks as you smile.

"oh, um─me too! this whole project has been an experience for me, but i'm glad you were the one i experienced it all with." you nod, unable to stop smiling at the way seokmin's grinning at you.

a brief but comfortable silence stretches between the both of you, and you hold each other's gaze, unable to look away. seokmin's dark eyes are so warm as he looks at you, and you feel your face heat up, unable to stop the words from tumbling from your lips.

"seokmin, do you know why i was asking you all of those random questions earlier?" you say, and seokmin's eyebrows crease slightly, shaking his head as he tilts his head.

"i just thought you were being nice or trying to make conversation. i like talking to you, so i went along with them, even if they were a little...." seokmin trails off, smiling nervously at you as you flush an even darker red, nodding.

"random and weird, yeah." you laugh lightly, and seokmin chuckles along with you, watching you with curious eyes.

you sigh, taking a step back from the situation at hand before you take a deep breath and wet your lips. "i was asking you all of those questions because i like you."

seokmin falls silent, and you watch his face, studying his expression. his eyes are widened as if he's in disbelief about something. before you know it, a small smile is spreading across his pretty features, and he chuckles softly, taking your hand in his in a high-five-like gesture as he winks at you.

"well, i really like you, so─we're even." seokmin nods, and you can't help but grin from ear to ear, still slightly in disbelief that you had even confessed to him. "really?"

"really." seokmin says softly, and now, you notice how close the two of you had gotten to each other. your laptop had been moved moments ago, and you two now sit in front of each other, eyes on each other's figure as seokmin's eyes trail to your lips first.

"is it okay if i...." seokmin trails off, the tips of his ears turning red as you nod eagerly, letting him cup your cheek as you smile softly.

"yeah, it's okay. please do," you whisper, and seokmin does just that, placing his lips on yours in a quick moment. it's quiet, but you're sure that you can hear your heart beating a mile a minute. you let seokmin lead, letting him softly mold his lips to yours in a way that leaves your cheeks burning.

once you pull away, both of you are red, and seokmin's hands are still interlocked with yours, smiling at you as he studies your face.

"this was not how i wanted this to go." you giggle nervously, head dropping down as seokmin chuckles. he lifts your chin up to him, grinning from ear to ear as he consoles you with his touch.

"you had a whole plan for this?" seokmin asks innocently, and you nod, laughing nervously. "keyword there being 'planned'." you sigh, and seokmin smiles, face radiating joy as he giggles.

"i don't care how this came about. i'm just happy it happened, you know?" seokmin questions, and you nod, kissing his lips softly as you lock eyes with him.

"yeah. i'm happy it happened too."

[heyjudeb]

You're Perfect - Trent Alexander Arnold

Summary: After getting drunk on a one night out with Trent, the drunk pillow talk reveals Y/N's inner thoughts Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: drunken state, mostly fluff

Trent reached over to fasten Y/N's seatbelt after struggling to get her into the car due to her laughing, drunken state. She rarely drank, but Trent's big win yesterday led to most of the team members and their girlfriends celebrating at the club.

Before leaving for the club, Trent had promised to only have one drink, and Y/N saw this as the perfect opportunity to have some fun, assigning him as the designated driver.

"Baby, try not to throw up until we get home, please," he said, giving her hand a quick kiss before driving off.

"Throw up?!" she looked at him, clearly drunk. "Oh, please. I can go for another round right now!"

He laughed out loud, placing his hand on her thigh. He made sure to drive at a normal speed, even though he usually drove faster. He didn't want to startle Y/N, who often told him to slow down when he did.

Y/N leaned her head back and closed her eyes, a smile on her face. "You know," she began, her words slightly slurred, "I think I could totally be a singer."

Trent glanced at her, amused. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

"Because," she said, opening her eyes and grinning at him, "I always nail karaoke nights. Remember last time? I was basically Beyoncé."

Trent chuckled. "I do remember. You were... something else."

"Hey!" she protested, hitting his arm lightly. "I was amazing and you know it. You were just too busy being all serious to appreciate my talent."

He shook his head, laughing. "I'm sorry, love. Next time, I'll make sure to be your number one fan."

"You better," she said, her tone mock-serious. "Because one day, I'll be famous, and you'll be just Trent, the footballer who used to drive me home.'"

He laughed even harder at that, the sound filling the car and making Y/N giggle along with him. "Alright, future superstar, let's get you home and in bed before you start planning your world tour." Trent pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. He glanced over at Y/N, who was leaning against the window, her eyes half-closed.

"Alright, we're home, baby" he said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. He walked around to her side and opened the door. When she stumbled slightly, giggling as he caught her, he decided it was best to just carry her inside.

With a firm grip, Trent scooped her up into his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder, asigh escaping her lips. "My hero," she murmured, her voice slurred.

He chuckled. "Always, love."

He carried her to the front door, managing to unlock it without too much trouble despite her squirming slightly in his arms. Once inside, he headed straight for the bedroom. As soon as they reached the bed, Y/N tried to wriggle out of his arms, clearly aiming to lay down onto the mattress.

"Hold on, love," he said, lowering her gently onto the edge of the bed. "You need to wash your face and change your clothes first."

"Mmm... don't wanna," she mumbled, her words slurred. "Wanna sleep."

Trent shook his head, smiling as he knelt in front of her. "You’ll thank me in the morning. Come on, it’ll only take a minute." She pouted, looking at him with pouty eyes. "But Trent... you're so comfy. And handsome. And perfect."

He chuckled, his heart swelling at her sweet words. "Thank you, honey. But that’s not going to get you out of washing up."

She groaned, attempting to sit up but failing miserably. "You do it then. I'm too tired." He couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, babygirl. Let's get you sorted out." He loved this side of hers, always too honest and loving. She always speaks what's on her mind when she's drunk.

With gentle care, Trent helped her to the bathroom. She leaned heavily against him, still giggling and murmuring affectionate things. "I love you, Trent. You're the best boyfriend ever."

"I love you too, Y/N" he replied, his voice warm. "Now, let's get this makeup off."

He dampened a washcloth and began to gently clean her face, her eyes fluttering closed as he did. "You're so good at this. Maybe you should be a makeup artist."

He laughed softly. "I'll stick to football, thanks."

Once her face was clean, he helped her change into more comfortable clothes. It was a bit of a struggle, with Y/N being more of a burden than a help, but he managed. Finally, he guided her back to bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead. Then, he headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed himself. After he finished, he returned to the bedroom and called out softly, "You still awake, love?"

She mumbled in response, letting him know she was still awake. "Mmm... yeah. Just... thinking."

He lay down facing her, brushing her hair out of her face. "What are you thinking about?"

"Everything," she slurred, her eyes half-open. "You. Us. Life. And... do you think aliens are real?"

Trent blinked, surprised by the topics she was overthinking. "Aliens? That's a big question."

"Yeah," she giggled softly. "I mean, think about it. What if they're out there, watching us right now?"

He laughed, hanging his head back. "You're getting deep on me, aren't you?"

She smiled, her eyes growing more serious. "Trent, can I ask you something? Will you be honest with me?"

"Of course," he said, still amused but curious.

"Are you sure you're real?" she asked, her voice filled with drunken sincerity.

He chuckled, confused. "What do you mean, love?"

She reached out, her fingers tracing his face. "You're so soft, perfect, cute... it’s like you're too good to be true."

He took her hand in his, kissing her palm. "I’m real, I promise." Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of drunken sincerity and vulnerability. "I have a hard time believing someone like you could love someone like me," she said, makingdrunken gestures as she spoke. Trent felt a sense of sadness by her words. He cupped her cheek gently. "Why would you think that, love? You’re everything to me." She shook her head slightly. "It's not just me who thinks that. It's also the people." Pointing her finger in the air, proud she's making a point.

He kissed her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "What people, love?"

She ignored his question, continuing with her thoughts. "You can literally have any skinny, pretty model you want, and even then you'd still be the perfect one. Yet you're with me." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, still asking the same thing. "What people, love?" She sighed, trying to explain through her drunken state. "The people that comment on my photos, or yours, or the people that write in magazines."

Trent's expression grew serious, concern evident inhis features as he listened to her. "What do they say?" Her gaze shifting away from him. "They say I'm not good enough for you. That I'm not pretty enough or skinny enough. I mean, you've seen me naked, right?." He nodded." I DEFINITELY, don't have their stomach!" she slurred out her words. Trent gently tilted her chin up, making her look into his eyes, feeling a bit guilty considering he's the reason she's exposed to such comments. "You are more than enough, love. Those comments come from people who don’t matter. What matters is what we have, the love we share. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone or anything."

She took a shaky breath, tears glistening in her eyes. "I just want to be good enough for you." "Baby, you are!!!" he said firmly, feeling the urge to sit up and make her also sit up to face him, taking her face in his hands. "You already are, darling."

"Please, don't say stuff like this, ever again." He kissed her forehead, her lips, her cheeks, her nose. "You're literally so perfect, it hurts."

"You kissing me is making me feel... warm," Y/N said in the middle of crying, causing Trent to laugh and kiss her one more time. Trent gently guided Y/N to lie down again, hovering over her as he supported himself on his elbow. He looked down at her with a tender expression, his eyes filled with adoration.

"You're perfect, you know that?" he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Y/N smiled softly, her earlier tears now replaced with a warm glow from his affectionate words. "Only you would say that."

Trent leaned in to kiss her collarbone, trailing soft kisses along her skin. He could feel her shiver slightly under his touch, a smile playing on his lips.

Feeling playful, he reached down and lifted her shirt gently, planting gentle kisses on her stomach. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her. "Trent, stop!" she exclaimed between giggles, squirming slightly.

He looked up at her, a smirknt in his eyes. "But you're so adorable when you laugh." She laughed even harder, her hands reaching up to playfully push his shoulder. "You're such a tease," she said, her voice tinged with affection.

Trent chuckled, kissing her stomach one last time before lying down beside her, pulling her close. "I can't help it. You bring out the playful side of me."

Y/N snuggled against him, placing a hand on his chest."I love you, Trent. Even if you’re not real.”

He laughed, kissing her head, pulling her even closer to him.”I love you too, baby. More than words can say!”

[mrsgiovanna]

The little things (Yan! Don Giovanna x reader)

It's been forever and a day since I've written anything, so this isn't the best 😭... just an idea inspired by @thecw-unicorn .

Word count: 1.8k

Tw: yandere behavior, possessiveness, just yand Giorno being yan Giorno haha. Pls, I don't condone this behavior in reality. This is just fiction.

Your day started off just as they all had for the past few weeks... woken up by the ambient light that filtered through the gauzy curtains in your room, followed by slowly meandering through your morning routine until you were convinced it was late enough for you to go down to breakfast without having to cross paths with him. Your fingers trailed through the various outfits in your closet, each perfectly constructed to meet your measurements and likes while still catering to his preferences. It annoyed you, how everything was curated to suit you but felt so insufferable to experience.

From the outside looking in, your existence was a dream, lavished with the best of everything, housed in a villa with comfort few could even imagine, and a handsome powerful man who could create a universe for you, and he would, if you'd ask for it. But this charmed existence came at a price… as most things did, but you often wondered if all the designer clothes and expensive jewellery was worth your agency? Could you continue to live within the confines of his rules? Sitting at the vanity mirror, you looked at yourself, the visage was your own, you recognised the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose and the ways the sunlight bathed your complexion but your eyes felt different… foreign… but in a way that you just couldn't name.

A soft tapping at your door pulled you out of your reverie.

“Yes, come in,” you responded, returning to your reflection as you smoothed out your outfit for the day. It was one of Giorno’s staff, Stella, the helper he had assigned specifically for you, who had let themselves in at your invitation.

“Don Giovanna wishes to see you,”

The silence hung in the air for a while, before prompted again.

“[First]? Did you hear me?”

“I did,” you sighed, and stood. Stalling wouldn't help you today, Giorno only ever sent anyone for you when he was insistent on seeing you and no amount of tricks would save you from that.

“Come along, we wouldn't want to keep Don Giovanna waiting,” said Stella with a serene smile.

“You wouldn't want to keep him waiting, I on the other hand, have no such reservations,” you quipped. Stella simply shook her head at your defiance and walked with you towards the grand dining room.

On occasion you would take your breakfasts there, and dinner when Giorno would be your dining companion, otherwise you had preferred the sunroom with large windows overlooking the beautifully manicured gardens of the villa. You could spend hours there, lost in a book or one of the other hobbies that had become an outlet for you. Giorno had always encouraged your passions… the ones that would keep you on his premises that is.

It was always like that with him. Behind his kind gestures and honeyed words was a veil of control that he was unwilling to relent on. He had always said that it was to keep you from harm, but you wondered how anyone could inflict harm on a man who was akin to a god.

You had arrived at the dining room and seated yourself at the furthest seat from Giorno across the long mahogany table. There was a feast of items, from fresh fruits to pastries and fluffy scrambled eggs and toasted breads. He knew you'd try to hastily leave and was always prepared for resistance from you, but there was something softer in his demeanour today. You eyes wandered over him, he was more relaxed today, even in his dressing, the cashmere turtleneck and dark wash jeans replaced his usual tailored suit, which was still impeccably stylish, but aimed at comfort.

He folded the newspaper he was reading and settled it neatly to the side at your arrival.

“Good morning, [First]” he greeted with a smile, his green eyes sparkling almost as bright as the emeralds on your bracelet.

“Morning….” You flinched internally at the blandness of your response but schooled your features into indifference.

“Have you slept well?” He asked, attempting to ignite a semblance of a conversation.

“Well enough thanks… so… is there a particular reason you wanted to see me today?”

Giorno laughed at the bluntness of your response.

“Always to the point… it's one of the things I love about you. To answer your question, there is something I'd like to talk about”. You nodded for him to continue.

“I was thinking, a change of scenery might be nice, what would you say to a trip to Corsica? I've acquired a secluded villa right on the coast, it's beautiful this time of year…” Giorno trailed off at the downcast expression on your face.

“When do you want to go?” you asked, buttering a piece of toast just to give your hands something to do.

Giorno leaned forward slightly, his expression softening as he caught the hint of reluctance in your voice. "We can leave whenever you’d like. I thought a few days away would do you some good—away from the city, from the noise. Just you and me, no distractions."

The idea of Corsica sounded lovely in theory—a place so far removed from the rest of the world. A place where you could find peace. But you knew better. No matter where you went, no matter how beautiful the scenery, it would still be a gilded cage. The control would remain, the invisible strings pulling at you, limiting your freedom.

You sipped your tea, trying to mask the tension building in your chest. "It sounds nice," you replied carefully, keeping your tone neutral. "But I have things to take care of here." A lie, an unconvincing one but it was all you could think of.

Giorno’s lips twitched into a slight smile, as if amused by your deflection. "Of course, you do. But none of it is so urgent that it can’t wait a few days, no?" His tone was gentle, coaxing, yet firm—leaving little room for argument.

You set your cup down, fingers lightly tracing the rim. "Maybe. I’ll think about it."

There was a pause, the room falling into a familiar, tense quiet, the kind that always followed when Giorno offered you something that was, in truth, an order cloaked as a suggestion. He never pushed too hard, but he never let go, either. You could feel his gaze on you, studying, waiting for the resistance to fade.

"I just want you to be happy, cara," he said, voice low and sincere. "I know things have been difficult, but I want us to have more moments to ourselves, to enjoy life together."

You glanced up at him, meeting those piercing green eyes that always seemed to see more than they should. A part of you wanted to believe in his words, to think that he truly cared, but the weight of his possessiveness and control was never far from your mind.

“I know you do,” you replied quietly, “but sometimes… I need space to find that happiness.”

Giorno’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with an understanding nod. “Of course. We can discuss it further whenever you're ready. But just know, I’ll always be here, offering whatever you need.”

You gave a small, polite smile and shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of his words settle around you. The breakfast laid out before you seemed like a feast, but you felt anything but hungry. It was always like this—an endless cycle of gilded promises wrapped in velvet chains.

And no matter how far you went, no matter how beautiful the setting, the freedom you craved always seemed just out of reach.

Giorno watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any flicker of happiness. The quiet tension between you felt too heavy, too oppressive, and he wasn’t one to let things remain that way for long. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

"You seem tense, amore," he remarked casually, his tone light but with a calculated intention behind it. He gestured toward the fruit plate with a lazy wave of his hand, and in the next instant, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye.

A tiny kitten materialized on the table, no bigger than the palm of your hand. Its fur was a delicate golden color, shimmering faintly as it mewed softly and blinked up at you with wide, curious eyes. It stretched its tiny paws and let out an adorable little purr, batting at a grape that had rolled beside it.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Giorno, what—?"

He chuckled softly. "I thought you could use some company. Sometimes, it's the little things that can brighten your day."

The kitten padded its way closer to you, its tiny paws pattering against the table. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against its soft fur as it purred louder and nudged your hand with its small head. A reluctant smile crept onto your face, despite the guarded wall you’d been trying to keep up.

"There it is," Giorno said, his voice gentle and pleased. "A smile. I knew you had one hiding in there."

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in your chest as the kitten pawed at your fingers, its playful energy contagious. You picked it up carefully, cradling the delicate creature in your hands, and it immediately curled into your palm, purring contentedly.

Giorno watched you intently, his gaze softening as he saw the tension in your posture begin to ease. "See? A simple little thing, and already the day feels better, doesn’t it?"

You shook your head, unable to suppress the small laugh that escaped you. "You really think a kitten is going to fix everything, don’t you?"

"Not everything," he replied with a knowing smile, "but it’s a start."

You held the kitten up, watching as it batted at your finger playfully, its tiny claws barely scratching at your skin. There was something about the innocence of the little creature that tugged at your heart, and for a moment, the weight of the morning lifted just a little.

Giorno leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand as he continued to watch you. "I don’t need to fix everything, amore mio. I just want to see you happy—whatever that looks like for you."

The sincerity in his voice made you pause, glancing over at him. His green eyes, always so sharp and calculating, held a softness that made it hard to look away. He wasn’t pressuring you this time, wasn’t forcing you into something you didn’t want. He was simply… there, offering a small moment of joy in a life that often felt too controlled.

You stroked the kitten, your smile lingering as you looked down at the small, golden ball of fluff in your lap. "Thank you, Giorno," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his smile widening just a fraction, the sound of his name from your lips was always a balm to his soul. "It’s nothing, cara. I’ll always do whatever I can to make you smile."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!

Look 💦 I can’t speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for me—to quote Scar—“my words are a matter of pride.” And by confessing to (ick 🤢) LIKING LION… it’s throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.

I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore 💀 I call it a summary, but it’s still kind of long— It's below the cut for those who are interested!

To begin with, the promotional materials didn’t sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presents—from his arrogance to his “tough/bad boy” design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my liking…)—was so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only “good” thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.

Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? You’re supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a “new oshi” to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE 💀

One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didn’t win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didn’t like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.

AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT… All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a “delicate prince” or a “lost child”, those moments where he sasses others, times when he’s able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women… But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP 😭 Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styx’s lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE… Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says “You’re not like me,” to Jamil 😔 implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own… (I’m still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to “I’m not like you,” which makes him come off as way more arrogant 💦) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral 🌀 IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his… positive traits… (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and “big brother” figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???

Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event 💀 which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes 😭 Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT 💀 Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.

So now that the tables have turned, it’s really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt… It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?

But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments 😡 It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.

“What was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? … Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)

(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friend’s picture that they’re letting me use as a reaction image 😅)

THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORY…

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 3) Chapter Twelve

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twelve: Strange Occurrences

Summary: Saiki's normal life is still...weird.

            Third year was proving as troublesome as Saiki thought it would be. First, he hadn’t managed to rid himself of his “nuisances” (friends. He wasn’t feeling sappy at the moment). Everyone was still in his class, for better or for worse (and other than (Y/N), Saiki would insist for the worse).

            However, on top of that, Saiki was attempting to adjust to living without powers. It was new. He saw people’s faces and not their muscles and bones. He couldn’t hear their thoughts. He couldn’t even teleport. Saiki was living a normal life, and it was completely different from how he’d been living before. Honestly, he kept having moments where he would have preferred to deal with things as he used to, with his abilities. That had been his “normal.” At least (Y/N) was a comforting constant in his life.

            Lastly…Saiki’s powers had tried to make a return. Or, at least, that’s what he and (Y/N) had theorized. The window of the school had broken because of how he felt, right? What else was there to do it? Saiki hoped it wasn’t his psychic abilities, but he wasn’t sure. Neither was (Y/N). There weren’t more incidents since then, but that didn’t change the fact that Saiki and (Y/N) were worried.

l

            (Y/N) and Saiki sat silently across from one another in Café Mami. Ever since the window burst, they hadn’t spoken. What were they supposed to say? That Saiki’s powers might still exist even though Kusuke designed the suppressor to erase his abilities for good? That was crazy to think about.

            “…It could’ve been the wind?” said (Y/N).

            “I don’t think we can believe that,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N) sighed. “No, no way. It was too weird.” They looked at Saiki. “Did you feel different when the window broke?”

            “I was surprised by the bug,” said Saiki. Ew.

            “Do you feel different now?” asked (Y/N).

            Saiki shook his head.

            “Has anything else weird happened?” said (Y/N).

            “I haven’t noticed anything,” said Saiki.

            “Do you want to ask—”

            “No.” No way was he asking his brother for help already.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). They touched Saiki’s hand. “But tell us if anything else weird starts happening. If something’s going wrong with the suppressor, we need to know. I don’t want you to get hurt or affected the wrong way by the suppressor or your powers, okay?”

            Saiki smiled. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Of course, Kusuo.” They squeezed his hand. “I’m here to help you. I love you.”

            Still, as the days without further incident passed, neither of their worries diminished.

l

            “Are you still doing alright, Kusuo?” said (Y/N) as they headed to the library. They had been assigned a research project about different countries, and they were working together on Italy.

            “I am,” said Saiki. Sure, he was overthinking things and still adjusting to being normal, but he was fine. It wasn’t like he got shocked at the sight of people’s faces and got scared when they walked up behind him. Not at all.

            “Okay, but if you need a moment or need advice, let me know, okay?” This wasn’t the usual advice people gave—how to live as a non-supernaturally-powered-person—but (Y/N) was always there to help people, especially their boyfriend. (And, of course, the incident was on their mind, but there were other things to worry about first)..

            “I will,” said Saiki. He didn’t say more. It still wasn’t natural for him to speak much, and he had always been reserved. (Y/N) just smiled at him, understanding. They were always understanding. Saiki’s gaze softened as he watched them disappear between library shelves for books. As long as he had them, he would be fine, no matter how strange and new things were.

            “Hey, you’re (Y/N) (L/N), right?”

            Saiki paused while he was setting out paper to take notes on the books (Y/N) brought back. Leaning over, he saw a boy standing close to (Y/N). He narrowed his eyes.

            “I am.” (Y/N), ever-friendly, smiled. “Do you need something?”

            “I was wondering if you wanted to go out,” said the boy.

            An irk mark appeared on Saiki’s forehead. Someone asking out his partner? He didn’t forgive that for a moment.

            I’ll just make him trip and fall on his face. Then he’ll be embarrassed and stop— Saiki frowned. He couldn’t do that now. He had no powers.

            “I already have a boyfriend,” said (Y/N). “I’m not available.”

            “What? You do?” said the boy, surprised.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), turning away to leave.

            “Who?” asked the boy, and Saiki rose from his table.

            “Kusuo,” said (Y/N) simply.

            “The weird quiet kid? What?” said the boy, scoffing.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes slightly. “So leave me be and don’t talk about him that way.”

            Saiki’s fists clenched as he saw the boy huff and refuse to just accept (Y/N)’s rejection.

            “You hang around Teruhashi. You could do better than that guy,” he said.

            Saiki wanted nothing more than to do something, and, even without his powers, he’d step in if necessary. He’d much prefer at that moment to have them, though.

            “No one is better for me than Kusuo, and it’s my relationship,” said (Y/N). Kusuo is who I love. “So, I’m not interested.” They brushed past him, rolling their eyes and sighing.

            “Love.”

            Saiki paused as he heard the echo of a word in his head. He paused, frowning. What was that?

            “Sorry for taking so long,” said (Y/N), sitting down across from him. “You ready to start?”

            Saiki glanced up to where the boy was still looking at them, frustrated. He sat back down, his hand covering theirs. “Yes,” he said.

            (Y/N) smiled at him, and Saiki relaxed. Okay. We can just get some work done.

            However, as they began to take notes, Saiki felt the familiar itch return. If he had thoughtography, this would go faster. Taking notes only by hand was tiring.

            “This is taking forever,” sighed (Y/N). They brightened. “What if we take this to a café to finish? Grab another book or two and sit down with coffee and sweets.”

            Saiki nodded instantly. That was a fantastic idea, and (Y/N) had spoken right in the nick time to stop Saiki from thinking about his abilities forever.

            “Great,” said (Y/N). “I’ll pack up our stuff. Want to grab another book?”

            Saiki nodded and stood, heading to the shelves. On the other side, the boy from earlier, still frustrated, kicked at the shelves as he grumbled and went about his day. Unfortunately, luck was never on Saiki’s side, so the shelves began to tip.

            “Hey, pal!” said Nendou, noticing.

            “Saiki!” called Kuboyasu.

            “Kusuo!” said (Y/N), instantly moving towards him.

            Bam!

            Saiki groaned as he hit the ground.

            “The shelf fell down! Someone is trapped underneath!” cried a student.

            Saiki felt nothing pressing down on him, and he furrowed his brow.

            Ow…Kusuo…

            Saiki heard (Y/N)’s voice and sat up instantly. His eyes widened. (Y/N)!

            (Y/N) lay beneath the bookshelf, groaning.

            “We’ve got to move the shelf,” said Hairo, taking charge.

            “Oh my god, (Y/N)!” said Teruhashi.

            Saiki ran forward and grabbed the edge of the shelf with Hairo. Nendou joined a moment after. Saiki strained with them to lift the shelves, and he felt a pang of guilt run through him.

            If I had my powers, I would lift this in a moment. I would have stopped the shelf from falling. I would have protected (Y/N)!

            They were hurt, and he hadn’t been able to do anything to protect them.

            “Are you alright, (Y/N)?” said Hairo as the shelf was lifted and (Y/N) pulled themself out.

            “Definitely bruised,” they groaned.

            Saiki pulled them into a hug, burying his head in their hair as he held them tightly. (Y/N) hugged him just as tightly.

            “Kusuo? Are you okay?” they said softly.

            “You were hurt,” said Saiki. That was what matter, not him. And without his powers, he had been useless. He couldn’t protect the people he loved without them, not as he used to.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N). “But it’s alright. I wanted to protect you.” They smiled.

            Oh, wow. I’ve become someone who is protected. Saiki gazed at them.

            “Don’t blame yourself, okay?” said (Y/N) gently.

            “…” Saiki just held them tighter.

l

            “Welcome home, Average Joe,” said Kusuke, lounging in his parents’ house.

            “I need to talk to you,” said Saiki.

            Curious, Kusuke followed him outside, and Saiki faced him.

            “Is it possible for my powers to return?”

            Instantly, Kusuke made the connection and quivered with excitement. “What?! You might be getting your psychic abilities back?”

            Why do you look so happy? Saiki deadpanned. I can’t be sure, but I’ve been experiencing something odd.

            “You no longer have telepathy, so can you speak normally?” said Kusuke.

            You used to wear a canceler, so you can figure out what I’m saying anyways. Saiki slammed his hand into the wall in frustration. It cracked from the strength. “Explain to me!” There it was, a hint of telepathy. You said I would never be able to use psychic powers, right? He glared at Kusuke.

            Kusuke sweat-dropped. “Okay, right, I do know what you’re saying…And yeah, I said so. You shouldn’t be able to use psychic abilities…if you are a normal person.”

            Normal? Is a psychic “normal?” said Saiki.

            “I’m talking about you without psychic abilities,” said Kusuke. “That means, you’re not normal, even without psychic abilities.” He gestured to the cracks Saiki’s powerful hand had created. “For example, this. You can still do this without psychic abilities, but average people can’t do such a thing.”

            Saiki’s eyes widened as Kusuke continued.

            “I assume you have evolved into a different kind of human being in order to control your inborn psychic powers.” Kusuke grinned. “If your brain and muscles have transformed to adapt, it’s possible you will get your abilities back. You never know. However, your power has been sealed, so nothing serious should be expected. We’ll just wait and see. Maybe you’re just worried too much or your body is in the process of becoming normal. All you can do is rest. You shouldn’t get excited or think about using psychic abilities. Try to stay calm and live peacefully.”

            Is that all I should do? Even when people are hurt and I want to help? Even when I want to protect the people I love, like (Y/N)?

            This is getting interesting.

            Kusuke’s voice jerked Saiki out of his thoughts. Did you say something?

            “What are you talking about?” said Kusuke.

            …Yare yare.

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[hannahssimblr]

May. 

The sun’s hot on the window. It beams into the centre, onto the side of my face. The birds must be singing—making a racket in the trees, the leaves of which I can only see the impression of, blurred through patterned glass. I lift one side of my headset to hear them, but any sound of burgeoning summer is drowned out by the cacophony of voices and the clacking of a dozen keyboards.

The call connects with a soft chime, and I straighten up.

“Good afternoon. You’re through to support. My name is Jude. How can I help you?” 

“Okay, where the fuck is my iPhone?”

Feel a thin smile on my lips. I will have quit this job by next week. 

“I understand that’s really frustrating. Let me take a look for you.”

The man—surely all head and no neck by the sound of his voice—barks me through the sequence of digits that is his order number, while I stare at the Freundlichkeit ist oberstes Gebot im Kundenkontakt sign pinned to the cubicle above my computer. Friendliness is the top priority in customer interaction. Feel a bit indignant looking at it—the one-sidedness of it. Like a little peasant, I rattle obliging phrases down the phone at this man who, according to my personal rules outside this place, is not allowed to speak to me like this. 

On this phone, however, he can say whatever he wants. 

“So it’s lost then?” he snarls once I’ve pulled up his order. “Who lost it? Who the fuck lost my phone?”

Take a breath. “I completely understand your frustration. I will raise a ticket with our logistics team to investigate, and if it has been confirmed missing, we will send a replacement or issue a refund. Whichever you prefer.”

“I’d prefer to have my iPhone now, like I was supposed to.”

“Thanks. Your feedback helps us improve. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

He hangs up. 

I take my headset off and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I forgot to use his name on the call. The team lead flagged me for that last week, saying customers like to feel human, as though the entire system wasn’t designed to the contrary. 

Thirty seconds of reprieve before the next call hits. Just enough time to remember I’m a person.

Slide my phone from my pocket, and the home screen reveals one new message. 

Evie. 

Eagerly awaiting your lunch update, pls.  Trying a bubble tea atm. Tastes like nothing. 

A picture of her cup against the backdrop of South William Street. Red brick buildings. Cracking sun. It makes me feel depressed. Forty-three minutes until I’m allowed to access my sad sandwich in the company fridge. I’ll spare her a picture.

Start to type something back. 

Grim. Always thought those looked good, in a kind of freaky frogspawn way tbh. There’s a place–

Chime. A call connects. 

Phone back in the pocket. Headset back on. 

“Good afternoon. You’re through to support. My name is Jude. How can I help you?” 

In the evening, after escaping the call center, I sit with Astrid outside a bar in Mitte. Her long, bare legs are stretched out in the golden light. The garlic-slick remains of her prawn tapas sit in a dish on the table, and I, pencil to paper, sketch, for the hundredth time, a diagram of a clay sculpture. 

“You’re allowed to stop working,” she drawls, following several minutes of silence. “It is possible to enjoy a Friday evening if you put your mind to it.”

“Mm, I know,” paw for my glass of wine and drink some without looking up from the page. “Just with everything... the job’s killing me this week. Can’t wait for next week when I can finally… you know, quit.”

“Well, not everything you deliver has to be perfect. Your assignments don’t matter so much in second year.”

“I’d rather have something to show at the end of the semester. You see where I’m coming from?” I gesture to the page, the drawing of a head, my head maybe, though it will probably be a decision based on time once I get into the sculpture studio. 

She sighs, heavy and hassled, and adjusts her sunglasses on her nose. “If a genie granted me one wish, it would be that you could just relax and enjoy your life.”

“Thanks, that’s nice,” I say, not knowing whether she intended it to be or not. Too busy to care. 

A mask, I think. Yes, the head should have a mask on it. Kind of halfway off. Scrawl a note to find a book about that in the university library on Monday. 

“There she is,” Astrid says, no excitement in her voice, and I look up as Mia crosses the plaza. Jeans and a t-shirt, hair sticking out from her ponytail in a halo of frizz, and a blush from the vigour of her walk across her cheeks and nose. Same flat expression she wore at Christmas.

Astrid doesn’t stand to greet her, but cocks her head to the side, peering up at her sister through her shades. “Hello,” she says. “How are you?”

“Fine,” says Mia. “I like your top.” 

Astrid just smiles. Shows no teeth. 

To me, then: “Hello, Jude.”

I tuck my sketchbook onto my lap and gesture towards the empty seat. “Hey, good to see you again. Sit down. Do you want to look at the wine menu?”

“Ah,” she slumps into the chair, brushes bits of her hair away from her forehead. “No, I’m not drinking alcohol. Not before performing.” Takes the menu anyway, perusing it while Astrid swishes pinot noir around her glass. 

“And the rehearsals?” She says. “They were fine?”

“Yes, they went well,” Mia flips to the cocktail page. “I’ve been finding Rachmaninoff emotionally consuming. It’s probably the most demanding concerto I have had to perform, so I’m feeling tired.”

Astrid nods. 

“What about it is so demanding?” I say, and hope their perception of my intelligence isn’t hinging on my knowledge of Rachmaninoff and his concertos, or whatever. “Is it like, you know, long, or something?”

“Mm, thirty minutes, approximately. It’s more about the endurance needed.”

“Right, right.”

She peers at me. “You’re coming to the concert?”

“Tomorrow, yeah. With my mom and sister. They’re actually flying in tomorrow morning, so yeah. They’re excited. My sister mostly, but my mom too. She sort of has an idea of the kind of person who listens to classical music and likes to play the part. If you know what I mean.” 

Mia nods. “Yes, I do.”

Wipe my hands on the sides of my jeans. “Hey, did you mean it, what you said at Christmas? About letting Ivy backstage and stuff? No pressure if you can’t, but I did want to ask.”

She hesitates. “I–”

“Oh, Mia is too busy for that,” Astrid says quickly. “Already going through so many long rehearsals, and then bringing a child around? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Mia looks at her but says nothing. Heat crawls up my cheeks and into my forehead. “Okay, well, Ivy is not just some random kid. She’s my sister.”

Astrid shrugs. “Yes, but it’s a professional concert, and she’s still a child.”

“She’s a really great person.”

She just sips her drink.

I adjust my chair. “Well, I’m meeting them tomorrow at their hotel. They got one near the concert hall. It’s their first time in Berlin, so… we’ll make a day of it. Ivy’s apparently been listening to the concert programme on YouTube non-stop. She’s like, obsessed with the music.”

Nobody says anything. 

“Glad we’re all excited,” I mutter. 

Mia glances up. “I’m glad she’s coming.”

I’m not sure if she means it, or if she’s just being polite. Regardless, the conversation moves on. Something about a person they both know, or knew, and I turn my sketchbook over in my lap. Stare at the unfinished face. Mine or not mine. The mask sits crookedly on his brow. 

I scribble over it and close the page.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[saphushia]

helpful (free) utility programs for artists

Allusion

reference image organizer. shows all the images in any folders you assign it to look in, and provides an easy interface for tagging and searching them. you can nest tags within each other, and when you apply a tag to an image it also applies all the parent tags. so if you tag 'tank top', and tank top is in the 'shirt' tag, it'll include that image when you search 'shirt'. also open source!

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

Pureref

reference image viewer. can create reference image collages, add notes, lock the window to stay on top, set the window to be partially transparent, and save 'scenes' so you can quickly pull up whatever character ref you need without searching for all your references images and re-adding them every time. supports loading images from file and copy-pasting from web.

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

WhatColor

color describer. shows you details about the color your mouse is over. it's designed for colorblind folks, and I mostly use it because I have strong color filters on my screen 90% of the time for health reasons. however it's also helpful when you're learning to dissect color palettes and are trying to see how the perception of a certain color is affected by the colors surrounding it. use it to see how often ur brain gets duped into seeing purple when it's actually blue

compatible with windows 7/8/10

[kingdom-of-sins]

Thief!Charles Leclerc x Cop!Reader

Let's just say Charles has a thing for the cop who wants to put him behind bars

The city was quiet as you walked through the shadows, investigating the latest in a series of robberies. You’d been assigned to this case for weeks, and the thief was elusive, clever, always managing to slip through the fingers of every cop on his trail. But you were determined to end this cat-and-mouse game. Tonight, you felt certain he’d make another appearance.

Then, there he was—Charles Leclerc. You spotted him, crouched by the window of a jewelry store, his face partially hidden by the darkness. His fingers moved skillfully, lock-picking with an ease that showed his experience. You took a step forward, and he sensed your presence, his head snapping up. When he saw you, his eyes widened, but not with fear; instead, a sly, amused smile appeared on his face.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he said smoothly, standing up and looking at you with open admiration. “And here I thought tonight would be boring.”

Your face stayed steady, unimpressed. “Charles Leclerc. You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?” You moved closer, keeping your hand near the cuffs on your belt. You could feel his gaze sweep over you, studying every detail.

“Beautiful and smart,” he murmured, almost as if talking to himself. “They didn’t tell me they’d send someone like you.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, like he was enjoying every second of this.

You kept your gaze sharp, not letting his charm affect you. “Save it. You’re coming with me.”

He raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of resisting someone like you,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief as you cuffed his wrists.

During the drive to the station, Charles kept his eyes on you, a constant, unbreakable focus. “You know,” he started, leaning as far forward as his handcuffs would allow, “if I’d known my arresting officer would be this gorgeous, I would’ve let myself get caught a lot sooner.”

You rolled your eyes, keeping your focus on the road. “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, Charles.”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to try anyway,” he replied, smirking. “Besides, I have to entertain myself somehow. And you’re definitely more fun than the others.”

At the station, as you processed him, he kept up his flirtation, watching you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Every answer he gave was laced with charm and wit, each attempt designed to get a reaction from you. But you stayed firm, keeping your cool, and this seemed to make him even more interested.

“So, Detective,” he said, signing the last form, “when will I see you again?”

You frowned, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the way he looked at you. “Hopefully, you’ll be too busy serving time to see me again.”

But he just smiled, undeterred. “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that. I’m not one to stay away from beautiful people for long.”

A few days passed, and Charles was transferred to another facility. However, during the transport, he managed to escape, slipping away from custody without a trace. The news hit the station quickly, and though you felt a sense of frustration, you couldn’t help the small part of you that wondered if he would make another move.

The next evening, as you returned to your office, you found an envelope sitting on your desk. Inside was a note, handwritten in neat, confident script:

“Detective,

If you want to catch me, I’ll be at the old museum on 5th Avenue at midnight.

And if you’d like to grab a coffee afterward, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.

-Charles”

Your pulse quickened as you read it, his cocky tone shining through each word. He was daring you, inviting you to play his game.

***

You stood there for a moment, the note crinkling slightly in your hand as you read it again, just to be sure. Charles was taunting you, but there was something else in his words—a challenge. He wanted you there, not just because you were the cop assigned to catch him, but because he enjoyed the thrill, the game of it all. And somehow, he wanted you to be part of it.

As midnight approached, you made your way to the old museum on 5th Avenue. The street was deserted, the building dark and looming against the city’s skyline. You scanned the shadows, your senses heightened, trying to anticipate his next move.

Then you heard it—a quiet shuffle of footsteps coming from inside. You moved silently, slipping through the side entrance he’d likely left unlocked just for you. The museum was dark, the empty halls echoing with every sound. Then, near a display case in the middle of the room, you saw him.

Charles stood under a dim shaft of light, looking almost like he belonged there, a priceless artifact in the middle of the abandoned museum. He was relaxed, his posture casual as he glanced over his shoulder, spotting you the moment you entered.

“There you are,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”

You stepped forward, keeping a steady gaze. “Did you really think I’d let you get away that easily?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was hoping. But I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

You moved closer, careful to keep your expression neutral even as his gaze roamed over you, appreciative and admiring. “This isn’t a game, Charles,” you warned, though your pulse quickened with every step you took toward him.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because I think we’re both enjoying this a bit more than we’d like to admit.”

Before you could reply, he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you. His eyes were fixed on yours, and for a moment, the air felt thick, electric. “You’re very good at your job,” he murmured, his voice low. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to work a little harder to keep up with me.”

You felt a spark of determination at his words. “I’ve caught you once already. And I’ll do it again,” you replied confidently, raising an eyebrow.

Charles chuckled softly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before he looked back up, meeting your eyes with that familiar glint. “I look forward to it,” he said, his voice warm, almost intimate.

With a swift, unexpected movement, he turned, slipping away from you and disappearing into the darkness of the museum. You moved to follow, but he was fast, each footstep echoing farther and farther away until you couldn’t hear him at all. He’d vanished into the night, leaving you with nothing but the note in your pocket and the memory of his flirtatious smile.

But as you left the museum, you found another slip of paper taped to the door outside. It was simple, written in his unmistakable handwriting:

“Until next time, Detective. Coffee’s still on the table.”

You couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face, despite your best efforts to stay serious. You knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d pull a stunt like this. He was making it clear that he wouldn’t go far, that he’d be waiting, ready to play the game whenever you were. And somehow, despite everything, you looked forward to it.

[itsspiiit]

Unexpected…

Parings: Hobie Brown x Reader

Summary:You’ve been staying up at ungodly hours due to the bountiful amount of work you had from school. Your good friend Hobie comes over one night to help you stop your stressing and sleep. But the night had different plans for you both.

Inspo: Wet by GRLWood

Warning(s): NSFW (mdni), mutual masturbation, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, mentions of sex work, NOT proofread (cause I didn’t feel like it). If you see any errors… no you didn’t.

Thursday, 3AM

You sat at the desk in your room typing away on your laptop with a bowl of various fruits next to it. The flexi rod curls you put every ounce of arm strength you had into almost didn’t exist anymore. Your reading glasses slid from the bridge of your nose to the tip of it, making it easier to see the chanel bags slowly forming under your eyes. Unknowingly, your back hunched over the longer you sat down and tried to complete the third essay assigned to you this week.

You were exhausted. But you had a fuck ton of english work to do and insomnia kept you awake. Your regret for majoring in psychology grew with every indentation and word you typed on the keyboard.

Just as you were about to start typing the third to last paragraph, a soft rhythmic knock on the window startled you. Your body jolted at the unexpected sound causing your glasses to slide further down your nose. Using your middle finger to push them back to their proper position, you turned your head in the direction of the window and almost all of your stress left your body when you saw him.

Hobie, your best friend with the cool hair, stood outside with his contagious smile painted across his face as he waved at you with his long, slender, ring decorated fingers. His torso was covered halfway with a black crop top you ripped and designed for him and a spiked leather vest you spray painted the anarchy symbol on the back of. He wore black ripped jeans that were secured on his hips by a spiked belt and chains dangling from the belt loops.

Fuck, he looks so good.

Pushing your thoughts to the side, you pushed your chair back and stood up to open your window for for the 6’5 man. “Hey, Hobie.” You greeted him with a soft smile, watching him climb into your room and start to take his boots off before closing the window. He walked towards your bed and threw himself on it, placing his hands behind his head and crossed one leg over the other.

“Wagwaan.” He greeted back with a lopsided smile. His smooth, deep voice and british accent always sounded so sultry to you. Every time you guys talked it felt like a challenge to see how long you can keep your self respect before you up and pounced on him.

“Well,” you began to respond as you sat back in your desk chair and tossed a grape into your mouth, “it’s three in the morning and I’m trying to finish… what? Like… the third, fourth essay I was assigned? Been working on it since probably ten or eleven.”

His beautiful pierced face immediately fell into a shocked expression with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. “You haven’t taken a break, have you?” All you could is shake your head and let out a long stressful sigh as you looked at your computer screen with visibly tired eyes.

“Not only is it because I can’t sleep, but I wanna get everything done ASAP. My work is do on Sunday an-”

“It’s due Sunday?!” He cut you off, his tone bursting with disbelief. You felt a laugh bubbling up in your chest hearing his thick accent but held it in, reaching into the bowl and eating a pineapple chunk. “You know that’s in three days, right?” He continued as he pressed his elbows into your soft mattress and sat up giving you a look that read “are you serious?”

“Of course I know that, but-”

“But nothin’, mate. Close the computer.” He cut you off again, gesturing his head towards it.

“Hobie-”

“Close it.”

Not having the energy to go back and forth with him, your eyes rolled in annoyance and you shut your laptop. You turned your head in his direction and saw that a closed mouth smile was painted across his face. “Oh, you’re happy now?” You asked with a deadpanned expression.

A low chuckle escaped his throat watching you mug him as he nodded his head. The sound had you doing backflips mentally as your face began to heat up slightly. “Knowin’ that you aren’t nose deep into a screen goin’ mad about somethin’ that’s due in seventy two hours? Yeah, I’m quite happy.”

He swung his legs off your bed and sat up, reaching over to grab a mango chunk and tossed it into his mouth. As he chewed he saw your face drop into a “are you deadass?” look. He stopped chewing for a moment, awkwardly looked to the side and back to your face.

“Yeah, Hobs! You can take one!” You voiced with sarcasm as you threw your arms up and back down to your sides. He gave you an apologetic smile as he started to slowly chew the sweet and refreshing fruit again. “What made you come here at this time of night though? Can’t think of anywhere to steal from?” You asked playfully with a teasing smirk.

A light laugh came from him as he finished chewing before he responded. “I actually didn’t feel like stealin’ until you mentioned it.” You chuckled and shook your head at his antics. “But, nah. I couldn’t sleep and I knew you’d be up so I thought why not come over and bother you.”

“Ahhh… so what you do almost every day!” Both of you erupted into laughter at your comment. He knew that you were joking, and you knew you enjoyed his presence a little too much.

“Oh, come out of it. You know you love when I’m around.” He spoke as you guys’ laughter died down. Placing his hands on your bed, he leaned back bit and gave you a cocky smile.

Oh, he know he fine.

“Eh, sometimes.” You shrug playfully, reaching into the fruit bowl and munching on another grape. He reaches for the bowl again and takes a kiwi slice, but you don’t mind this time.

Once he done chewing he begins to speak. “Are you saying that because I always beat you in Uno?” You gave him a bored expression as you watched the smile on face grow.

“Hobie, please. You beat me that one time-”

“And I beat you three times in a row.”

You scoffed at his cocky behavior and crossed your arms. “I bet it won’t happen again.” You eyed him up and down with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He gave you the same look as one of his eyebrows lifted in feigned curiosity. “Is that a challenge?”

It was now four in the morning. You sat on your bed with your back against the headboard and the gorgeous punk sat in front of you with crisscrossed legs, his leather vest now off his shoulders and hung on the back of your desk chair. You guys were two intense Uno games in, Hobie being the winner of both of them.

“Uno.” He announced with a lopsided grin as he placed a yellow three card and red three card down at the same time. You were starting to lose hope. You held the two cards you had thinking hard about the multiple possibilities of how this game could end. Until…

“UNO OUT!” You exclaimed slightly with a proud grin as you slammed a red skip card and red eight card down. You finally won a game after what felt like hours of playing.

He also gave you a proud smile as he began to pick up all of the cards that were piled on your mattress. “You finally beat my streak. ‘M proud of you.”

The voice. The Smile. His Confidence. Now the praise. It was all slowly becoming too much. His comment made your heart beat a bit faster, waves of heat traveling from your head and down to your lower region. It caused your sensitive bud to throb gently, and you crossed one leg over the other to somehow bring it to a halt.

He’s gonna be the death of me, I swear.

“Wanna play another game?” He asked when he was done picking up all of the playing cards. You sighed softly as you crossed your arms and shook your head.

“Nah, I just wanted to beat you in at least one game of Uno. Got tired of you talking shit.” He chucked at your confession and wrapped the rubber band you used to keep the cards together back around them. “But we can play connect four if you’re down. I’ll definitely win the first game.”

“Oh, I’ve got to see this.” He spoke with a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll go get the game.”

He got off your bed and walked towards the closet, opening it and instantly scanning the top shelf for the box. You pulled your phone from underneath your pillows and scrolled through instagram as you waited for him to come back with the second challenge for the night. Your cluttered top shelf slipped your mind as you thought you wouldn’t even have company today.

When he found the game, he tried to pull it out of its position without knocking anything down. But it all happened so quickly. As he began to pull the Connect 4 box out, so did Candy Land which was right beneath it. He reached his unoccupied hand out to make sure that game didn’t fall in the process, but he didn’t know that these two board games were keeping a pink Shoe Dazzle box from falling as well.

He successfully got Connect 4 from your top shelf without another game falling, but he didn’t see the pink box making its way out of the closet as well. When it fell, it landed on the side which caused the top to fall off as it hit the floor. He looked down and watched what was inside of the box roll out in awe.

Various sex toys with different shapes, sizes and functions were now scattered across the floor in front of her closet. A pink massage wand, black seven inch dildo and a black silicone butt plug with a blue gemstone on the bottom of it were the main toys that caught his attention since they were so close to his feet. He wanted to speak. He tried to speak. But he was too stunned to try and even utter a word.

There’s no way she has all of this. Am I dreaming?

The sound of the box hitting the floor made you look up from your phone with a confused expression, but it was immediately taken over with disbelief and shock. Your eyes were so wide you’re surprised they didn’t fall out of your head. Your jaw hung so low it would probably hit the floor if you were standing. The gasp you let out was so sharp and loud it made Hobie turn his head in your direction. You can see the disbelief in his face as well and that alone made tears start to form into your eyes.

All you could do is grab a pillow and sit it on your lap, plop your head on it to hide your face and scream. Your face was so warm in embarrassment that it felt like it could melt off any second now. You can feel your friends stare on you, searching for answers in a way, but you couldn’t even look at the man.

There was a long, unbearable silence between the both of you. So much tension in the room that it could be cut with a knife. You sat with your face buried into your pillow, take deep breaths to calm yourself down before you finally built the courage to get off your bed and walk towards the “mess” that was created. Without looking at the handsome man next to you, you squatted down and placed the box down with the opening facing the ceiling and began putting everything back where it was before.

“Uhh… you need help with tha-” Hobie spoke awkwardly in attempt to break the loud silence. He put his hands up in surrender and backed up a bit when he saw you side eye him with a displeased expression.

(I had to use the picture this was the PERFECT opportunity to do so 😭)

You continued to pick up your toys, still without uttering a word or even looking at him. From your peripheral vision you saw his feet step away from his position next to you and heard his footsteps stop where your bed was located. You assumed he sat and your bed again, maybe to give you some space. You picked up the cardboard top and slammed it onto the box when you were done picking everything up, instantly getting up and putting it back on the top shelf in your closet.

You kept your head down as you closed the closet and walked to your previous spot before all of this: your desk chair. Still not being able to look at the company on your bed, your hand reached for your closed laptop until…

“Don’t even think about it, bruv.” Hobie stopped you with a playful scowl in his tone crossing his arms. All you could do is let out a dramatic sigh, cross your arms on the desk and place your head on them, hiding your face once again.

Hobie eyed your movements the entire time. He understood why you were embarrassed, wanting to curl yourself into ball and just hide. But he didn’t understand why you were acting this way towards him. Of course he was shocked that you out of all people had all of this… material. You’re the introverted, shy, kind of nerdy and laid back friend. Always at home with your head stuffed into a comic or manga, loved sleep more than anything, would rather write than talk. Just the opposite of him and he didn’t mind that.

But he didn’t understand why you thought he cared about your secret box so much. This wasn’t gonna make him think about you any different. If anything, he was more curious and a bit turned on after finding out such covert information.

He decided to try and break the silence again. “This isn’t as bad as you’re makin’ it seem, love.” You can hear the sincerity in his tone, his sultry voice and the pet name he used still had your sensitive bud aching for attention.

He couldn’t see it, but your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his statement. “What do you mean?” You questioned without lifting your head.

“It was a little unexpected, but it’s not botherin’ me in any way. Your personality isn’t in that box.” His honesty never faltered as he let out a light chuckle, gesturing his hand in the direction of your closet.

You scoffed at his statement in disbelief, finally sitting up and crossing your arms as you gazed at the wall in front of you. He was starting to get annoyed at the lack of eye contact and he sucked his teeth, glaring at the side of your face. “Look at me, mate.”

You heard the seriousness in his voice, and you closed your eyes taking a a deep breath before opening them and turning your head in his direction. Finally locking your eyes with his, you searched for any vacillation that could be hidden. But there was only sincerity. He meant every word he said.

“I’m sorry, Hobie. It’s just…” You trailed off looking to the side for a moment before looking back him. “You saw everything in that box. My childhood best friend doesn’t even know what’s in there. How am I supposed to believe that you don’t care about what you just saw?”

“Because I don’t.” He shrugged with a sarcastic laugh. “If I’m bein’ completely honest, the only thing I’m wonderin’ is how and why you have so many. I’ve never met someone with a box full of sex toys. Shit, I don’t even have that many.”

Your face fell into a curious expression as you listened to his words. “You have sex toys-”

“It’s not about me right now.” He spoke quickly shaking his head.

You chuckled at his quickness to dismiss your question. “Well, to stop your wondering…” You trailed off again with a sigh, scratching the back of your head nervously.

Am I really gonna tell him this?

You saw his eyebrows raise, eager to hear what you had to say.

Might as well just tell him. It doesn’t make sense to hide this now.

You blew a raspberry, preparing yourself to inform your friend of your biggest secret. “Long story short… I’m a sex worker. About a year and some change now. The financial aid package I receive from my college falls short on covering the cost of the tuition and other expenses. I don’t wanna put myself through five hours of class and then seven to eight hours of labor to make ends meet. So, I started looking into sex work. Seeing how much I could possibly make, the different types of content that people would pay for, the fact that I’d be working any time and anywhere I wanted was a plus as well. Now, here I am: I make about eight hundred dollars weekly, two to three thousand monthly. It’s enough to make sure I can pay for college and still do what I want.”

When you finished your confession, Hobie was left speechless with a slack jaw. He blinked a couple times to try and process the information he was given. His friend who couldn’t even socialize for more than two hours… Is a cam girl?

…Why is this kind of hot?

He picked up his jaw and cleared his throat, shaking the thoughts out of his head with a deep sigh. His behavior made all of the negative feelings you had before resurface. You looked down at the floor with shame as you shook your head.

“I knew I should’ve just kept my mouth shut-”

“No, no, no, no, no!” He quickly stopped you from finishing your sentence waving his hands. “I meant everythin’ I said before. None of this is gonna change my perspective of you. It’s just…”

He trailed off, the naughty thoughts he had slowly clouded his mind again. He felt his blood slowly rush to the head of his member thinking about the fact that he was sitting on the bed that you made some of your content on. You could’ve made yourself cum on the sheets you currently have on your mattress today, and thought of him sitting in the spot where you probably left a big, creamy mess was driving him mad.

“Hobie?” You spoke with a bit of worry as you noticed him zone out. You watched as he swallowed thickly and blinked twice, the leg that hung off your bed beginning to sway from side to side. You bit your lip to hide the smile that was threatening to paint your face at the scene.

Ahh, I see what’s up.

He felt his length throb softly, the feeling made him groan but he attempted to hide it with a deep, throaty chuckle. The sound not only made your entrance clench with need, but it gave you a bit of confidence to say your next words.

“Do you wanna see how I make my content?” The slight seduction in your voice caught him off guard, his head shot up to look at you with a shocked expression. You could see the desire in his eyes start to expand at your question.

“Wai- what?” He stammered breathlessly. He didn’t know where your sudden boldness came from, but he didn’t mind as it made it him throb again, his manhood slowly becoming erect.

“I know you heard me, Hobie.” You answered teasingly with a voluptuous grin and. “It’s a simple yes or no question.”

There goes that silence again. Sexual tension building as you eyed each other down. Once you both saw that y’all were on the same page, you smiled at each other with a knowing glint in your eyes. Y’all began to stand and walk towards each other with only one thought in mind:

“Finally.”

You were now laying on your bed with your torso completely exposed, showing off the nipple piercings that Hobie didn’t know you had. He swore it was as if he was finding treasure with every second he spent with you. Your legs were spread wide open to expose the red lace thong you’ve been sporting, revealing a small wet stain that your aching core left on it.

Hobie sat in your desk chair that he moved to the front of your bed, his torso also completely on display. The sight of his lanky yet toned and muscular physique only made you wetter. His boxer briefs were still attached to his lower half, his erection very prominent and aching to see what was next. Your tripod stood next him with your phone placed on it horizontally as it recorded.

“I’m so wet for you already. Dripping through my thong for you.” You spoke seductively, moving your body closer to the tripod and gorgeous man in front of you. Even though you looked into camera the whole time, he knew every word was meant for him.

“I only get this wet for you, baby. I’ve been waiting so fucking long to show you how I make myself cum when I think about you.” As if read each other’s minds, both of you placed a hand on your chest and slowly dragged it down to your most sensitive parts. Your hand slid inside your thong as his began to gently palm his shaft over his boxers, biting his lip to hold the groan that was ready to escape his throat.

The hand you slipped into your underwear made it’s way to your throbbing clit, your natural juices already coated all over your flower. You slowly and gently began to rub your sensitive button in circles, a low moan escaping your lips at the smooth feeling. The sound of your arousal squelching echoed off the walls in your room, drawing a low grunt from the half naked man at the foot of your bed as he continued to palm himself.

“I’ll show you how pretty she is, only if I get to see how hard the sound of my needy pussy made you first. Can you do that for me?” You continued to play with yourself, applying the tiniest amount of pressure. He immediately lifted his hips and slid his boxers off of his hips with ease.

His length was finally revealed to you, springing out effortlessly with him sighing blissfully at the feeling. Watching it slap his stomach gently, the tip going past his belly button, had you moaning at the sight. Your leaking entrance clenched with need as you thought of his member thrusting into you slow and hard, the prominent veins rubbing against your smooth, wet walls deliciously.

“Mmmm~ that dick is so pretty.” You admitted as you lifted your hips to remove your thong. You slid it off your legs and threw it in a random direction away from you. Your other set of lips spread slowly as you opened your legs again, showcasing your beautiful sensitive flower glistening with your wetness. “It’s so hard for me already, babe. I know you wish you stretching this tight, wet, warm pussy with every inch.” Your hand reached for your slit, spreading your labia to display your opening.

It was already starting to become too much for Hobie. The way you uttered such naughty words with ease, how you played with your beautiful pussy so delicately, the way you looked into the camera with such lust and longing desire. He bit his lip at the alluring sight before him, eyes rolling back as they closed for a moment when his shaft throb for attention.

You moved your hand so that you were touching your delicate bud again, letting out a pornographic moan as you started to rub it in circles again. “I wanna watch you make yourself feel good too, baby. Spit on your hand, get that aching cock nice and wet for me, and stroke it nice and slow. I don’t want you getting close too fast, okay?”

He instantly did what your smooth, gentle voice commanded him to do. The sensation of his moisturized hand slowly sliding down to the base of his length made a deep groan fall from his lips. He slid his hand up to his tip with the same pace, hissing at the feeling of himself softly pulsate in his grip. He found a rhythm rather quickly, a rhythm that already had his head lulling back in bliss as he imagined it was your pretty, dripping hole gripping him gently as you rode his erect member.

“Mmn~ fuck.” You whimpered as you felt your opening leak more of your sweet extract at the lustful view of his now glistening girth pulsate in his slender hands. The friction of his hand spreading his spit around him could be heard as he watched you play with yourself. “You’re throbbing so hard for me already. You like watching me play with my needy pussy for you, baby?” Your hand moved downward to tease your leaking hole, and you let out a short, low purr followed by a sharp gasp when you felt the tip of your middle finger almost enter.

The pretty boy in front of you analyzed your face and body with hooded eyes clouded with hunger and eagerness to cum with you, wishing it was the tip of his dick teasing your entrance. A deep, animalistic growl escaped his throat as he began to thrust his hips into hand at a steady pace. “Shit.” He moaned when he started to flick his wrist as he continued to caress his length, stroking at faster pace.

“Ooh~ my finger slides in so easily.” You moaned breathlessly when you felt your smooth, greedy walls suck your digit into yourself. You slowly thrusted your coated finger in and out twice before pulling it out, watching a string of your arousal stretch from your core attached to your digit. The strand of your extract broke when brought your hand to your face, sucking the juices off but making sure your finger was still moist enough so you can slip it into your hungry opening again.

Hobie grunted eagerly as he watched you. His release was building up slowly, but he held it in. “So fucking good.” He groaned lowly feeling his pleasure intensify, the pace he stroked his girth never faltering.

You eased your index finger in after penetrating yourself with your middle for a while, your mouth falling agape at the delightful feeling of being stretched out slightly. Curving your slick digits upwards, another sharp gasp escaped your mouth as you felt the tip of them gently press again a spongy spot inside your dripping core. “Oh, yes, right fucking there.” You whined desperately at the new feeling, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you continued motioning your fingers upward.

At this point you and Hobie forgot about the phone that was recording your sinful actions and naughty sounds. You were both in a state of euphoria— the sensual noises coming from guy’s mouth, your arousal squelching and leaking nonstop with every thrust of your fingers, the sight you both had as you watched each other masturbate intensely with the same amount of eagerness. It was enough to bring you both closer to that release y’all were so desperate to receive.

Your hips bucked into your hand as the pace you thrusted your dripping fingers became faster and sloppier, your free hand gripping the covers on your bed tightly as you felt the small pressure in your stomach start to expand. “Fuck, Hobie, I’m gonna cum so hard for you. I’m so close, baby~, i’m so close.” You babbled mindlessly as you brought the hand that was gripping your sheets to you aching clit, rubbing it in steady circles to quicken the arrival of your powerful orgasm.

“M’ right behind you, love. Get that nut, baby. Fuck… I’m right there with you.” He encouraged you with a growl. The pet names, his seductive voice, and seeing the pace of his thrusting hips increase as he watched you bring yourself to the most mind shattering orgasm was all you needed to make the pressure in stomach pop as you made a delicious mess on the bed and floor below you.

Your eyes slowly rolled to the back of your head and jaw fell open as you came with a long, loud, moan. Your juices flew out of your pulsating entrance when you quickly removed your fingers from inside of you, rubbing your clit in circles rapidly making your squirting essence fly in any and every direction.

Hobie watched the voluptuous scene in front of him with a slightly gaped mouth, breathing heavily and rapidly as it brought him to his climax. His eyebrows furrowed in bliss, his stomach and testicles tightening as he milked himself with his hand. A loud groan exited his throat as he angled his girth towards his stomach and released, ropes of his seed painting his beautiful melanated torso. The hand he used to jerk himself off reduced its speed as he slowly came down from his high.

You both sat in your current positions regulating your breathing after the intense mutual masturbation session. When your breathing began to balance out, you heard a quiet whimper come from the attractive man in front of you. Your eyes made their way to him, seeing him slowly stroke his still erect girth with his head thrown back.

You threw your legs off your bed and got off of it, walking towards the tripod and stopping the recording. You sent the video to Hobie before making your way in front him, kneeling down and gently placing your hand on his thighs as you looked up at his pretty fucked out face. He felt your hands run up his thighs and to his hand to remove it from his length.

He looked down at the beautiful woman in front of him with a raised eyebrow, wondering what she planned on doing. All of his wonder went out the window when he watched her bring one of her hands to his thick, long member jerking him up and down once just to feel him throb. She then brought her head down a bit, slowly licking a wet line from his balls to the sensitive spot below his tip as she looked him in his eyes with hers feigning innocence.

“Fuck. Baby, don’t tease me like that.” He he groaned breathlessly at the sensation. She chuckled seductively at his words, kissing the head of his dick before spitting on it. She brought her hand back to his length to spread the moisture around him, feeling her lower region begin to ache for attention again when she heard him whine at the feeling of her warm fist starting to jerk him off at an agonizingly slow pace.

Hobie’s eyebrows creased in confusion when he felt her stop her movements, but his confused expression was immediately replaced with a slack jaw and his eyes rolling back when he felt her lips wrap around him gently. “Mmm~ so soft.” He moaned as she pushed her head lower onto him with her humming at the taste of him taking over her tastebuds.

“Oh- ooh, shit. What the fuck?” He moaned blissfully in bewilderment as she immediately slid his girth down her throat. She contracted the walls of her throat around his manhood as she started moving her head up and down.

The feeling of her warm lips and wet, tight throat wrapped around him has his eyes behind his head for the thousandth time tonight. One of his slender hands made their way to her soft, messy hair, gripping it gently as he held her head down and began to thrust his hips into her face. “Your throat feels so good, doll. Oh, my…” He trailed off with a needy whine.

He thrusted his hips faster, her eyes beginning to water as he slid further and further down her esophagus. She felt him gently throb in her mouth as she mentally thanked the man above for not having a gag reflex. She hummed around him once more to bring him closer to his second release.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, f-fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum. I’m-” His babbling stopped abruptly due to his climax crashing down on him. He groaned breathlessly as he throbbed repeatedly and came down her throat, still holding her head down and keeping his hips still.

Once she felt his member slowly start to become flaccid, she pulled her head up and removed her lips from him with a pop. She looked up at him with innocent eyes as she swallowed every drop of cum he fed her, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out to show him afterwards.

He smiled proudly at the sight, watching her come up from her position on the floor and straddle his laptop. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hers made their way around his neck and rested on the back of her chair. “I didn’t think you had that in you, love.” He spoke teasingly as he looked up at her with his bright, gorgeous smile.

She chuckled at his comments before responding. “You didn’t think I had a lot of things inside me. Now look at where we are.” You both laughed lightly at your statement, Hobie pushing you down towards him by your back and gently pressing his lips onto yours.

You instantly melted into the kiss as he gripped your thighs and stood up with your legs wrapped around his hips. He walked towards your bed and laid you down on it, him laying next to you as you guy’s lips separated. You faced each other, one of your hands making their way to the back his neck as you started to playing in his hair.

“So, about those sex toys you mentioned earlier…” You spoke with a playful grin.

“Oh, my days- no. Good night.” He responded with playful frustration, Shuffling his body closer to yours and stuffing his face into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. You laughed at his tone and words, holding him close to you as you rubbed his back gently.

Both of you enjoyed the fact that after engaging in such sinful activities, you can still joke around like nothing happened. You also really appreciated how he didn’t judge you and made sure that you knew his intentions and perspective of you were still pure… kind of. He really enjoyed what went down tonight, and he hoped that you guys could do it again sometime.

And you felt the same exact way.

I know the ending seems rushed I apologize guys 😭 I said this was gonna be posted Thursday night and I MEANT IT okay. But I hope you guys enjoyed!! My first smut on tumblr and more to come 💕

[obsessedwithstarwars]

A series of murders have been taking place in Blüdhaven. (Is that how you spell it?)

BPD are at their limits. They call in a specialist. An unregistered meta??? woman who has very specific demands that the police department must follow to the letter.

She is somewhat a ghost story (haha) throughout the states. When a department needs help, her services are found in a letter on the chief’s desk, along with specific criteria for her offer of help. If they don’t meet her demands, she vanishes, leaving chaos and destruction in her wake. She has been considered dead many times due to the damages. But she’s always appeared a few weeks later, helping another department in a different state and leaving the solved case of the one she abruptly left.

Her demands are this: All windows closed and blindfolds down.

No electronics. If they can’t be moved, then they must be disabled. If that can’t happen, then the police department must leave a green flag on their station.

She will only visit under cover of night.

They will know her by the DP insignia on the black armor she wears. Her red and blue hair (that almost looks like it’s floating?!) will be the only defining feature aside from glowing green eyes. The rest of her face will be covered. If anyone asks, they did not see anything discernable about her.

There is only one police officer she will share information to. He or she will be standing outside.

This officer will wear a belt she brings and it will remain as part of his or her uniform.

No questions.

They will take all of the credit and never mention her or her description to anyone in white.

Her help will not be put in the case files. There must be no evidence that she was there.

After she leaves, they will discover a letter for an Agent O. He comes within two days. He’s always furious after reading it and practically interrogates the officer who stood outside the door. She recommends that this officer immediately go on vacation for a week.

The police departments she has worked with (that have cooperated with her demands) all claim she was a godsend. Her methods were unconventional but effective. Ignore the one sided conversations she has at the crime scene and she’s the perfect specialist. Their only issue is that she will not work with the same department twice so they’ve had to get creative and send the officer she worked with to another department (small rural town) to solve another cold case for them.

She can somehow figure out exactly what happened to each victim without seeing the body or the case file and tell the police departments the exact description of the suspect just by having a one sided conversation at the scene of the crime. It’s almost like someone is answering her, but no one ever does. If no body was discovered, she can tell you exactly where it is.

AKA Jazz figured out she can communicate with weak ghosts. As a liminal, she has been able to solve many cold cases just by speaking to the victims.

Dick Grayson is assigned as her designated officer. Chaos ensues because of course it does.

Extra thought: What if the GIW use a liminal serial killer (could be in Blüdhaven or Gotham) to draw Jazz out? Are they paying the killer? Forcing someone to kill? SO MANY HORRIBLE POSSIBILITIES!

[pxnsneverland]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 6)

(gif source: sluttyhenley)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 4117

warnings/notes: Trying to keep on track with updating :)

Chapter 6: Stage Lights and Shattered Hearts

For what felt like hours, Angel remained frozen in place, the Colonel's threats echoing in her mind like a terrible record stuck on repeat. Finally, her legs gave way beneath her, and she sank onto the bed, her fingers clutching the edge of the mattress as if it were the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned to quicksand. The photographs. What could they possibly contain? She had glimpsed Elvis's darker moments over these past months—seen him swallow pills to help him sleep, to help him wake, to help him function through the grueling schedule. She'd witnessed flashes of his temper when pushed too far, heard whispers of women from his past. But nothing that should warrant this level of threat, this brutal ultimatum.

Unless there was more. More that Elvis had never shown her, never told her.

Angel's gaze drifted to the half-packed suitcase, to the sketch of Elvis lying discarded on the bedside table. The happiness that had filled her just hours ago seemed like a distant memory now, a dream from which she had been violently awakened.

A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. Her heart leapt to her throat—had the Colonel returned? Or worse, was it Elvis, coming back to find her shattered by his manager's threats?

"Angel? You in there, darlin'?" Elvis's voice, warm and familiar, called through the door.

She wiped hastily at her eyes, trying to compose herself. "Just a minute," she called back, her voice steadier than she felt. Quickly, she moved to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to erase the evidence of her tears.

When she opened the door, Elvis stood there, his face alight with boyish excitement. "Angel, you won't believe it," he began, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I've been thinking about our wedding, and I've got some ideas—"

He stopped abruptly, his smile fading as he took in her expression. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern immediately replacing his enthusiasm. "You've been crying."

Angel turned away, unable to meet his searching gaze. "It's nothing," she lied, moving to the window to hide her face from him. "Just... overwhelmed, I guess. Everything's happening so fast."

Elvis approached her slowly, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "Angel, look at me," he urged, turning her to face him. His eyes, so blue and so perceptive, studied her with growing worry. "Something's happened. Tell me what it is."

Angel felt herself wavering. How easy it would be to tell him everything—about the Colonel's visit, about his threats, about the photographs. Together, they could face it, couldn't they? Fight back against the Colonel's manipulation?

But as she opened her mouth to speak, the Colonel's words replayed in her mind: "Elvis's comeback will be over before it begins. Everything he's worked for, everything he hopes to hopes to rebuild... gone."

Angel made her decision in that moment, swallowing the truth that threatened to spill from her lips. "I—I just don't think I can do this, Elvis," she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

Elvis's hands tightened slightly on her shoulders, confusion clouding his features. "Do what, Angel? What are you talking about?"

She stepped back, creating distance between them, each inch feeling like a mile. "This. Us. Getting married. Moving to Vegas." She gestured vaguely around the room, avoiding his eyes. "It's all happening so fast, and I... I'm not ready."

Elvis stood frozen, his expression shifting from confusion to hurt. "Not ready?" he repeated, his voice hollow. "Angel, we talked about this. Just this morning, you said—"

"I know what I said," Angel interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. She softened it, trying to make her lie convincing. "But I've been thinking about it all day, and I realized I was caught up in the moment. The excitement of the show, the rush of everything... I wasn't thinking clearly."

Elvis shook his head, disbelief etched across his features. "No. No, that's not true. I know you, Angel. I know when you're being real with me, and what we have—what we've built together—that's real."

Angel turned away, her back to him as tears threatened to spill over. She couldn't let him see her face; he would know she was lying. "I'm sorry, Elvis. I thought I could do this, but I can't. I can't be Mrs. Elvis Presley. I can't live in that spotlight."

"We can keep it private," Elvis insisted, moving around to face her again. His eyes were pleading now, desperate to understand the sudden change. "Angel, please, talk to me. What's really going on here?"

For a moment, Angel wavered. The pain in his eyes was unbearable, cutting deeper than any physical wound could. But the image of those photographs finding their way to the press, of Elvis's career crumbling just as he was rebuilding it, steeled her resolve.

"Nothing's going on," she said flatly. "I've just come to my senses. This was never going to work, Elvis. We both know that. You're Elvis Presley, for God's sake. And I'm... I'm nobody."

Elvis grabbed her hands, holding them tightly in his own. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You're everything to me, Angel. Everything." His voice broke on the last word, raw with emotion.

Angel pulled her hands away, each movement an agony. "I can't be your everything, Elvis. I can't carry that weight. You need to focus on your career now, on your comeback. That's what matters."

Elvis's expression hardened, a flicker of anger replacing the hurt. "My career?" Elvis's voice took on an edge she'd rarely heard directed at her. "My career is what matters? That sounds an awful lot like the Colonel talking, not you."

Angel flinched at the accusation, too close to the truth. "This isn't about the Colonel," she lied. "This is about us. About me not being ready for what being with you really means."

Elvis ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in every movement. "Angel, just yesterday you were telling me to be true to myself, to follow my heart. And now you're standing there telling me that my career should come first? That doesn't make sense."

"Maybe I was wrong," Angel said, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. "Maybe following your heart isn't always the right answer."

Elvis stared at her, his gaze searching her face for answers she refused to give. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and broken promises.

"Did someone get to you?" Elvis finally asked, his voice quiet but intense. "Did someone say something to make you change your mind?"

Angel's heart hammered in her chest. He was too perceptive, knew her too well. "No," she insisted. "This is my decision, Elvis. Mine alone."

Elvis took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me," he challenged, his voice barely above a whisper.

Angel raised her gaze to meet his, summoning every ounce of strength she possessed. "I... I care about you, Elvis. But love?" She shook her head, the lie burning like acid on her tongue. "I got caught up in the fantasy of it all. The reality is different."

Something in Elvis's expression shattered then, a light going out behind his eyes. He stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. "I don't believe you," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"I'm sorry," Angel whispered, and at least that part was true. She was sorry—sorrier than she could ever express.

Elvis turned away, moving toward the door with slow, deliberate steps. With his back to her, he paused, his hand on the doorknob. "You know what's funny?" he said, his voice hollow. "All those years of people telling me who to be, what to do... and you were the first person since my Mama died who just let me be myself." He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. "I guess I was fooling myself thinking that was enough."

Before Angel could respond, he was gone, the door closing with a quiet click that somehow hurt more than if he had slammed it. She stood frozen, staring at the space where he had been, the full weight of what she had done crashing down upon her. For the first time since coming to Los Angeles, since daring to dream of a life bigger than the one she'd left behind, Angel Casteel felt truly alone.

***

The marquee of the International Hotel blazed in the hot Nevada night, casting an electric glow across the Strip. "ELVIS - SOLD OUT" flashed in bold letters, visible for blocks in either direction. Limousines and luxury cars lined the circular driveway as Las Vegas's elite filed into the cavernous showroom, their jewelry glittering under the chandelier lights.

Backstage, chaos reigned as stagehands made final adjustments to the set. The Sweet Inspirations warmed up their voices in one corner while the orchestra tuned their instruments in another. The air thrummed with anticipation—this wasn't just another Vegas opening, this was Elvis Presley's return to live performance after nearly a decade.

In a secluded corner of the backstage area, Angel Casteel stood with her sewing kit, making last-minute adjustments to the elaborate jumpsuits she had designed for Elvis's comeback. Six months had passed since that heartbreaking day in the hotel room, six months of throwing herself into her work to escape the pain. When the Colonel had called her three weeks ago, asking her to handle Elvis's wardrobe for the Vegas show, she had almost refused. But something—pride, perhaps, or the simple need to see him again—had made her accept.

She hadn't spoken to Elvis directly since their separation. All communication had gone through the Colonel or Elvis's cousins. The designs had been approved through intermediaries, measurements taken by assistants. Angel had convinced herself it was better this way, a clean break that would allow them both to move forward.

The white jumpsuit with elaborate gold beading caught the light as she adjusted the collar. It was a far cry from the black leather of the television special, but no less striking. She had poured her heart into these designs, creating something that would make Elvis stand out on stage while allowing him the freedom to move as he performed.

"Ten minutes to showtime!" a production assistant called, rushing past with a clipboard.

Angel took a deep breath, steeling herself. She would need to bring the costumes to Elvis's dressing room soon, would need to face him for the first time in half a year. The thought made her stomach clench with anxiety.

"Need some help with those?"

Angel turned to find Jerry standing behind her, his expression sympathetic. Unlike some of Elvis's entourage who had treated her coldly after the breakup, Jerry had maintained a quiet kindness toward her.

"Thanks," she said, grateful for the offer. "But I should probably deliver them myself. Make sure everything fits properly."

Jerry nodded, understanding in his eyes. "He asks about you, you know. When he thinks none of us are paying attention."

Angel's hands stilled on the fabric. "Jerry, please don't."

"I'm just saying," Jerry continued gently, "whatever happened between you two... it wasn't as final for him as you might think."

Angel swallowed hard, fighting back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. "It has to be final. For both our sakes."

Jerry looked like he wanted to say more but thought better of it. "His dressing room is down the hall, last door on the right. The Colonel's with some bigwigs from the hotel, so you won't run into him."

Angel nodded gratefully. The Colonel had kept his distance since their confrontation, seemingly satisfied that she had done as he demanded. But his presence still made her skin crawl.

Gathering the jumpsuits carefully over her arm, Angel made her way down the corridor, her heart hammering against her ribs with each step. The sounds of the venue faded as she approached Elvis's dressing room, replaced by the soft strains of gospel music filtering through the door.

She hesitated, her fingers poised to knock but unable to complete the motion. A thousand memories crashed over her at once—Elvis's laugh, his voice whispering her name, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about music. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and rapped lightly on the door.

The music stopped abruptly.

"Come in," Elvis's voice called from within, that familiar Tennessee drawl sending shivers down her spine.

Angel pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the dressing room with her gaze fixed on the garments in her arms. "I've brought your costumes for tonight," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The silence that followed was deafening. Angel finally looked up to find Elvis staring at her, frozen in place by the dressing table. He looked different—thinner, perhaps, with a weariness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. But still devastatingly handsome in his casual shirt and slacks, his hair perfectly styled.

"Angel," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips.

She offered a small, professional smile. "Hello, Elvis."

He took a step towards her, then seemed to think better of it, stopping in the middle of the room. "I didn't know you were here. The Colonel said he'd hired the best for the costumes, but he never mentioned..."

"It was a last-minute arrangement," Angel explained, moving to hang the jumpsuits on a nearby rack. "I can have someone else handle the fittings if you prefer."

Elvis shook his head quickly. "No. No, I'm glad it's you." His eyes never left her face, searching for something she couldn't allow him to find. "You look good."

"Thank you," she replied, smoothing down her simple black dress. "So do you."

It was a lie. Up close, she could see the toll the past months had taken on him. There was a new hollowness to his cheeks, a tightness around his mouth that spoke of stress and possibly medication. But his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—were clear and focused entirely on her.

"I designed three options for tonight," she said, gesturing to the jumpsuits. "The white one with gold beading is my favorite, but there's also the black with silver accents and the blue with the cape."

Elvis moved closer, examining the costumes with a nod of appreciation. "They're beautiful, Angel. You've outdone yourself."

"I'm glad you like them."

An awkward silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words. Angel busied herself adjusting the garments, hyperaware of Elvis's presence just inches away.

"Why did you come?" Elvis asked suddenly, his voice low and intense.

Angel kept her eyes on the costumes. "The Colonel called. Said you needed costumes for the show."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Elvis replied, a hint of frustration coloring his tone. "

Angel's hands stilled on the fabric. She knew she couldn't avoid this conversation forever, not with Elvis standing so close, his presence filling the room like a physical force. "I came because it's my job," she said finally, turning to face him. "And because... because I wanted to see that you were okay."

"Okay?" Elvis repeated, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "Is that what I look like to you? Okay?"

Angel's professional facade cracked slightly as she took in his appearance more fully—the subtle signs of strain around his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides. "No," she admitted softly. "You don't."

Elvis moved to a nearby chair and sank into it, suddenly looking exhausted. "These past months... they've been hell, Angel." He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, disrupting it in a way that made him look more like the Elvis she remembered. "The Colonel's got me booked solid. Two shows a night, seven days a week. The pills to keep me up, the pills to bring me down... it's like being on a merry-go-round that never stops."

"I'm sorry," Angel whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

"Are you?" Elvis's eyes met hers, challenging and vulnerable all at once. "Because I still don't understand what happened. One day we're planning our life together, and the next..." He trailed off, the pain still fresh in his voice.

Angel moved to the costume rack, needing something to do with her hands. "Elvis, please. Let's not do this now. You have a show to perform."

"To hell with the show," Elvis said, rising from his chair with sudden energy. "For once, I want something that's more important than the damn show." He crossed the room in two strides, standing close enough that Angel could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I want the truth, Angel. I deserve that much."

Angel stepped back, her heart racing. "The truth is what I told you then. I wasn't ready for what being with you meant."

"Bullshit," Elvis said, the word soft but forceful. "I know you, Angel. Better than anyone. Something happened that day. Something scared you off." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or someone."

A knock at the door saved Angel from having to respond. "Fifteen minutes, Elvis!" called a voice from the hallway.

Elvis didn't move, his gaze still fixed on Angel's face. "It was the Colonel, wasn't it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Angel felt the blood drain from her face. "I need to go," she said, turning quickly toward the door.

Elvis caught her arm, his touch gentle but insistent. "Angel, please. Whatever he said to you, whatever he threatened—"

"You have a show to do," Angel interrupted, pulling her arm free. "Your audience is waiting."

Elvis's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mixture of frustration and determination. "This isn't over, Angel. Not by a long shot."

Before she could respond, the door swung open, and Colonel Parker appeared, his bulky frame filling the doorway. His gaze flickered between Elvis and Angel, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"There you are, my boy," he said, clapping his hands together. "Almost showtime! The crowd is getting restless." His eyes settled on Angel, cold and calculating beneath his jovial exterior. "Ms. Casteel, I see you've delivered the costumes. Excellent work, as always."

Angel nodded stiffly, unable to meet his gaze. "If you'll excuse me, I should check on the other performers' wardrobes."

"Angel—" Elvis began, but the Colonel cut him off.

"Now, Elvis, you need to focus. This is your big night. The comeback we've been planning for months." He placed a heavy hand on Elvis's shoulder, steering him toward the costumes. "Which one will it be tonight? The white one looks spectacular."

Angel slipped out of the room as the Colonel continued talking, his voice drowning out any protest Elvis might have made. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. She had known seeing Elvis again would be difficult, but she hadn't anticipated the raw pain that would resurface, as fresh as if their parting had been yesterday.

A stagehand rushed past, breaking her reverie. "Five minutes to places!" he called, his voice echoing down the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Angel composed herself and headed toward the wings of the stage. She had promised herself she would watch at least part of the show before leaving—a final glimpse of Elvis doing what he was born to do.

***

The International Hotel's showroom was massive, with thousands of seats arranged around a spacious stage. As Angel found a spot in the wings, she could see the audience settling in—celebrities, high rollers, music industry executives, all buzzing with anticipation. The orchestra began to play, a dramatic overture that sent a hush over the crowd.

And then, there he was. Elvis strode onto the stage in the white jumpsuit she had designed, the gold beading catching the spotlight and transforming him into a celestial figure. The audience erupted in screams and applause, but Elvis seemed to absorb it all with a calm confidence that commanded the entire room.

"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen," he drawled into the microphone, his voice silky smooth. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

More screams answered him. Elvis smiled, that famous half-smirk that had made hearts flutter across America.

"Well, I'm here now, and we're gonna have ourselves a time tonight," he continued, his charisma filling the vast room. With a nod to the conductor, the band launched into "Blue Suede Shoes," and Elvis began to move.

Angel's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't the subdued movie star of recent years or even the raw performer from the television special. This was Elvis fully realized—powerful, magnetic, and completely in control of his craft. His voice soared through the showroom, rich and vibrant, as he prowled the stage with a panther's grace.

She watched, transfixed, as he worked through his early hits—"Hound Dog," "All Shook Up," "Love Me Tender"—each song delivered with renewed passion. The audience was in the palm of his hand, responding to his every gesture, his every note. When he slowed the pace for a gospel-infused "How Great Thou Art," the emotion in his voice brought tears to Angel's eyes.

This was what she had sacrificed everything for—to see him here, triumphant, reclaiming his rightful place. The pain of their separation seemed both worth it and unbearable in that moment.

As Elvis moved into a soulful rendition of "In the Ghetto," a new song that spoke to the social conscience he'd expressed during their conversations about Dr. King, Angel felt a presence beside her. She turned to find Jerry watching the performance, his expression thoughtful.

"He's something else, isn't he?" Jerry said, his voice barely audible over the music.

Angel nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"You know," Jerry continued, leaning closer so only she could hear, "he insisted on singing this song tonight, even though the Colonel wanted him to stick to the hits. Said some things are more important than playing it safe."

Angel's heart clenched at the words, so reminiscent of the conversations she and Elvis had shared during the filming of the special. Perhaps some part of him had held onto the courage they'd found together.

"I should go," she whispered, suddenly unable to bear watching any longer. The weight of what might have been pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Jerry caught her arm as she turned to leave. "He's staying in the penthouse suite," he said quietly. "Room 3000. After the show, he always has a few hours before the Colonel comes with the pills to help him sleep."

Angel stared at him, understanding the message behind his words. "Jerry, I can't—"

"Just think about it," Jerry interrupted gently. "He's not the same without you, Angel. None of this means anything to him if you're not there to share it."

Before she could respond, Jerry released her arm and slipped back into the shadows of the wings, leaving Angel alone with the echo of his words and the sound of Elvis's voice filling the cavernous space.

Angel stood frozen, torn between fleeing between fleeing and staying. Elvis had transitioned to "Can't Help Falling in Love," his voice wrapping around the lyrics with such tenderness that it felt like he was singing directly to her. The audience was utterly silent, captivated by the raw emotion he poured into every word.

With trembling hands, Angel clutched the edge of the curtain. This was what she had wanted for him—success, adoration, a triumphant return to his true calling. Yet the victory felt hollow knowing what it had cost them both.

As the final notes faded, Elvis stood in the spotlight, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion of the performance. The audience rose as one, their applause thunderous in the cavernous room. Elvis bowed deeply, his face flushed with exhilaration and something else—a vulnerability that was visible only to those who truly knew him.

"Thank you," he said into the microphone, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you very much."

With one last wave to the crowd, Elvis exited the stage, passing so close to Angel that she could smell his cologne—a familiar scent that brought a flood of memories. Their eyes met briefly, his widening in surprise at finding her still there. Before either could speak, he was swept away by handlers and well-wishers, disappearing down the corridor toward his dressing room.

Angel remained rooted to the spot, Jerry's words echoing in her mind: Room 3000. After the show.

Stay tuned for part 7!! Click HERE to view!

[munsonthings86]

hello, can I request a Steve Harrington fic where r working too hard for school and has been pulling all nighters frequently to keep track. R ends up being too tired and falling a little sick and not leaving the house except for when she has to go to school and her friends notice, Steve notices. Steve comes over, tries to help her and something along those lines. You can write it however you want, you can change it up if you want. Thank you :)

thank you for the request! tweaked it just a tiny bit, hope you enjoy :)

contains: cursing, fluff, overworked reader, soft!steve harrington, forgotten date, 1.0k words

School. Study. "Sleep". It was an endless, mind-numbing cycle that you were convinced was spiraling you into borderline madness. The condition of your bedroom was identical to how your brain had been feeling for the past week: cluttered and chaotic. With empty coffee cups littering your small floral desk, and your blush duvet covering more of the carpeted floor than your actual bed, you could hardly even recognize the room anymore.

The dirty laundry strewn across your floor would often trip you when you walked, but the assignments that you were practically drowning in made it impossible to shift your focus onto tidying the place.

You'd become a hermit; only leaving the comfort of your home to go to school and occasionally, the library, on the days that your room felt like more of a prison than a place of rest. Robin and Nancy, along with your boyfriend Steve, were certain you were avoiding them like the plague. They'd beg you to hangout with them, even bribing you by offering to treat you to lunch at the local diner, but the only thing you could say in return was a dry, "maybe later".

You didn't mean to be cold to them, but you were laser-focused on your agenda, determined to work first and play later. It's what led you to where you were now: head buried in your third textbook of the night, butt aching from being sat on your wooden chair for far too long.

On a Friday night of all.

From your window, you heard people, around your age you assumed, parading the streets and laughing loudly– enjoying their simple, young lives. Something you wished you could be doing too. But your work wasn't going to do itself.

You were color-coding the notes on your flashcard when three knocks sounded at your door, to which you mumbled a soft, "Come in," that even you barely heard. Your mother walked in, a mess of flour and an assortment of seasonings splotched on her apron from cooking dinner. "Honey, Steve's here," she smiled softly, though it was evident on her face that she was biting back the urge to tell you to clean your room, bless her.

The yellow highlighter you had was soon forgotten as your eyebrows furrowed, wondering what Steve was doing here. He usually called first.

Steve gave her a sweet grin when he passed her, leaving the door slightly cracked open, per your mothers request. In his hands he held a large box of pizza and a bouquet of pink roses; looking as dashing as ever with a crewneck and blue jeans adorning his body, with his hair being the perfect kind of messy.

You can't help but smile when you see him.

"Well, this is a rare sighting," he laughed, referring to you, "Should probably get this on camera." He kicked his white sneakers off where your own shoes were piled at, setting the pizza box down on your dresser.

"Very funny," you deadpanned, arms crossed on top of your chest. "What're you doing here?"

Steve approached you, something like a frown weighing on his lips. He taps the bouquet against his chest a couple times when he gently reminds you, "It's Friday."

You almost want to reach into your own body to catch your heart when you feel it completely sink. Friday's were you and Steve's designated date nights, never missing one since the two of you began dating a couple months ago. With the way you'd been so stressed and busy lately, it had completely slipped your mind. Suddenly, you felt incredibly guilty.

"Fuck," your head fell into your hands as you rubbed at your tired eyes, harshly. Your words were muffled when you continued, "I'm sorry, I'm the worst."

Steve shook his head almost instantly, gently resting the flowers down on the desk next to you. "Hey, c'mon," he started, moving your hands from your face, standing you up in front of him. "It's okay, I know you've been busy lately."

He rubbed at your shoulders tenderly and the warm touch melted you. It was the first time you truly relaxed that whole week. "You're not mad?" You asked the question in a hushed tone, looking up at him with glittering eyes that were a bit red, your nose a similar hue. You must've been getting sick. His poor baby.

"Not even a little," he gazed at you with heated, sincere brown eyes and you couldn't will yourself to look at anything else. He kissed your forehead, and it's a bit salty with sweat, but he doesn't mind. "Just worried, is all," he murmured, adjusting the pendant on your necklace that had somehow found its way onto your back.

"Can I help at all?" He nodded at the books on your table.

"Steve, no offense but it's AP Calc," you smiled, lightly scratching at his scalp when your arms found their way around his neck. You laughed when his eyebrows raised as if he was startled, slightly shaking his head. "Christ," he says through clenched teeth, though he doubles down on his offer, "well, then I guess I'm learning AP Calc today. No biggie," he shrugs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"You don't have to do that, Stevie," you spoke against his lips, admiring how unbelievably sweet your boyfriend was. You knew how much he hated school, especially math, so you were more than grateful that he was willing to put himself through quite literal torture, just to make your night a bit easier. "But I want to," he kissed your nose. "Dinner first though, 'cause I know you skipped out on lunch."

Squinting your eyes, you released your hold on him. Sometimes it scared you how well he knew you. "How-?"

"I have eyes everywhere, love," he answered your question before you could even get it out. You rolled your eyes, a smile playing at your lips, already knowing that his "eyes" in question were just Robin and Nancy looking out for you.

💌 1 new message from jojo: writing this while procrastinating on like ten assignments was so funny lol. comments and reblogs are always appreciated! inbox is open!

[mariacallous]

In the middle of the nineteenth century, filth of every kind accumulated on the streets of New York. The land was boggy and lacked proper drainage. Epidemics ravaged many of the city’s impoverished neighborhoods. In the summer of 1864, an inspection undertaken by a committee of concerned physicians yielded a seventeen-volume report that catalogued the conditions. One inspector noted that, in his assigned district, refuse filled gutters, blocked sewage culverts, and sent forth “perennial emanations which generate pestiferous disease.” Another observed that certain streets better resembled “dung-hills rather than the thoroughfares in a civilized city.” In response to the report, state lawmakers introduced legislation that led to the establishment, in 1866, of the Metropolitan Board of Health, one of the country’s first municipal public-health authorities. Upon its formation, the board immediately confronted a potential cholera outbreak. It established quarantine measures and administered new health ordinances that helped to contain the spread of the disease. Support for the new agency soared, and other cities began organizing similar authorities. The modern-day public-health movement in the United States was born.

An important revelation from the “great sanitary awakening” of the nineteenth century, as it became known, was that social and environmental factors could significantly affect people’s health. During the second half of the twentieth century, policymakers began turning their attention to issues such as product and workplace safety as a way to save lives. In the mid-nineteen-fifties, nearly forty thousand people were dying every year from motor-vehicle accidents. Attention was primarily focussed on the responsibility of drivers, but physicians and engineers pointed out that most of these deaths were, in fact, preventable through changes in automobile design. In 1965, Ralph Nader, a young lawyer who later became an activist and a perpetual Presidential candidate, published “Unsafe at Any Speed,” a book examining the ways in which automakers had failed to prioritize safety. It became an unlikely nonfiction best-seller, alongside Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood.” Nader’s reporting prompted congressional hearings and the formation of what is now known as the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. William Haddon, a pioneering public-health scientist, became the agency’s first administrator and oversaw the first safety requirements for new cars, including energy-absorbing steering columns, shoulder harnesses, and side-door beams. The ratio of motor-vehicle deaths to miles travelled by drivers in the United States plummeted.

The principal aim of public health is prevention. It takes its scientific cues primarily from epidemiology, which studies the prevalence of diseases and their determinants to shape control strategies. In the mid-nineteen-sixties, public-health practitioners began to incorporate these methods into a nascent discipline known as injury science, taking on problems such as children falling from windows, residential fires, childhood drug poisonings, and, beginning in earnest in the nineteen-nineties, gun violence. The premise is tantalizingly straightforward: utilize scientific data to identify risk factors and the most vulnerable populations, and adopt multipronged solutions to stop problems before they arise. When it comes to gun deaths, for instance, public-health interventions might include pediatricians inquiring about safe storage at home, and the government establishing waiting periods for the purchase of firearms and raising the legal age for gun ownership. The challenge comes in marshalling consensus for the kind of community-wide solutions that public health demands. This is where public-health initiatives have often floundered, including with guns.

In recent years, public-health researchers have begun to consider whether a new societal threat deserves their scrutiny: political violence. One of the researchers leading this effort is Garen Wintemute, the director of the Violence Prevention Research Program at the University of California at Davis, who has spent more than four decades studying firearm violence. Wintemute is a gaunt, bespectacled emergency physician. (He still works four or five weekend shifts a month at U.C. Davis’s hospital.) He is seventy-two years old but speaks with an almost childlike inquisitiveness when discussing research into violent death. Wintemute told me that, during the coronavirus pandemic, he and his researchers tracked a nationwide surge in firearms purchases, particularly among first-time gun owners. Even as the COVID-19 crisis began to subside in 2021, they noticed that people were still purchasing guns at unusually high rates. Baffled by the ongoing demand, he wondered, What the hell is this? He spent a week immersing himself in the available data on political polarization and its connection to violence. When he emerged, he concluded that the subject of political violence urgently needed study, because people seemed to be “arming up” and the result “could reshape the future of the country.” He eventually directed a third of his thirty-person team to spend at least some of their time on a new project: researching the possibility that people might resort to violence to achieve their political ends.

As with any public-health problem, the first task was to collect reliable data. Wintemute’s team conducted their first broad-based survey in 2022 and found that nearly a third of the population believed that violence was usually or always justified to advance at least one of seventeen political objectives—a list that included curbing voter fraud, stopping illegal immigration, and returning Donald Trump to the Presidency. Nearly one in five agreed strongly or very strongly with the statement that “having a strong leader for America is more important than having a democracy.” The willingness to justify violence was greater among people who identified as “strong Republicans” than those who identified as “strong Democrats.” Another study by Wintemute’s team found that nearly half of a cohort that they labelled “MAGA Republicans”—self-identified Republicans who voted for Trump in 2020 and believed the election was stolen—strongly or very strongly agreed with the statement “Our American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it.” Wintemute also examined the threat posed by right-wing extremists who endorse racist beliefs and the use of violence to effect social change, and who express approval of certain militia groups such as the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers. Within this small subset—Wintemute estimates it to be less than two per cent of the population—he found strong association with support for political violence and the willingness to engage in such violence.

Yet certain findings offered Wintemute reason for optimism. A survey published last month found that only 6.5 per cent of the population believes strongly or very strongly that a civil war is coming, and just 3.6 per cent that the “United States needs a civil war to set things right.” Both figures are roughly similar to the previous year’s findings, an unexpected result, given that 2024 is a Presidential-election year and political tensions have ratcheted upward. Wintemute also found that, of the 3.7 per cent of respondents who said they considered it very or extremely likely they’d participate as a combatant in a large-scale conflict, more than forty-four per cent said they would be “not likely” to join if they were dissuaded by family members; more than thirty per cent said they could be deterred if a respected religious leader urged them not to participate; and just under a quarter said they could be dissuaded by a respected news or social-media source. The implication, according to Wintemute, is “a large percentage are saying, ‘You can talk me out of it.’ ” That points the way to potential public-health interventions, which might include consistent messaging from the media, religious leaders, and others about rejecting political violence.

The threat of violence has hovered like a nimbus cloud over this election season. The spectre of the January 6th insurrection at the Capitol remains omnipresent, but the two most visible instances of violence during the 2024 campaign have been directed at Trump. On July 13th, during a Trump campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, a man on a warehouse roof fired eight times at the former President. A bullet grazed Trump’s ear; one rallygoer, a former volunteer fire chief, was killed; two others were injured. Then, on September 15th, as the former President was playing a round of golf at his club in West Palm Beach, a Secret Service agent patrolling the grounds spotted the muzzle of a rifle poking out of the shrubbery along a chain-link fence. The agent opened fire and the gunman fled. After the authorities arrested him, they discovered that he had been staking out the course for hours. Democrats have also been targeted. In Tempe, Arizona, state Party officials recently closed a campaign field office after it was shot at three times in three weeks.

According to tracking by the Bridging Divides Initiative, at Princeton University, threats and harassment of local public officials surged in July. Despite this, violence by extremist groups, as reported by a different organization, the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data, has actually ebbed this year, likely because law enforcement has arrested dozens of members of these groups for their participation in the Capitol riot. It makes for a perplexing picture. Is political violence an imminent threat to Americans or not? Political scientists, applying their theoretical frameworks, have long made clear the reasons for concern, including the way the country’s deepest cleavages, over race, ethnicity, religion, geography, and culture, are now embedded in people’s politics; the weakening of democracy’s guardrails during the Trump era; and the spread of misinformation.

The promise of public health is that it rests on scientific data and offers pragmatic solutions. Treating political violence like a contagion could help safeguard the future of American democracy. And yet the same fractures that potentially drive political violence can imperil the collaboration needed to address public-health crises. They can also lead to the most dangerous symptom of all: a sense of helplessness. But, if we simply wait for the disease to strike, it may already be too late. 

[riddle-me-ri]

some poopy dc self-insert brainstorming sketches I did a couple months back, maybe hopefully I can get some more finalized stuff out soon!

meanwhile I'll also share some headcanons about...her? me? us? I dunno, after the drawing lol

okay headcanon time!

- doesnt quite have an in-universe name yet but she is a self insert so..its okay to call her Ri as well lmao for now until I think of something better lmao

- In her late 20s

- Lives alone in a barely functioning apartment looking over a main square

- Has an arts and writing degree from GCU

- She's a local artist in Gotham City.

- She started as a cartoonist for the Gotham Gazette but is often teased/criticized because she rarely intentionally or went out of her way to draw the Rogues in any negative way (deliberately ugly, misproportioned, overtly grotesqued, moreso than usual...) which also lead her to be silently respected by some rogues...

- She also tends and participates in public art shows/festivals and charities (as a reference to some of the art stuff I've done irl)

- She participates in sidewalk chalk art shows, does window paintings for free for small owned businesses and for the holidays (like a tiny wee middle schooler Ri did)

- She does get commissioned periodically by big names, like Dent for his political campaign and Wayne for his fundraisers.

- She has encountered a handful of the Rogues but was always either spared or saved

- Not sure if I'll ever actually pair her with any rogue just yet, still haven't gotten over that threshold of oc x canon BUT maybe one day rip

- and for now because I kinda sorta don't have any particular design of the world/universe in mine I'm leaning more towards the BTAS/DCAU cause I know it best lol

bonus scenarios that I may or may not draw:

- in order to gain funds for her gallery, she takes a dare from Veronica Vreeland to dress up as "Alice" for a Halloween party....(she's also been assigned to help design a Wonderland themed fundraiser in the park...ifykyk)

- she has been commissioned by the Penguin to do penguin themed art for the Iceberg Lounge and he donates to her galleries because she donates her profits to wave endangered penguin species

not sure how she interacts with Eddie or Jonathan quite yet but thats all I got for now!

If you cared enough to read this far down, have a cookie 🍪 and I appreciate you 💚