#flat peg

[polterwasteist]

[ The Government is lying to you. ]

[stickyangelcroissanteggs]

Yes Ma'am I would °

[d-lanx]

[yinyuedijun]

aventurine worrying that he probably gets too attached, making himself vulnerable and overthinking about their ulterior motive

sad wet cat malewife: ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵘʳᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ˡᶦᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ʰᶦᵐ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵘᵘᵘᵘ 🥺

-yyj peg anon

LITERALLYYYY u understand my vision anon .... I think they also get so sad about not being to court him correctly since they can't take care of him physically financially or emotionally but aventurine wires them 1 million credits every so often just because he feels like it and it eases the pain 😔

[carlyraejepsenponderstheorb]

Lizzo did some awful and unacceptable things, but the way people are using this as an opportunity to make fun of her for being fat? Shitty.

[transgender-catboy]

I am here to say something inappropriate in the tags.

and then go the fuck to bed.

[luvbabydoll]

soft target — john price

a/n: here is part one

the school’s quiet now.

the sun’s low, painting everything gold, and you’re locking your classroom door with tired hands and a cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders. the same sundress underneath, just a little more wrinkled now. your flats scuff softly on the pavement as you head toward the bus stop, bag slipping from your shoulder.

and then—

“bit late for the bus, isn’t it, love?”

you freeze.

he’s leaned against a dark car at the curb, sleeves still rolled, cap tilted back slightly. cigar in one hand, half-burned and glowing faint. he looks like he’s been there for a while. watching.

waiting.

you clear your throat. “i’m fine. it’s only a few minutes.”

he hums. takes a drag.

“not safe out here. bus stop’s full of pissheads after five.”

you blink. “i take it every day.”

he exhales smoke slowly, like the words amuse him.

“not dressed like that, you don’t.”

your fingers tighten on your cardigan.

“what’s that mean?”

he flicks the ash off the tip of the cigar, then gives you that slow, maddening once-over.

“floaty little thing like you? sweet voice, soft shoes, not a clue how many blokes’d follow you just to see where you get off.”

you shift on your feet.

“i manage just fine.”

“‘course you do, sweetheart,” he drawls, tone all condescension and heat. “still doesn’t mean you should be out here on your own.”

he nods at the car behind him.

“come on. i’ll drive you.”

you shake your head. “i don’t need—”

“wasn’t askin’.”

the words are quiet. firm. but not unkind. not really.

more like... decided.

you hesitate. bite your lip. you shouldn’t. god, you know you shouldn’t.

but then he opens the door for you, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

“it’s not charity, love,” he adds, almost mockingly. “just not lettin’ a pretty thing like you end up on the evening news.”

your heart hammers.

you get in.

the leather’s cool. smells faintly like him. like cigar smoke and expensive soap.

he walks around the front, slow and unbothered, flicks the cigar into the street with a practiced hand, then slides in beside you and starts the engine.

no music. no small talk at first. just the low purr of the car and the weight of his gaze at red lights.

until finally, he says it.

“didn’t peg you for the bus type.”

you glance at him. “i’m a teacher. not exactly glamorous.”

he scoffs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you blink.

“look like you belong in one of those soft little perfume ads,” he mutters. “all lips and lashes. s’no wonder your class won’t shut up.”

you don’t answer.

his fingers tap the wheel lazily. “bet they’ve all got crushes. boys like that—doesn’t take much. just a smile and a dress.”

“i don’t flirt with my students.”

he smirks.

“never said you did. just said you don’t have to.”

you look out the window. cheeks hot.

“you always talk to teachers like this?” you murmur.

he doesn’t hesitate.

“only the pretty ones.”

the drive is quiet again. only this time there’s music.

not loud—just a low hum from the speakers, something gritty and slow and old. a man’s voice, raspy, drawling about whiskey and war. you don’t recognise it, but you don’t ask either. you figure he already knows that.

he doesn’t look at you while it plays. just taps the wheel in time, lip twitching like he’s in on a joke you’re too young to get.

“not your kind of music, is it?” he says finally, eyes still on the road.

“no,” you admit softly.

he chuckles.

“didn’t think so. you’re more of a... sugar-pop sort, yeah? all pink headphones and love songs?”

you bristle, but only a little. “i listen to plenty of things.”

“mm,” he says, unconvinced. “you ever even heard of tom waits?”

“well… no.”

“figured,” he smirks.

by the time he pulls up outside your apartment, the sun’s almost gone. your building looks worse in this light—weathered and crooked, like it’s sighing from holding itself up.

he looks at it, then at your shoes.

“you live here?”

“...yeah.”

he lets out a breath through his nose. not rude—just surprised.

“jesus, sweetheart. i knew teachers weren’t paid well, but jesus lovie.”

you slide your bag onto your shoulder, already reaching for the handle.

“thanks for the ride.”

but he’s already out of the car.

before you can step out, he’s opening your door for you again—holding out a hand like you’re stepping onto a yacht and not cracked pavement.

you blink up at him.

“i can walk.”

“not in those dainty little things,” he mutters. “look at the state of this lot.”

and then—god—he lifts you.

just like that. arms around your thighs and back, bridal-style, all warm and solid and smug.

“john!” you squeak, clutching his shoulders.

“don’t fuss,” he says, carrying you like you weigh nothing. “not lettin’ you ruin those shoes on my watch.”

you want to argue. you really do.

but then you’re at your door and he doesn’t put you down. not right away.

“keys?” he asks, eyes flicking toward your purse.

you fumble, unlock it with shaking hands.

and instead of handing you over the threshold, like a normal person—

he steps inside.

like he’s invited.

like this is his now.

you’re still in his arms when he glances around.

“cozy,” he says again, same tone as in your classroom.

his voice is quieter here. thicker.

you try to wiggle down. he finally lets you go, setting you gently on the floor like a toy being placed back on the shelf.

you smooth your dress. try to fix your face.

“you didn’t have to come in.”

“wasn’t gonna leave you out there in the dark,” he shrugs, looking at your tiny kitchenette, the stack of books near the couch. “besides, didn’t get my proper tour earlier.”

you give him a look. “this isn’t a tour.”

“sure it is,” he says, moving to lean against your counter like he’s done it a hundred times. “i’ve seen your classroom. now i’m seein’ where you keep your soft little cardigans.”

you cross your arms.

“you’re very confident.”

he grins.

“and you’re very polite for someone lettin’ a stranger into her flat.”

you hesitate. “you’re not a stranger.”

“aren’t i?”

he steps a little closer. your back almost hits the wall.

you don’t answer.

he smiles, slow.

“you should eat somethin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

you blink.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know i don’t,” he cuts in gently, brushing a bit of lint from your sleeve like he’s done it before. “but i want to.”

“why?”

“dunno,” he shrugs. “maybe i like takin’ care of soft little things.”

[undyingdecay]

I can’t stop thinking about how Bob would be if reader pegged him…

he starts out shaky, already half-hard just from watching you slick the strap with your spit—eyes wide and wet, mouth parted, one hand fisting the sheets like he’s grounding himself. he doesn’t ask for it, not out loud, but you can tell. the way he squirms under your gaze, the way his thighs twitch and he keeps trying to breathe deeper, slower—he wants it. he needs it. and when you tell him to open up, when you press your fingers in first—oh, he goes silent. reverent. like your touch is the only thing tethering him to the room.

if you ask him? he prefers your fingers. of course he does. he likes how slow they are. how intimate it feels—your voice soft in his ear, your palm pressed flat against the small of his back while you work him open. he tries so hard to stay still, to be good for you, even when he’s trembling and drooling into the pillow.

and once you finally slide the strap in—god, he whimpers. like you’ve split him open and sanctified him all at once. he doesn’t beg you to move. he asks. softly. shakily. “please. i—i want it, i can take it.”

and you believe him, until he starts crying.

not sobbing—but real, broken tears slipping down his cheeks, even as his cock smears precum across his stomach untouched. this is what unravels him. not being powerful. not flying or fighting. but being taken by you, inch by inch, your hand on his hip and your voice in his ear reminding him he’s still yours. always.

he thanks you when it’s over. breathless and wrecked and raw, curled against your chest while you run your fingers through his hair. and when you ask him if he liked it, he nods without looking up—presses his face closer to your throat.

“i didn’t know I could feel like that, dunno if i can take any more” he says. (this is all 10 minutes before he pushes you to your back and starts riding you—saliva slick lips crying out ‘more, more, more’)

[melanchoire]

PLEASE DON'T STOP THE MUSIC ──── kim minjeong.

── ( 🪷 ) being a brat is fun, until minjeong, the most patient woman you know, decides your behavior at the party warrants a... correction, proving that even sweethearts have a dominant side you never suspected.

pairing. dom!girlfriend!kim minjeong x sub!girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). almost cheating if you squint, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out.

word count. 4,8k

requested? yes, by 🧸 anon (sorry for the delay my love) i used their idea and transformed it a bit based on my thoughts and ideas for the plot.

“what time are we leaving?” you ask, the question a low rumble against the backdrop of laughter and chatter that fills the apartment. you’re perched on the edge of a plush, velvet couch, the kind that screams ‘expensive’ and ‘don’t spill anything,’ surrounded by laughter and chatter that feels miles away. each nervous laugh, each shared joke, each clinking glass is a tiny hammer blow against your patience.

minjeong, your girlfriend, is across the living room, locked in an animated conversation with a woman you vaguely recognize as one of her colleagues. her head is thrown back in laughter, her eyes sparkling with a carefree joy that you envy. you watch as she leans in, whispering something that makes the other woman giggle and playfully shove her shoulder. you feel a strange pang, a mixture of affection and resentment. affection because she looks genuinely happy, resentment because that happiness doesn’t seem to include you.

you shift uncomfortably, the plush fabric doing little to alleviate the growing tension in your back. the party, thrown by one of minjeong’s acquaintances, is exactly what you’d feared: a suffocating sea of unfamiliar faces and forced pleasantries. you don’t know these people, and frankly, you don’t particularly want to. they’re all successful, polished, and brimming with an effortless confidence that you find intimidating. you’ve caught a few sideways glances, a few polite but dismissive smiles, and the barely-veiled curiosity in their eyes as they try to place you in minjeong’s life. you’re the odd man out, the square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

you try to engage in the conversations around you, throwing in the occasional comment or question, but your attempts usually fall flat. your jokes land with a thud, your observations are met with polite nods, and you quickly retreat back into your shell, the feeling of being an outsider growing with each passing minute.

you can’t help but feel like an outsider, an alien dropped into this strange habitat. minjeong’s friends are… fine, you suppose. polite enough, at least on the surface. but their easy camaraderie, their shared jokes and knowing looks, all serve to highlight your own isolation. It’s not that they’re actively excluding you, it’s just… you don’t fit. you don’t understand their references, you don’t share their history, and frankly, you don’t really want to.

minjeong knows this, of course. you’ve made it abundantly clear. you’d much rather be home, curled up on the couch with her, watching some mindless reality show and ordering takeout. but she'd insisted. it was yizhuo’s birthday, and she really wanted you to come. you love her, of course, so you agreed, sacrificing your saturday night to the social gods. but the gods are cruel and unsympathetic, as you’fe quickly finding out.

minjeong doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. she’s animated, her eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter as she talks to yizhuo and another girl whose name you can’t quite remember. she seems to be in her element, radiating a carefree joy that you rarely see. it’s a beautiful sight, and a part of you feels guilty for wanting to drag her away from it. but the other part, the selfish part, just wants to go home.

you glance at your watch again. 10:47 PM. it feels like you’ve been here for an eternity.

you take a sip of the water you’ve been nursing all night. minjeong had offered you a beer when you first arrived, but you’d declined, knowing that someone had to be the designated driver. you silently curse your responsible nature, wishing you could loosen up and let the alcohol numb the awkwardness. minjeong is a little tipsy, her words slightly slurred, her laughter a little louder than usual. she’s having a good time, and you can’t begrudge her that, but it also makes you feel even more isolated in your sobriety.

finally, minjeong disentangles herself from the conversation and makes her way towards you, her steps a little unsteady.

“hey, you okay?” she asks, her voice a little too loud for the relatively quiet corner you’ve sequestered yourself in.

you force a smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just… a little tired.”

she sits down beside you, her arm brushing against yours. “you’ve been really quiet tonight.”

“just not feeling it, i guess.” you admit, trying to keep the resentment from creeping into your voice. “this isn’t really my crowd.”

minjeong’s expression clouds over slightly. “don’t say that. they’re nice people, you just need to give them a chance.”

“i have given them a chance, minjeong.” you say, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “they’re not exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. when are we leaving?”

“soon, babe.” she calls back, her voice slightly slurred. “just a little longer, okay? jimin wants to do karaoke."

karaoke. the word hangs in the air like a death sentence. you shudder inwardly. the thought of enduring another hour, let alone participating in a drunken karaoke session, is enough to send you running for the hills.

“what time are we leaving?” you ask again, the words slipping out before you can stop them. this time, your voice is a little sharper, a little more desperate.

minjeong sighs, a tiny furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “i told you, soon. stop worrying. just try to relax and have fun.”

“have fun?” you can’t help the incredulous tone that creeps into your voice. "how am i supposed to have fun? i don’t know anyone here. and the people i do know seem to be actively avoiding me.”

she frowns, her tipsy happiness momentarily fading. “that’s not true. yizhuo was just asking about your new project."

“yeah, after pointedly ignoring me for the first two hours.” you mutter, earning yourself a glare.

minjeong clearly doesn’t want to argue, not here, not in front of her friends. “okay, okay.” she says, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “i get it. you’re not having a good time. but can you just try? for me? it’s important to me that you get to know my friends.”

“why?” the question is out before you can think, and you immediately regret it. it sounds accusatory, defensive.

minjeong’s expression hardens slightly. “because they’re important to me.” she says, her voice flat. “and if you care about me, you’ll at least make an effort.”

her words sting, a sharp jab to the gut. you do care about her, more than anything. that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? that’s why you’re enduring this torturous evening.

“i am making an effort.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just… hard.”

minjeong sighs again, running a hand through her hair. “i know, babe. i know. just give it a little longer, okay? i promise, we’ll leave soon. i’ll even rescue you from karaoke.” she manages a weak smile, and you can’t help but soften.

“fine.” you say, forcing a smile of your own. “but if i hear one note of bohemian rhapsody, i’m staging a coup."

she laughs, the sound light and airy, and the tension in your chest eases slightly. “deal. now, stay here. i‘m going to get you a soda.”

before you can protest, she’s already on her feet, weaving her way through the crowd towards the makeshift bar in the corner. you watch her go, a wave of guilt washing over you. you know she’s trying, that she wants you to feel comfortable and included. but it’s just not working.

you lean back against the uncomfortable couch, closing your eyes for a moment. okay, you think to yourself. you can do this. you can survive a few more hours of awkward small talk and forced smiles. for minjeong.

but as the minutes tick by, your resolve begins to waver. you watch as minjeong disappears into the kitchen, and a wave of loneliness washes over you. you feel like you’re standing on the outside of a glass wall, watching everyone else enjoy themselves while you’re trapped in your own little world of anxiety and discomfort.

you glance around the room, trying to find something, anything, to occupy your attention. a group of people are gathered around the coffee table, playing some sort of card game. their laughter is loud and boisterous, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy. you wish you could be that carefree, that comfortable in your own skin.

your eyes land on a bookshelf in the corner of the room. you stand up, needing an excuse to move, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the couch. you wander over to the bookshelf, pretending to be interested in the titles. you scan the spines, recognizing a few familiar authors, but mostly it’s a collection of books you've never heard of.

the bass vibrated through the floor, a dull, insistent throb that matched the restless energy buzzing beneath your skin. you replayed the conversation you’d just had with your boss, the promotion dangling just out of reach, the familiar sting of inadequacy pricking at your confidence. lost in the labyrinth of your anxieties, you hadn’t noticed the plush velvet of the sofa until you’d sunk into it, seeking a temporary refuge from the swirling chaos of the party.

the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cheap beer, a discordant blend that mirrored the unease churning in your stomach. you closed your eyes, trying to block out the flashing lights and the shrill laughter, attempting to ground yourself in the quiet space within.

that’s when it happened. a disruption. a warm weight dipped the cushion beside you, interrupting the fragile peace you’d managed to conjure. you opened your eyes, ready to politely excuse yourself, but the words died in your throat.

“rough day?”

you startled, turning to see aeri settled comfortably next to you, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. or was it giselle? you always got confused. she had told you once that giselle was her american name, the one she used because it was easier for people to pronounce. that was the confusing part. you knew her as giselle. that’s the name she introduced herself as when you first met her at a mutual friend's birthday party. the name on her Instagram handle. the name everyone seemed to use.

but now, looking at her, she felt different. maybe it was the way the light caught the sharp angles of her cheekbones, highlighting a subtle intensity you hadn’t noticed before. or maybe it was the knowing glint in her dark eyes, a hint of amusement playing around her lips.

“hey.” you managed, the greeting sounding surprisingly breathless. “giselle?”

her smile widened, a brief flash of teeth that sent a shiver down your spine. “aeri.” she corrected softly, her voice a low, melodic hum that seemed to vibrate in the air around you. “please. call me aeri.”

you frowned, a knot of confusion tightening in your chest. “but… everyone calls you giselle.”

she shrugged, the movement graceful and effortless. “i know. it’s easier for some people. not everyone knows how to pronounce aeri properly, and honestly, sometimes i just don’t have the energy to correct them.” her gaze met yours, and the amusement intensified, turning almost… mischievous. “but i like it when you say it. it sounds… nice.”

your cheeks flushed, and you found yourself strangely flustered by her simple statement. You cleared your throat, attempting to regain your composure. “okay.” you said, the word a little shaky. “aeri, then.”

saying her name felt different, somehow. more intimate. more real.

her smile widened, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. “aeri, please. tonight, i'm aeri.”

“aeri, then.” you echoed, the name feeling foreign and yet familiar on your tongue. “and yeah, you could say that. rough week, rough month, rough life, maybe?”

she chuckled, a light, airy sound that somehow managed to cut through the cacophony of the party. “i know the feeling. sometimes it feels like the universe is just conspiring to make you spill coffee on your favorite shirt, every single day.”

you laughed, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to her easygoing demeanor. “exactly! it’s like, can i just catch a break, universe? just one day of no existential dread, please?”

aeri leaned closer, her gaze locking with yours. “i think you deserve more than just one day.” she said, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “you deserve a whole galaxy of good days.”

your heart fluttered unexpectedly. you hadn’t been planning on flirting, hadn’t even considered it, but aeri’s words, her gaze, the way the light caught in her hair — it was all strangely captivating.

“that’s… a very kind thing to say, aeri.” you managed, your voice a little breathier than you intended.

“so,” she continued, leaning closer, her arm brushing against yours. the contact sent another jolt through you. “what’s got you hiding out here in the shadows? not a fan of the music?”

you hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal to someone you barely knew, someone who was suddenly making you feel incredibly self–conscious. “just… thinking.” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “work stuff.”

“work, huh?” aeri’s voice was laced with intrigue. “sounds serious.”

you sighed, relenting. “it’s just… there’s a promotion up for grabs, and i thought i had a good shot, but… well, apparently not.”

aeri tilted her head, her dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made you want to squirm. “why not?” she asked, her voice gentle, almost coaxing.

you found yourself pouring out your frustrations, the words tumbling out in a rush. you told her about the long hours you’d put in, the projects you’d spearheaded, the sacrifices you'd made. you told her about the feeling of being overlooked, of being underestimated.

aeri listened intently, her gaze never wavering, her presence a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the party. when you finally ran out of steam, she remained silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

“you know.” she said finally, her voice low and sincere. “sometimes we’te so busy trying to prove ourselves to others that we forget to appreciate our own worth. you sound incredibly talented and dedicated. don’t let someone else’s judgment define you.”

her words resonated deep within you, a balm to your wounded ego. you looked at her, really looked at her, and saw a depth of understanding and empathy that surprised you.

“thanks.” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “i needed to hear that.”

aeri smiled, a genuine, heart–stopping smile that lit up her entire face. “anytime.” she said, her voice soft. “that’s what friends are for.”

friends. the word hung in the air between you, both comforting and slightly disappointing. you wanted more than friendship, you realized with a jolt. you wanted to bask in the warmth of her attention, to lose yourself in the depths of her dark eyes, to explore the subtle curves of her smile.

she leaned closer again, and you could feel the warmth radiating from her body. the scent of her perfume, a complex blend of jasmine and sandalwood, filled your senses, intoxicating you.

“so…” she whispered, her voice a husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. “now that we’ve established that you’re amazing, how about we ditch this boring party and go somewhere a little more… interesting?”

your heart pounded in your chest. this was it. this was the moment you’d been subconsciously waiting for. the chance to escape the mundane, to embrace the unknown, to surrender to the magnetic pull of aeri’s allure.

“i…” you began, your voice catching in your throat.

that’s when you heard it. a familiar voice, sharp and laced with irritation, cutting through the music and laughter.

“there you are!”

your head snapped up, and your stomach plummeted. standing there, framed in the doorway, was minjeong, your girlfriend. her eyes, usually warm and loving, were narrowed into slits, her jaw clenched tight.

“minjeong.” you said, your voice a strangled whisper.

“minjeong.” aeri echoed, her voice devoid of any emotion. she didn’t even look at her.

minjeong stalked towards you, her gaze fixed on aeri, radiating hostility. “what’s going on here?” she demanded, her voice dangerously low.

“nothing.” you said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “we were just talking.”

“just talking?” minjeong repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “that’s not what it looked like to me.” she turned her attention to aeri, her eyes flashing with anger. “who are you?”

aeri finally looked up, her expression cool and composed. “a friend.” she said simply.

“a friend?” minjeong scoffed. “i don’t think so.” she grabbed your arm, her grip surprisingly tight. “come on.” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “we’re leaving.”

you looked at aeri, a silent plea in your eyes. she met your gaze, her expression unreadable. then, with a barely perceptible shrug, she looked away.

the air crackled with unspoken tension. you could practically feel the temperature in the small space plummet.

aeri, sensing the shift in atmosphere, gracefully began to extract herself. “well, it was lovely talking to you.” she said, flashing you a dazzling smile. “i should probably go mingle. see you around?”

“yeah, see you.” you managed, your eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.

as aeri walked away, minjeong turned to you, her eyes narrowed. “what was that about?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, trying to play it cool, even though your heart was hammering in your chest.

“don’t play dumb. you were practically flirting with her.” her voice was dangerously low, barely audible above the music.

“we were just talking.” you protested, but the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

“talking? it looked like a lot more than talking. you know i don’t like it when you do that."

“do what? talk to people? minjeong, i can’t just sit in a corner all night. and aeri is a friend.”

“a friend? is that what you call it now? because it looked like she wanted to be more than just a friend.”

the argument escalated quickly. accusations flew, fueled by jealousy and underlying frustrations that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. you found yourself saying things you regretted, things you had been holding back for too long. minjeong, in turn, retaliated with her own grievances, her voice rising with each word.

the party faded into the background, the music and laughter becoming a muffled hum. all that existed was the two of you, locked in a bitter battle of words, your relationship crumbling before your eyes.

“i can’t believe you’re doing this.” you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “at yizhuo’s birthday party, no less. you’re making a scene."

“and you’re making me look like a fool.” minjeong shot back. “i come here to support our friend, and you’re over here, cozying up to someone else.”

you were about to retort when minjeong grabbed your arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “we’re leaving.” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“what? now? i’m not leaving now.”

“yes, you are. i need to talk to you, and i’m not doing it here, in front of everyone.”

before you could protest further, she was pulling you towards the door, navigating through the throng of partygoers. people stared as you were dragged past, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern. you caught yizhuo’s eye, her expression a question mark, but you couldn’t bring yourself to offer an explanation.

outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap in the face. minjeong didn’t release your arm until you reached her car, a sleek black sedan parked a block away. she unlocked the doors and practically shoved you inside.

“get in.” she said curtly, unlocking the car door.

you obeyed, sliding into the passenger seat, your heart pounding in your chest. the car ride was tense and silent, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from minjeong.

the silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the ticking of the engine. you sat rigid in your seat, your arms crossed, staring straight ahead. minjeong started the car and pulled out into the street, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel.

neither of you spoke for several minutes. the tension in the car was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

finally, minjeong broke the silence, her voice strained. “i don’t understand you sometimes.” she said. what was that all about?” she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion.

you hesitated, unsure of what to say. “i don’t know.” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “we were just talking.”

“don’t lie to me.” she snapped. “i saw the way she was looking at you. i saw the way you were looking at her.”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “minjeong, nothing happened. we were just having a conversation.”

“a conversation that involved her flirting with you?” she challenged.

you flinched. “i don’t know if she was flirting.” you protested weakly.

“oh, come on.” minjeong said, her voice laced with disbelief. “you can’t be that blind. she was totally coming on to you.”

you didn’t respond, unable to deny the truth of her words.

“come here.” she purred, reaching out to grab your wrist and tug you closer. her grip was firm and insistent, pulling you into her personal space. she wrapped her other arm around your lower back, trapping you against the cool leather and her warm, soft body.

minjeong’s face was mere inches from yours now, her breath hot against your skin. you could feel the heat radiating off her, could see the hunger burning in her dark eyes. she was a predator, and you were her prey — and you couldn’t wait to be devoured.

minjeong’s gaze locked with yours, her eyes blazing with intensity and unbridled desire. she leaned in closer, her lips now a mere whisper from yours. you could feel the electric charge building between your bodies, the air crackling with sexual tension.

“ugh, i need to taste you.” she murmured, her voice low and husky, dripping with lust. her hand slid up your back, her nails raking lightly against your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

suddenly, she crashed her lips against yours in a bruising, passionate kiss. her mouth moved demandingly over yours, her tongue delving past your lips to explore and claim you. she kissed you like she was starving for it, like she needed your mouth, your taste, your very essence to survive.

her other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling your body flush against hers. you could feel every curve of her lithe, soft body pressed against you, her breasts crushed against your own. she deepened the kiss, her tongue dancing and twining with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth.

minjeong’s hands roamed your body greedily, mapping out your curves, squeezing and caressing. she seemed determined to touch every part of you, to leave no inch of your skin unexplored. her touch was electric, setting your nerves alight with pleasure.

she broke the kiss abruptly, leaving you both panting. her eyes were dark and wild as she stared at you, a wicked grin playing on her kiss–swollen lips.

“fuck, i need you so bad.” minjeong growled, her voice raw with desire. her hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and off in one swift motion. she leaned down, her mouth hot and hungry against your newly exposed skin. she kissed and nipped at your breasts, her tongue swirling around your hardened nipples.

her fingers fumbled with the button of your jeans, popping it open and tugging the zipper down. she slipped a hand inside, her fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric of your panties. she rubbed slow, teasing circles around the sensitive nub, feeling it throb and swell under her touch.

“i’ll show you exactly who this pretty little pussy belongs to.” she purred, her voice a low, seductive growl. her hand slipped inside your panties, her fingers brushing against your slick, heated flesh. she groaned softly at the feeling of your arousal, a sound of pure male satisfaction.

minjeong pushed your panties aside and plunged two fingers deep into your dripping cunt without warning. she pumped them in and out, fucking you hard and fast, her palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. her other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as she ravaged your pussy with single–minded intensity.

right now you had no more self–respect or dignity to lose. the party, the conversation with aeri, and the confrontation with minjeong that this brought made you spin like a roller coaster. so showing her how needy you were was the least bad thing you could do. “minjeong please don’t tease and just fuck me already.”

in a flash, minjeong yanked her fingers out of your needy cunt, leaving you aching and empty. she grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you out of the driver’s seat, pulling you into the back of the car. the leather seats were soft and cool against your skin as she pushed you down onto them.

minjeong crawled in after you, straddling your hips with her own. she loomed over you, a wicked grin on her face as she gazed down at your flushed, aroused body splayed out beneath her.

“i want to taste this sweet cunt. i need to remind you who it belongs to.” she growled, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and panties. with one swift tug, she yanked them down your legs, tossing them carelessly onto the car floor.

minjeong settled between your thighs, pushing them apart to expose your glistening, swollen pussy to her hungry gaze. she leaned down, inhaling deeply, savoring your intimate scent.

“fuck, you smell divine.” she murmured, before diving in and running her tongue along your slit. she groaned at the taste of your arousal, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

minjeong ate your pussy like a woman starved, her tongue delving deep into your hot, tight channel. she licked and sucked at your clit, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly with the tip of her tongue. her hands gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh as she feasted on you.

she brought a hand up to plunge two fingers knuckle–deep into your cunt, pumping them in time with the lashes of her tongue. the obscene sound of your wetness filled the car as she finger–fucked you hard and fast, her tongue never letting up its relentless assault on your clit.

“mmmh, this pussy tastes even better than i remember.” minjeong purred against your flesh, sending delicious vibrations through you. she looked up at you with a wicked, lust–drunk grin. “i’m going to make this cunt mine again, (y/n). i’m going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name. the only thing you’lll remember is who this pretty little pussy belongs to — me.” minjeong redoubled her efforts, driven wild by the thought of claiming your pussy completely. she sucked your clit hard, her tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. her fingers pumped faster, plunging in and out of your soaked, clenching cunt with brutal intensity.

“fuck, you’re mine.” she growled against your pussy, the vibrations making your hips jerk and your back arch. she bit down gently on your clit, soothing the sting with a long, slow lick. her fingers curled inside you, rubbing mercilessly against that spongy spot deep within your core.

minjeong could feel your pussy starting to flutter and clench around her invading fingers, telling her you were close. she doubled her efforts, determined to make you come undone. she wanted to taste your release, to feel your essence flooding her mouth as she marked you as her own.

“come on, baby.” she urged, her breath hot and heavy against your dripping sex. “give this greedy little cunt to me. i want to feel you come all over my tongue, screaming my name. let everyone know who you belong to.”

with a final, sharp thrust of her fingers and a hard suck on your clit, minjeong sent you hurtling over the edge. your pussy clamped down like a vice, your walls rippling and milking her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you. she groaned in satisfaction as your release gushed out, flooding her mouth and chin with your sweet nectar.

minjeong lapped it up greedily, not letting a single drop go to waste. she worked you through your high, her fingers gentling their strokes as your body twitched and shuddered with the aftershocks. finally, she pulled back, her face glistening with your juices.

“that’s it, baby. gucking delicious.” she purred, her voice rough and sated. she crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. “you’re mine, (y/n). this pussy is mine. don’t you ever forget it.”

[carnalcrows]

CLASS PRESIDENT PRIVILEGES - JOONYEONG

pairing: oh joon yeong x top male reader

synopsis: The real infection here is horniness pt.3

content warnings: 18+, semi-public sex (?), zombies, dry humping, no actual smut (they get interrupted lol), reader smokes, reader is the class president.

word count: 1.5k

The rooftop was cold. Not just a little chilly, not just “bundle up and you’ll be fine” kind of cold—the kind of cold that made you question all your life choices up to this point.

And the worst part? The idiots you called classmates couldn’t even get a simple fire going.

"I’m telling you, it worked in the movie," Cheongsan insisted, aggressively striking two rocks together.

"It’s been twenty minutes," Wujin deadpanned. "All you’ve done is make a weird clicking sound and piss me off."

"You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually!"

"You two can fight after we figure out how not to freeze to death!" Onjo snapped.

Daesu, shivering violently, let out a dramatic groan. "I’m gonna die. I can feel my organs shutting down. Someone tell my parents I loved them."

"You’re not gonna die, Daesu."

"How do you know, huh?" He pointed a trembling finger at you. "You’re not the one slowly becoming a human popsicle!"

You sighed, feeling your patience wear thinner by the second. Your classmates were useless. At this rate, you’d be thawing out in the stomach of some undead freak before anyone even thought about fire.

Wordlessly, you reached into your pocket, pulled out a lighter, and flicked it open with one hand. The small flame flickered in the darkness.

The group went dead silent.

Then—

"You—" Joonyeong squinted at you like you’d just pulled out a live grenade. "You smoke?"

You raised a brow. "And you have a big mouth. What’s your point?"

The silence grew thicker. Wujin looked personally offended, Onjo blinked at you in stunned confusion, and Cheongsan opened and closed his mouth like he was trying to solve an advanced math problem.

"Since when do you smoke?" Onjo finally asked, brows furrowed.

"Since before the apocalypse. Why?"

"BEFORE?" Daesu gawked. "Since before?"

"Why is that the shocking part?"

"You were supposed to be the responsible one!" Wujin yelled.

You stared at him, unimpressed. "Well, you were supposed to light the fire, and yet—" You gestured dramatically to the still-unlit pile of sticks.

Cheongsan muttered, "Damn, he’s got a point."

Shaking your head, you flicked the lighter closed and tossed it to Wujin. "Do better."

Then, with no further explanation, you turned on your heel and walked away.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Wujin called after you.

You didn’t answer. It was getting too loud, and if you spent one more second listening to their collective incompetence, you might actually start throwing people off the roof.

It was time for a break.

As the night dragged on, exhaustion weighed down on the group, conversation dwindling as the reality of their situation set in. You, as always, preferred your solitude, so you wandered to the farthest corner of the rooftop, away from the others. The cool breeze nipped at your skin as you lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Footsteps approached.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You followed me," you said, voice flat.

Joonyeong stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes flickering to the cigarette in your hand. "Didn’t peg you for a delinquent."

"Didn’t peg you for a stalker."

He huffed a small laugh, but his gaze was elsewhere—on the city, the fires burning in the distance, the moans of the dead below.

"I thought I hated you," he muttered.

You raised a brow. "Good to know."

"I was jealous," he continued. "You’re everything I wanted to be. Smart. Respected. Strong. You always acted like nothing could touch you." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I thought it was just resentment. That I just wanted to be better than you."

You glanced at him. "And?"

His jaw tightened. Then, before you could react, he turned to you fully, hands gripping the front of your jacket, and—

Pressed his lips against yours.

You froze.

Of all the things you were expecting tonight, this was not one of them.

Your cigarette dropped, forgotten, as his lips moved against yours—clumsy, hesitant, but desperate. Your hands hovered at your sides for a moment, your brain catching up with reality.

Then something clicked.

Your grip tightened on his jacket, yanking him closer as you took full control of the kiss, tilting your head, deepening it. Joonyeong made a noise against your lips, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted into it.

Without thinking, you lifted him.

"What the—!" Joonyeong barely got the words out before his legs instinctively wrapped around your waist. His breath hitched as you pressed him against the ledge, pinning him between your body and the cold concrete.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

You smirked against his lips. "Didn’t expect that, huh?"

"Not even a little bit," he admitted, voice already breathy.

Then you kissed him again—deeper, rougher, completely taking over.

His lips parted under yours, and you didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, your tongue sliding against his in a way that made his fingers tighten in your hair. The little stuttered breath he let out sent a thrill down your spine, and you liked the way he melted into you, the way his body tensed and relaxed all at once.

His hands, uncertain at first, slowly grew bolder, fingers fisting in the fabric of your jacket before slipping under the hem, pressing against your back. The cold contrast of his fingertips against your skin made you shiver, but you didn’t let him take control for even a second.

Instead, you rolled your hips forward—just slightly, but enough that Joonyeong made a strangled noise against your lips, his legs tightening around you.

"Fuck—" His head fell back against the ledge, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts.

You didn’t let up.

You kissed along his jaw, trailing down to the side of his neck, feeling the way he tensed under the attention. Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and when you bit down—not too hard, but just enough to make him feel it—Joonyeong gasped, his back arching slightly.

"God," he muttered. "You’re—"

"What?" you murmured against his throat, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing," he said quickly, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

You smirked, sucking a mark just below his jaw, feeling the way his breath stuttered against your shoulder. His grip on you tightened, and you knew—knew—he was barely holding himself together.

"You're so loud," you teased.

"Shut up," he shot back, voice shaking slightly.

You just grinned, licking over the mark you’d left. "Make me."

Joonyeong's breath hitched as you pressed him harder against the ledge, your hands gripping under his thighs to keep him exactly where you wanted him. His legs were locked around your waist, and you could feel how tense he was—every muscle in his body coiled tight like he was trying so hard not to lose himself completely.

"You’re shaking," you murmured, dragging your lips along his jaw, feeling the way his breath shuddered against your cheek.

"Shut up," he bit out, but his voice wasn’t nearly as sharp as he wanted it to be.

You rolled your hips forward—slow, deliberate, just enough friction to make Joonyeong jerk in your hold, a strangled sound escaping his throat before he could stop it. His fingers dug into your shoulders, and you felt his legs instinctively tighten around you like he was trying to pull you closer, even though there was no space left between you.

"Fuck," he breathed out, barely audible. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you felt the warmth of his panting breaths against your neck. "Why are you—"

"Why am I what?" you teased, tilting your head slightly to nip at his earlobe.

"So—" His words cut off as you ground against him again, harder this time, and he whined.

You smirked. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers clenched in the fabric of your jacket, his body practically trembling from the effort of keeping himself together. But you didn’t want him to keep it together. You wanted him unravelling in your arms, forgetting about everything else—about the apocalypse, about survival, about whatever the hell he thought he felt about you before this night—until all he knew was you.

You dragged your lips down his neck, sucking just enough to make him squirm. He let out a shaky exhale, tilting his head back ever so slightly, like he needed more, like he was completely at your mercy.

"You like this," you murmured against his skin, voice low and knowing.

"I hate you," Joonyeong gasped, but the way he clung to you said otherwise.

You just chuckled, rolling your hips one more time—slow, and deep, hitting all the right spots. "Yeah?" you whispered against his throat. "Then why are you holding on so tight?"

Somewhere behind you, the grill door creaked open.

"What’s taking him so—OH MY GOD!"

A loud thud followed.

"DAESU’S DOWN! MAN DOWN!"

You turned just in time to see Wujin standing there, looking horrified, while Daesu lay collapsed on the floor, his soul probably leaving his body.

Joonyeong let out a strangled noise, trying to scramble out of your grip, but you only smirked, tightening your hold.

"Did you guys need something?" you asked, completely unbothered.

"I NEED THERAPY!" Wujin screeched.

Joonyeong buried his face into your shoulder with a groan. "Kill me. Just kill me now."

You chuckled. "Not a chance."

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[puck-luck]

Hi Andy, Can i get a mocha with vanilla syrup and cinnamon for Luke Hughes please? (Cowgirl + breeding kink)

There are very few things on the Earth that you love more than being on top of Luke. One of those things is having Luke inside of you, cock hard and straining and seeping precum into the hard tissue that protects your womb. 

When you can mix the two, it drives you down a path of ecstasy that seems endless. In reality, it’s a massive loop that brings you back to where you started, but you never recognize your surroundings. Luke seems to take you for a different ride each time.

It’s his favorite position too, with you on top and rolling your hips like you can’t get enough of him. He finds his own pleasure in the streaming cries from your mouth and the contorted expressions on your face. Of course, the squelching sounds and the way your hole bears down on his length helps– but Luke often has a hard time distinguishing his physical pleasure from the thrill of excitement that flies up his spine when you let him know, and feel, how good he is to you. 

Luke is laying flat on the bed and you’re straddling his hips, speared on his cock, and enjoying every second of it. His palms roam over the expanse of your thighs, cupping the skin and brushing it with his thumbs. 

“That’s it, baby,” Luke encourages under his breath. “Fucking yourself on my cock so beautifully.” His hands inch upwards and help you bounce harder, faster, on his dick. “Can’t wait to feel you come. These thighs gonna shake for me? Your pussy gonna quiver for me? Take all of my cum like the good girl you are?”

You moan and nod, taking your time to form the words that popped into your brain immediately after Luke spoke. 

“You’re–” Cut off by a gasp when Luke’s cock fucks up into you unexpectedly. You bow your head and your tongue lolls out of your mouth before you can get the muscle back under control.

Luke is smug about that.

Which means that you have to pull out the secret weapon, the one you were planning to use anyway, but now you have to say it with even more conviction– as if you could lie or mislead Luke with his heavenly cock pressing into every sensitive spot you have. 

“You’re stretching me so good, Lu,” you tell him in a rush before the words can leave you. Before Luke can fuck them away with a well-placed thrust. “Stuffing me full, so full, bet you can see my tummy bulging, huh?”

Luke falls for the bait and his big paw slides to your front. His palm rests comfortably over the natural pudge of your belly, fingertips possessive where they dig into the space beneath your ribs.

“Oh, Lu, I can feel every inch of you,” you moan excessively, rolling your head back on your shoulders. You take him entirely, fold flush with the curls at his base, and you grind. “Please give me your cum, I need it so bad.”

Luke’s breath hitches and his eyes flash in either a warning or because he’s been pegged perfectly, again. You said you don’t recognize the surroundings when Luke pulls you toward an orgasm. In the same vein, he never expects you to pull out an entendre or a beseech to fill you, fill you so much that his warm seed is falling from you in a steady stream.

“Lukey, please,” you ask again. You thumb over his mouth, another weak point of his, and dig your nails into his abs. You make a noise of impatience and pout just enough that his features soften. “I need it, I need to feel you inside of me, need your cum to make me all swollen and full…”

“Mhm,” Luke groans. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” One of his hands covers the small of your back, then slides up your spine into your hair. He tugs your mouth down to meet his, grinding up into you as stars start to shine behind your closed eyelids.

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[sweetshuga]

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

ⓘ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕! ⋆ pegging ⋆ sub!matt ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ established relationship ⋆ pet names ⋆ degradation kink + more.

Matt’s legs trembled slightly and his arms burned from holding his weight up. His vision blurred with tears of pleasure, mouth hung open as high-pitched moans spilled out freely.

Your fingers dug into his hips, keeping him from recoiling forward with your thrusts as you grunted softly in exertion.

Matt could feel himself getting closer and closer as you fucked him vigorously. He could feel the warmth beginning to pool in his stomach—the pressure almost too much.

"Sh-shit, m’gonna cum- mmhn–ffuuuckkk-- aahn!" Matt moaned loudly, and his arms finally gave up as he fell forward onto the bed, his back arching more.

One of your hands left his hips and instead pressed onto his lower back, making him arch more as your hips met his ass with loud, wet smacks.

Matt’s face burned from embarrassment when he heard his increasingly high-pitched moans and whimpers and the wet squelches from the copious amounts of lube you used, making it easier for your strap-on to slide in and out of his greedy hole.

"Fuck, really?" You let out a huff of air that sounded more like a small laugh. "This quickly?" Your hips slowed down, fucking him languidly and dragging out his pleasure.

Matt let out a small whine in protest to the sudden shift in pace, pushing his hips back to fuck himself on your strap-on, but you clicked your tongue and held his hips with both hands, halting his movements.

"You trynna take control baby?" You tutted before giving his ass a sharp slap, making him yelp into the bedsheets. "Be a good boy and fucking take what I give you, yeah?" You cooed, the sound soft but laced with mockery as you gently caressed and soothed the reddening skin of his ass.

Matt could only nod quickly, mumbling a soft and muffled "mhm". You smirked at his whimper, barely audible due to the sheets muffling it.

Your hips began to move again without warning, making him moan loudly into the bed. His hands clutched onto the bedsheets for dear life as his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy and drool leaked onto the bed from his open mouth.

You pushed his hips down abruptly, making him lay flat on his stomach before you resumed your pounding. Matt’s moans turned into high-pitched whimpers and gasps when he felt the silicone tip of your strap-on hit his prostate repeatedly thanks to the new position.

You groaned lowly when you saw his body twitching and trembling under you, totally fucked out from the feeling of his prostate being bullied mercilessly by your strap-on.

"Haahh..." You let out an amused, airy laugh. "Feels good huh?" You hit his prostate dead on, letting out another laugh when you heard the desperate sound that he let out.

"G-gonna cum--" His voice broke off into a series of desperate moans as you fucked him into the bed, your thrusts getting harder and deeper.

"Then cum, and don’t even fucking think of touching your dick." You grunted harshly, your hands pinning his wrists to his back and pushing him further into the bed as your strap-on plowed in and out of him.

Matt’s body trembled, his orgasm hitting him in intense waves as he sobbed in pleasure. Rope after rope of pearly white cum shot out, soaking the sheets underneath him,

"Fuuck, you came like a woman, didn’t even touch your dick." Your words were meant to humiliate him, and it did, but it also made him feel a twisted sense of satisfaction and pleasure.

You slowed down your thrusts after a while before pulling out completely, leaving him empty and trembling. His hole gaped open from being wrecked so thoroughly by the dildo—almost moulded into it’s shape.

You’ll never get enough of this sight.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟎.𝟔 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[thatdammchickennugget]

Hi Marky! 💘😽 thought id pop in for a request - I liked this groceries idea but I thought I’d spin it a bit. For a au pinning where you flat with Blaise and Theo and one time when Mattheo is over you’re out of groceries so he offers to go with you. And it’s just bit pining over doing a mundane task together - kind of inspired by the song groceries by mallrat sorry if this is shit lmfao ily! 🤍

pairing - mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings - fluff, soft matty, theo and blaise are pretty useless

a/n - thanks for the request flower, I love it 💕

wordcount - 849

“Whose turn was it to buy groceries?” you asked, staring into the barren wasteland of the fridge. A half-empty carton of orange juice and a single, lonely lemon mocked you from the shelves.

“Not mine,” Blaise called from the living room, where he was sprawled across the couch like a Renaissance painting.

Theo, perched on the armrest with a mug in hand, raised a brow. “It was yours.”

You slammed the fridge door shut. “No, it wasn’t. I went last time. It’s someone else’s turn.”

Blaise didn’t even glance up from his magazine. “I vote Theo.”

“You can’t just ‘vote’ me,” Theo retorted.

“Watch me.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the counter. “You’re all useless, you know that? The only thing left in this flat is desperation and vibes.”

“And even the vibes are questionable,” Theo said, earning a snort from Blaise.

At that moment, the front door opened, and Mattheo strolled in like he owned the place. He glanced at the scene—Blaise reclining like a bored prince, Theo sipping tea like he was better than everyone, and you looking moments away from a breakdown—and smirked.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket.

“We’re out of food,” you replied flatly.

“Out of food, out of coffee…” Theo mused. “Out of patience, if we’re talking about her.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t test me.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning casually against the counter. “Sounds like you need to hit the store.”

“She does,” Blaise chimed in, flipping a page.

“Well, I’m not going alone,” you said, crossing your arms.

Mattheo raised a brow. “You scared of the big bad grocery store?”

“No, I just know that if I go alone, I’ll end up doing everything, and then you three will eat it all and leave me with nothing but crumbs.”

“Harsh,” Theo said, though he didn’t look particularly offended.

“I’ll go with you,” Mattheo said, surprising everyone.

The room went quiet for a beat. Blaise raised his head, looking between you and Mattheo with barely concealed amusement. “Since when do you volunteer for manual labor?”

Mattheo shrugged. “I’m feeling generous.”

“Generous?” Theo snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut up, Theo,” Mattheo muttered, his ears tinging pink.

You hesitated, glancing between the boys. “Fine. But if you’re coming, you’re carrying the bags.”

“Deal,” he said, already heading toward the door.

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Blaise called, earning himself a glare from Mattheo and a not-so-light smack on the back of the head from you.

♡

The grocery store was quieter than usual.

Mattheo grabbed a cart without being asked, his fingers drumming lightly on the handle as you started down the first aisle.

“You’ve got a system, right?” he asked, glancing at the list in your hand.

“I don’t need a system,” you replied, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart. “I know what we need.”

“That’s a system,” he said, smirking.

“You’re a system,” you muttered under your breath, and his chuckle sent a small thrill through you.

The two of you moved through the aisles in a rhythm that was surprisingly natural. He handed you things from higher shelves without asking, tossed in snacks you didn’t have the heart to scold him for, and even managed to charm an older woman into letting you skip the queue at the deli counter.

“You’re awfully good at this,” you said as he expertly steered the cart around a corner.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replied, smirking.

“Sorry, I just didn’t peg you as the domestic type.”

He shrugged, adding a pack of chocolate biscuits to the cart. “Maybe I’m full of surprises.”

You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest as he said it, focusing instead on grabbing a box of cereal.

By the time you reached the self-checkout, the cart was full, and the air between you felt lighter, more comfortable. He took over scanning the items, his grin widening every time you tried to help.

“Are you having fun?” you asked, exasperated.

“Maybe,” he said, scanning a box of tea. “It’s cute when you get all bossy.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words stuck as his grin softened into something warmer, more genuine.

Mattheo carried most of the bags without complaint, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your heart race if you looked too long.

“Thanks for coming with me,” you said after a while.

“Anytime,” he replied, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “You didn’t have to, though. Blaise or Theo could’ve—”

“They wouldn’t have,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but certain. “And even if they would’ve, I wanted to.”

The simplicity of his words left you momentarily speechless.

By the time you reached the flat, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason. As you unpacked the groceries together, his hand brushed yours, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose.

And when he smiled at you—soft, a little shy—you couldn’t help but smile back.

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

[oddballwriter]

Dream BBQ ENA Intimacy Headcannon (SFW & NSFW)

Summary: Some personal headcanons I have about Dream BBQ ENA regarding physical and some emotional intimacy with you and some NSFW/smut headcanons too. Don’t worry I’ve broken up both sfw and nsfw into their own sections so you don’t have to read the nsfw if you don’t want to.

Warnings: in general, gender neutral reader. For the SFW: nothing really, just my thoughts on how I think kissing, holding hands, cuddling, and let aspects of physical affection and intimacy would work. A bit of angst regarding ENA having issues opening up and being vulnerable emotionally but nothing too angsty. For the NSFW: I ramble way too much about all the possibilities of how you could possibly get sexually intimate with ENA and the idea that sky might actually be the limit, so prepare for that. Mentions of dirty talk, dom/sub and top/bottom dynamics, pegging/penetration, fingering, degradation, some talk about possible impact play and hair pulling, scratching, name calling, and manhandling/getting handled roughly. If I’m missing anything, feel free to tell me.

Author’s Snip: Eat up, babes ♥️

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

(SFW)

Kissing is kinda weird. For her regular appearance at least.

To me it just looks like her face is completely flat and that it’s just the center down the middle that makes up her head and the point that makes up her nose and that her face is just plastered on the flat surface so she doesn’t actually have real lips

Not of course there’s her hungover and corrupted form which either are humanoid and thus have lips or at least have an actual mouth-like part of her face. So if you really wanted to you could just kiss that

But for her regular form, you just kinda gotta kiss where her mouth would be and just let the gesture be a sign of a kiss

You’re free to kiss other things like her cheek, forehead, and head though, it’s just the lips situation that’s a bit funny and also the dilemma of her kissing you when she wants to do it. Meanie just doesn’t really attempt to kiss you since there’s no point, but her salesperson has come to the solution of going “mwah” or a kiss noise whenever she kisses you anywhere like your hand, head, or cheek. Your lips, not so much since you get it there

But don’t worry, she’s got two perfectly good hands for hand holding

That’s a bit interesting too though. Not too bad but her hands are very different from each other

Her red hand and arm are the only part of her that’s actually soft and “fleshy” where the rest of her is hard and jagged. But the softness is nice because it feels nice. Through, that hand is a mitten and lacks proper fingers other than her thumb, so you can’t intertwine fingers with that one. But it’s not a big deal or anything, your still very able to hold hands in a joined position and she occasionally strokes the back of you hand with her thumb. So it can still be very nice and sweet

As for her pale side’s hand, there is the fact that that one has actual fingers, but it’s a bit less comfy because it’s hard and more jagged. It’s not too bad other than it doesn’t have give to it like the red one but it’s no big deal too

I also personally bc that that side’s hand is a bit cold unless your holding it and the warmth of your hands transfers to it

As for general intimacy, in the context of the physical kind,

Salesperson likes being “professional” and keeps it to hand holding at most when in the public eye but is definitely okay with physical affection and intimacy like kissing and other things in private or at the very least away from where someone might interrupt your moment together. She be so down to cuddle at the end of the day

Meanie isn’t a huge fan and doesn’t really like PDA other than occasionally taking a hold of your hand possessively if someone’s looking at you in a way she doesn’t like. But lowkey? She’s touch-starved as hell. Her salesperson side satisfies that for them because they’re more open to physical affection in private but Meanie… struggles a bit. And by that I mean she struggles to admit that she wants to be held because she’s always trying to defend and look out for herself and so that shuts her up against being vulnerable enough to melt into touch even though you’re safe to be vulnerable like that with.

She learns eventually but it’s still a bit hard for her at times to accept some love

Her love and security mostly lives in your level of emotional intimacy together, in general, for both sides, but when it’s Meanie it’s all about you and her knowing that you two understand or are able to understand each other emotionally and mentally

She likes being big spoon/holding you but will occasionally ask to be little spoon/held if she’s going through some shit when you guys are cuddling. Hungover 100% hold her, both because she needs it and also so she doesn’t fall off the bed/couch because she’s… her main body can be a bit too limp and not so well coordinated

(NSFW)

How the fuck does one go about getting sexually intimate with ENA? In general. How does that work? That’s just a group of polygons. That is the schooler’s and philosopher’s question. Because it’s definitely more complicated than the simple “put part A into part B” that we see with… physical people composed of flesh…

Or maybe it can be?? Someone brought on the great point that maybe she can just summon something for herself to get the job done if that’s what you want? Anything can be used in pegging and as a dildo/dick if you’re open enough. I mean, she summoned that little boss egg out of nothing and she quite literally can manifest her megaphone anytime she wants out of thin air. Who says she can’t summon anything she wants? Get experimental.

Also, it’s not all about penetration. Sometimes it’s just whatever gets you off and she’s got things to grind up on and two perfectly good hands that can still be used despite any quirks they might have

Idk maybe the sharpness of her clawed hand can do something for you. People are into feeling pointy things and getting pricked during sex. Maybe she can even get rid of the points of her fingers too if you want her to get up in there with her finders

Literally who the fuck said she can’t change things about her body? Maybe that’s just her regular base form but she can change any part of her body into something else like tentacles if you’re down for it. Like, she can literally change parts of her at will in some cutscenes. I don’t think there is any limits in that world. I am yet to see any real limits or laws of nature in this world, maybe there are none

She can canonically detach her limbs and have them move around freely…

…

Now hear me out-

She could hypothetically detach her head from her body and eat you out if she wanted

Or detach her hand and tease you with it

You could actually do so much with the fact that she can do that.

The question is not “how do we do it?”, my friend.

It’s “how creative can we get?”.

Anyways enough philosophy about the laws of nature and limits when it comes to sex

Top…

Dom… even

…

I said what I said

She gives top energy. She looks like she likes being the woman in charge and I’d let her. She looks like she knows what she’s doing once she understands how you “function” if you catch my drift

I think it’s the hat and outfit. I’m not saying she looks like she’s in kink gear. I’m saying that a lot of top/dom kink gear looks like what she wears

Also, her personalities could definitely be in charge in their own rights

Don’t lie to me, I know you little freaks (/affectionate) want Meanie to yell at you like that in bed. I’ve been on the internet and certain parts of it to get the appeal, coupled with the way I see you guys fawning over how charming her salesperson side is

Salesperson can talk you out of things other than your money

But yeah. I can definitely imagine salesperson practically talking you out of your clothes and telling you what they want you to do and also talking you through it

Also might be a bit of a service top too. She likes being your top rate holder of “customer satisfaction”

She uses business and sales buzz words when she’s flirting with you and in her dirty talk, which is fun because she makes “private meetings” and “added bonuses” sound so sexy but but at the same time sometimes she just says it to you in front of others because she knows damn well that only you are going to know what she’s actually saying while everyone else thinks she’s trying to sell some bullshit scheme. And she knows what she’s doing too. She’s gives you that shit eating grin and looks you right in the eyes as she walks away, meanwhile you’re red in the face

Meanie… you already know

She’s a bit rough and can get really rough if she wants to be and she knows that you want her to be

Salesperson will guide you through it and actually be quite gentle. But Meanie knows what you’re here for when you do it with her

Insults you and degrades you. Calls you all the names in the book and a whole mix and hybrid of them

I hope you like getting manhandled… because you’re getting manhandled

You hear “I bet you’d like that” and “Shut up! You know you like it”

I also hope you’re okay with coming out with some scratches and mild bruises… because coming out with some scratches and bruises

Honestly, any type of degrading/controlling stuff you want like impact, hair pulling, slapping, scratching, grabbing, etc you want. She’s got it. Shes got some anger to let out and this is great to let it all out

Whether it’s Salesperson or Meanie, you’re screaming either way

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 9

Chp. 8 - Chp. 9 - Chp. 10

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies(ish) to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, found family, slow burn, fluff, explicit smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers?

wc: 6.5k

chp warning: Sukuna pov, angst, LOTS of tension, toxicity, mentions of violence, miscommunication? ( I promise it is not for long), I’m putting Yorozu as a warning lmao

a/n: enjoy Sukuna silently crashing out <3

Now, Sukuna has never hit a woman before.

But oh, did he want to punch Yorozu’s stupid fucking face.

How fucking dare she come to his apartment acting like she still had any privilege in his life. How dare she stand there with that smug look, as if she knew him—knew anything about who he was now. Because she didn’t.

She never did.

It’s taking every single muscle in his body to hold back his anger right now. His jaw is clenched so tight it might snap. He can feel the tension radiating off him, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

And then there’s you.

You—who he just kissed like he was dying, like he was afraid he’d never get another chance. He would have kissed you for hours, would have done anything you let him, lost himself in you completely. But no—this fucking bitch had to interrupt the most perfect moment he’s had in years.

God he wants to hit her stupid face.

No. You do not need to go to jail right now.

Think of the boys.

Yorozu stands in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She’s dressed to kill, every inch of her radiating attitude. For a second, she doesn’t even notice you behind him—her gaze is locked on him, sharp and searching.

“Well, you’re home,” she says, her tone clipped. “Didn’t think you’d be answering your door these days.”

Sukuna feels you behind him, your presence a steady warmth at his back. He doesn’t move to block you—he doesn’t want to. He’s tired of hiding, tired of old ghosts lingering in his doorway.

“Go home, Yorozu.” His voice is flat, all patience gone.

She ignores him and finally acknowledges your presence. There’s a pause, then a slow, mocking smile spreads across her lips. “Oh. Didn’t realize you had company.”

Sukuna feels your hand slip into his, and he squeezes it, grounding himself. “Yeah, I do. So fucking leave.”

Yorozu’s gaze lingers on you and the looks down at your hands, then she turns back to Sukuna. “Didn’t peg you for the clingy type, Sukuna. Thought you liked your space.”

Sukuna tries to close the door, but Yorozu jams her foot in the threshold, forcing it back open. And Sukuna is really questioning going to jail at this moment.

What the fuck is her problem?

For a split second, he sees something raw flicker in Yorozu’s expression—something sharp and wounded. But she recovers fast, stepping closer, her words sharpened to cut.

She looks directly at you this time, “You really think you’re special? You’re just a placeholder. He’ll get bored, and when he does, don’t act surprised. Men like him don’t change for girls like you.”

Your eyes widen, and you let go of Sukuna’s hand, stepping forward. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you know nothing about me. And I doubt you do, but if you have any respect for Sukuna left, you’ll fucking leave.” You keep your voice low, mindful of the thin apartment walls, but the anger in your tone is unmistakable.

Oh she’s so hot.

He tries not to show the shock on his face, but it’s almost impossible. The fact that you’re standing up for him—of all people—is blowing his mind. You don’t even know the full story, and yet here you are, stepping in front of him, showing him you care just a little. It’s not helping his feelings for you at all. If anything, it’s making them worse—making them even harder to ignore.

Honestly, he could watch you go off on her all day. There’s something fierce and brilliant about you when you’re angry. But he knows if he doesn’t step in now, things will get out of hand. With Yorozu, it always does. He’s been in enough fights with her to know how quickly things can spiral. She’s always been bold, always pushed his buttons, but after the bar incident, he thought—hoped—she’d finally be done with him.

Of course not. Yorozu loves to prove him wrong.

Sukuna lets out a slow, frustrated sigh and gently pushes you behind him, stepping right up to Yorozu, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “Yorozu, you need to fucking leave. Right now. The kids will be back any second, and I don’t want them walking in on this.”

Yorozu just rolls her eyes, her words dripping with venom. “The kids have always been your fucking excuse.”

Your eyes widen at her comment, and Sukuna’s eye twitches.

Oh, now she’s fucking done it.

He was trying—really trying—to keep things civil. But with Yorozu, that’s nearly impossible. And now she’s dragging his boys into it, which is the one thing no one should do when it comes to Sukuna. It’s not just Yorozu, if anyone talked about his boys like that, he’d make sure they regretted it.

“Watch your fucking mouth, bitch,” he hisses, the words sharp and cold. Yorozu just laughs, unbothered.

She glances at you, her smirk cruel. “See? This is who he really is. He doesn’t respect anyone but himself. You really think he’s going to treat you any better?”

Your expression is unreadable, and Sukuna feels something inside him snap. He doesn’t want you to see him like this—doesn’t want you to see this side of him at all. But with Yorozu, it’s like she brings out the worst in him, every single time.

Before he can respond, Yorozu shoves at his chest, tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice cracks. “You know, I figured one day we’d be over. We could never work and I knew that. But I tried. I tried to make you happy. I tried to be what you wanted, but you never wanted to talk, you never accepted me for who I was. And then Jin died and you got worse, pushed me away and took those kids in and left me at the side!”

You take a step back, realizing this is a fight you shouldn’t be a part of. The air feels suffocating, heavy with old wounds and words left unsaid.

Sukuna steps passed you, closing the door behind Yorozu so the neighbors won’t hear more than they already have. The click of the latch is final, echoing in the hallway.

He draws a slow, shaking breath, glaring at her. “You think you tried? You never fucking tried. It was always your way or the highway. I did whatever you asked, whenever you wanted. I tried a relationship, but you’re right—I didn’t want to be with you. I can’t fucking stand to be with you anymore. And yeah, I fucking changed. You weren’t even there for me when Jin fucking died. Didn’t even go to his fucking funeral.”

Yorozu’s eyes widen, her face crumpling. “Oh, there you go, always throwing that up in my face. You only bring that up because you’re the reason he fucking died!” she screams, her voice raw.

You gasp softly, instinctively stepping back, concern and shock warring in your chest.

“You know damn fucking well-“ he takes a deep breath his eyes grow dark.

I’m not entertaining her shit any fucking longer.

Sukuna’s jaw clenches so hard it hurts. “Get the fuck out, Yorozu. I don’t want to see you ever the fuck again. I thought ignoring you and being a complete dick would push you away, but I forgot you like being treated like shit because that’s all you’ve ever known your whole fucking life. “

Tears spill down Yorozu’s cheeks as she tries to grab his shirt, desperate, but Sukuna swats her hand away and swings the door open wide.

“Fuck you, Sukuna!” She shouts.

And just his fucking luck, Toji and the kids appear at the top of the steps at that exact moment. They freeze at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and uncertain, taking in the chaos.

Toji’s instincts kick in immediately. He knows nothing good is happening here. Without missing a beat, he gently pulls the kids aside, murmuring something low and reassuring as he tries to distract them, shielding them from the worst of it.

Yorozu scoffs, wiping angrily at her face, her movements sharp and furious. She storms down the hallway, heels striking the floor in staccato bursts that echo like gunshots. Toji and the kids watch her go, confusion and concern etched across their faces, then their gaze shifts uncertainly to Sukuna.

The kids stay quiet, just as Toji instructed, their small hands gripping his as they inch closer to you and Sukuna. There’s a heavy, awkward silence—one that seems to press down on everyone in the hall.

Sukuna is barely holding himself together. His face is a tight mask of pain and fury, jaw still clenched, eyes burning with something raw and dangerous. He’s fighting the urge to scream, to break down, to let the anger consume him. When the kids approach, he finally turns to you. His voice is rough, ragged around the edges, betraying just how close he is to losing control.

“Are you—”

“I need a minute with the boys,” he says coldly, cutting you off.

You stare at him for a moment, searching his eyes, then nod silently, understanding. Toji appears at the door, looking bewildered, and you give him a nervous, apologetic glance. Sukuna gathers the boys, ushering them inside and shutting the door behind them. You quickly open your own door, grabbing Nobara’s hand and motioning for Toji to follow.

Sukuna closes his door and lets out a long, shaky sigh, pressing his forehead to the cool wood. His hands are trembling, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the doorknob. The apartment feels hollow now, the echo of Yorozu’s words still bouncing off the walls, poisoning the air.

“I don’t like her,” Yuji says flatly, breaking the heavy silence that’s settled over the room. He stands in the living room, arms folded tightly across his chest, his expression serious—far too serious for someone his age. There’s a stubborn set to his jaw, a quiet defiance in his eyes. Reminding sukuna too much of himself.

Sukuna manages a tired, crooked smile, running a hand through his hair as if trying to smooth away the tension. “Me neither, bud,” he admits, his voice softer than usual, tinged with exhaustion.

He’s only brought Yorozu around the boys a handful of times—and that was years ago. Even then, she was never truly kind to them. Sure, she’d put on a polite face when Sukuna was looking, but there was always something bitter and forced about it. More often than not, she acted like she had something to prove, her jealousy simmering just beneath the surface whenever she was around them.

Sukuna has always tried his best to keep that kind of toxicity away from them. He wants them to grow up right—to be raised with love. He might be rough around the edges, might not always say the right thing, but he’d never willingly put the boys in harm’s way. Protecting them is the one thing he refuses to compromise on.

Choso, always the sensitive one, glances up at him with wide, worried eyes. Without a word, he slips his small hand into Sukuna’s, squeezing gently, seeking reassurance. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, fragile and earnest.

Sukuna squeezes back, forcing himself to sound steady, to be the anchor they need. “Yeah,” he says, managing a reassuring smile. “Hey, how about we go see Grandpa for a bit? Maybe grab some ice cream on the way?”

Both boys nod eagerly, relief flickering across their faces. Sukuna musters a soft smile for them, then moves quickly, stuffing clothes and toothbrushes into a duffel bag with practiced efficiency. His mind is racing, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline and shame. He needs to get out—needs to breathe, to put distance between himself and the mess that just exploded in his home. He doesn’t want to take this out on anyone, especially not you. None of this is your fault. This is just his past, coming back to haunt him, and he refuses to let it poison the good things he’s finally found.

As he heads out the door, his eyes flicker to your apartment. The hallway feels impossibly long, and his stomach twists with dread.

Fuck.

You probably think the worst of him now. You just watched him cuss out a woman you barely know, saw him at his ugliest. That’s what he gets for trying to be happy. He only has a few good things in life—why should he be greedy and try for more?

They walk to the car in silence, the boys unusually quiet, their small hands clutching his as if afraid he might disappear. On the drive to his father’s house, Sukuna’s mind churns with everything he wishes he could say to you. He’d wanted to wait before explaining his past, to let you get to know him before he laid it all out. But now he doesn’t have a fucking choice.

He feels like a coward for running away, but what else can he do? You’re probably talking to Toji about everything that happened, telling him who knows what. Maybe you’re rethinking everything. The best option is to give you space—let you have your time, even if it leaves him feeling hollow.

Meanwhile, your apartment feels too small, the air thick with nerves. You pace back and forth, chewing your nails, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Toji sits at your kitchen table, feet propped up, sipping a beer he shamelessly took from your fridge.

Nobara and Megumi are in the bedroom, their voices a constant, curious hum—sometimes giggling, sometimes whispering too quietly for you to make out. Their questions had been relentless until you and Toji bribed them with pizza and the promise of another slumber party just to get a moment of peace.

Toji finally breaks the silence, his voice low and direct. “Ya gonna tell me what the fuck happened?”

You glance toward the bedroom to make sure the kids are out of earshot, then sink onto the couch, shoulders sagging. “After you guys left, Sukuna took a shower and I tried to sleep a little longer. Then Yorozu just showed up out of nowhere.”

Toji nods, unsurprised, his eyes never leaving you. “Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t try that sooner.”

“They said a lot of shit,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. Your head aches, and you can still feel the ghost of Yorozu’s glare.

“What do you mean?”

“They were arguing about each other, and it got heated really fast.” You sigh, remembering the venom in Yorozu’s voice. “She tried to say shit to me, but I shut that down quick.”

“Yeah?” Toji raises a brow, a hint of pride in his voice.

You nod, a little proud yourself. “Did you hit her?” he asks, smirking.

You snort, rolling your eyes. “What? No! I just told her to fuck off, and that’s when she and Sukuna really went at it.”

You stare down at your hands, anxiety gnawing at your insides. The image of Sukuna’s face, twisted with anger, flashes in your mind. “Do you think Sukuna would’ve hit her?”

Toji laughs, shaking his head. “Sukuna knows how to throw a punch, but I’ve seen some of their fights. He wouldn’t hit her… unless she really deserved it.”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“Jin’s Sukuna’s brother, right?”

Toji nods, his expression softening. “Yeah.”

“How did he pass away?”

“Car crash. That’s all I know,” Toji says quietly.

You nod, letting the silence settle between you for a moment. The hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the kids playing are the only things keeping you tethered.

“We, uh, also made out,” you blurt suddenly, cheeks burning.

Toji nearly chokes on his beer, staring at you in disbelief. Before he can say anything, you rush on, voice barely above a whisper. “And I mean like, hardcore make out. It was intense. Did you know he has a tongue ring?”

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it,” Toji interrupts, waving a hand, but you can’t help but giggle, the tension finally breaking.

You groan and lay your head on the table. “Toji, I really like him.”

He sighs. “I know, pretty.”

“But I don’t want this toxic shit that he and Yorozu had—or have, or whatever the hell it is.”

Toji glances at you, serious now. “That’s what I was worried about. But I can’t lie, Sukuna doesn’t treat you like her. Not even close.”

You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt.

“I’m not saying it’s right, the way he talks to her, but she’s not any better,” he adds, voice gentle.

You nod, then groan, laying your face back down, letting all the confusing emotions wash over you. You mumble something Toji can’t make out, and then there’s a knock at the door.

“The pizza’s here,” Toji announces, getting up to pay. The smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce fills the apartment as you both call the kids into the living room. Soon, Nobara and Megumi are putting on a dramatic performance of their latest favorite book, using couch cushions as props and making you laugh despite everything that just happened. You and Toji watch them perform as you stuffed your face with pizza and try to not let all the emotions consume you.

Sukuna makes sure to stop for ice cream before heading to his dad’s house. He watches the boys dig into their cones in the back seat, sticky smiles and chocolate smudges already forming, and tries to let their laughter soften the ache in his chest. He knows his dad is going to question everything—he’ll have to explain something, even if he doesn’t want to.

His relationship with his dad has always been complicated. Jin was the golden child, the one who always had his act together—college, steady job, the perfect son. Sukuna, on the other hand, was the bastard son—literally. Wasuke had cheated on Jin’s mom when he was four. She never took it out on Sukuna—thank God—but she did divorce Wasuke a few years later. She claimed it was because she’d fallen out of love, but everyone knew the real reason.

His own mother had given him up barely two weeks after he was born. Sukuna doesn’t know much beyond the fact that she never wanted a kid in the first place. She’d shown up at Wasuke’s door one morning, handed over a baby, and vanished from his life forever.

Jin’s mom was the closest thing Sukuna ever had to a mother. When she picked Jin up for her nights, she’d always take Sukuna too. She never treated him differently, never harbored any resentment. He doesn’t see her much anymore—the last time was on the third anniversary of Jin’s death.

So, with being the unwanted bastard son, never going to college, and having a reputation for disastrous relationships, Sukuna has always felt like a burden to his dad. Wasuke never said it outright, but sometimes the looks he gave Sukuna said it all.

And to put it bluntly, Sukuna does not want to fucking talk about his problems with his dad.

By the time he pulls up to Wasuke’s house, night has fallen. Sukuna doesn’t get out of the car at first. He just sits there and stares at the house he was raised in. The house is nice—a solid four-bedroom home that Wasuke built himself. He brags about it every chance he gets, proud of having started with nothing and making a good life as a construction worker. All he wanted was for his boys to learn from his mistakes and grow up and be successful.

Sukuna groans as he slowly moves to unbuckle himself. Choso is already unbuckling his seatbelt and helping Yuji, eager to get out. The boys race for the front door, and Sukuna grabs the duffel bag, his mind racing with excuses for why he’s here.

Why am I even here?

Oh, that’s right—to avoid his problems. Because he’s a coward. He’s not usually like this. Normally, he’d face things head-on with a big “fuck you.” But with you, it’s different. He’s ashamed, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Wasuke opens the door, eyes wide with surprise, but a smile breaks across his weathered face when he sees the boys. “Well, what a surprise,” he chuckles, stepping aside to let them barrel in. The boys make a beeline for their play room, laughter trailing behind them.

Wasuke turns to Sukuna, his expression shifting to concern. “What the hell did you come all the way over here for?”

Sukuna shrugs, trying to sound casual. “Just wanted to see you.”

Wasuke raises a skeptical brow. “Uh-huh.”

“I just needed a break,” Sukuna admits, voice low.

“From?” Wasuke presses.

Sukuna doesn’t answer, just looks away.

Wasuke sighs, heading to the fridge and pulling out two tall boys. He nods toward the back porch. “C’mon.”

Outside, Sukuna sits on the old wooden swing, the one he and Jin used to try and break when they were kids, daring each other to go higher and higher. The night air is cool, the backyard quiet except for the distant sound of the boys playing inside.

Wasuke cracks open his beer, settling beside Sukuna. “Now what’s wrong? You don’t just come here to say hi. You’ve been so busy lately with that pretty woman, I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

Sukuna chuckles, taking a long sip from his beer. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. His stomach knots.

“Do you think I killed Jin?” he blurts suddenly, the words hanging in the air like a curse.

Wasuke nearly spits out his beer, turning to stare at him. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Sukuna sighs, staring out at the backyard, remembering all the times he and Jin played out there until the sun went down. “Yorozu—”

“Oh, I see,” Wasuke interrupts with a chuckle.

Wasuke knows the fights between Yorozu and Sukuna all too well. He’s seen a couple firsthand. She’ll say whatever she can to hurt him—doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, as long as it lands.

Wasuke leans back, looking at Sukuna with a rare gentleness. “You know, you’ve done a lot of shit to give me gray hairs. But when you bought the shop, and took those boys in, I knew I raised you right. I’m proud of ya son.”

Sukuna blinks, surprised. He’s never heard his dad say anything like that. Sure, Wasuke shows he’s proud in his own way, but he’s never said it out loud.

“But—” Wasuke starts.

Sukuna smirks. “But?”

Wasuke raises a brow, sipping his beer. “I never liked that girl. She brought out the worst in you. Jin didn’t like her either.”

Sukuna huffs, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”

The two of them sit in silence for a while, the cool night air settling around them. The wooden swing creaks softly beneath their weight, and the faint sound of the boys’ laughter drifts through the open window. The porch light casts a gentle glow, painting long shadows across the weathered boards.

Sukuna takes another slow sip of his beer, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence—there’s a kind of peace in just being here, side by side, no expectations or judgments. Wasuke leans back, his eyes half-closed, looking more relaxed than Sukuna has seen him in a long time.

A few moths dance around the porch light, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. The world feels small and safe for a moment, tucked away from all the chaos and questions waiting for Sukuna back at the apartment complex.

Finally, Sukuna clears his throat. “Hey, uh… think the boys and I could crash here tonight?”

Wasuke doesn’t even hesitate. He grunts, “’Course you can. The couch is all yours.”

Sukuna lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I figured.”

Wasuke glances at him, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re too damn big for that couch now, but it’ll build character.”

Sukuna snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, old man.”

They sit a while longer, just drinking in the quiet, letting the night surround them. Eventually, the boys finally run out to check on them, their laughter breaking the peaceful silence, and quickly join the adults on the swing. Yuji plops down onto Wasuke’s lap, his small frame fitting easily, while Choso squeezes in between the two men, pressing close for warmth. For a moment, Sukuna just sits there, watching them with a quiet sense of gratitude. Those boys never fail to make moments feel just a little better.

The next morning Sukuna wakes up to the pale gray light of early morning filtering through the living room window. His back aches from the too-short couch, and his neck is stiff from the way he’d twisted himself trying to get comfortable. He groans and rubs his eyes, feeling every bit as rough as he did the night before—maybe even worse. His mouth is dry, his head is pounding, and the heaviness in his chest hasn’t budged.

He sits up slowly, blinking at the ceiling, the quiet of his dad’s house pressing in on him. The boys are still asleep down the hall, their soft breathing the only sound in the house. For a moment, he just sits there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He reaches for his phone, half-hoping and half-dreading what he might see. The screen lights up, and he scrolls through his notifications. Nothing from you. No texts, no missed calls, not even a quick “Are you okay?” The silence is louder than any argument.

Sukuna stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. He wants to reach out, to explain, to apologize for the mess Yorozu made and the way he lost control. But something stops him. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s fear—fear that you saw the worst of him and decided you wanted no part of it.

He tosses the phone onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face. The ache in his chest sharpens. What if you regret ever getting involved with him? Not that you were anything serious. Well, that’s up for debate. His dumbass called you guys “friends” which probably cemented him in the friend zone for good.

No. She wouldn't have kissed me like that.

He's confused and he's making it worse by thinking about anything right now. He leans back, staring at the ceiling again, fighting the urge to punch something. He’s never been good at this—at vulnerability, at letting people see the parts of him that aren’t strong or put-together. He’s always been the guy who takes the hit and keeps moving, but now, with you, he’s not sure how to move forward at all.

And what makes it worse is he goes almost a week without talking to you. Which, honestly, is destroying him a little bit.

Okay—a lot.

He isn’t even doing it on purpose. Sunday night, after leaving his dad’s, he’d had this whole plan: get the boys to bed, knock on your apartment door, and finally explain everything. He was ready to just word-vomit it all, to lay himself bare.

But that night, Yuji decided to crank his energy to eleven, bouncing off the walls until nearly 1 a.m. Sukuna silently vowed never to let that kid have soda again. By the time the apartment was quiet, Sukuna was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed.

The next morning, he’d thought about catching you as you took Nobara to school—maybe you’d ask for him to take her to school with the boys or something to start mending the rift between you. But when he opened his door, Toji was already there, picking up Nobara. You and Toji acted as normal as possible, but Sukuna could feel the difference. You definitely talked about him—he couldn’t blame you for needing to vent to your best friend. But what stung was how you barely looked at him, just said a quick “hi” and hurried off.

Damn it.

Tuesday, he’d run into you in the hallway, arms full of groceries. You both stopped, staring at each other for a long, silent moment. It felt like hours, both of you wanting to say something, but neither of you finding the words. He managed a weak smile and walked past, leaving you standing there, the air thick with everything unsaid.

God, I’m a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. He should just pull up his big boy pants and face you. It’s not even his fault, well—he’d always planned to tell you about his past eventually, just… not four months into being friends. He didn’t think you had any feelings for him until you kissed him back, and now everything is unraveling. He’s never wanted to run from something so badly, and yet, he’s never wanted to fix something even more.

Maybe Toji’s right—maybe Sukuna really doesn’t deserve you. The thought gnaws at him. He even considered calling Toji for advice, but he knows how that would go. Toji would just laugh, probably say something like, “Told ya so.” Sure, Toji’s his friend, but he’d never take Sukuna’s side over yours.

Sukuna and Toji are real with each other. They call each other out on their bullshit and they’re not afraid to say the truth. Toji didn’t believe that Sukuna could be nice to anyone, but then he saw how Sukuna treated you and didn’t know if it was for show or if he was being real.

He wasn’t just being kind to you to prove a point. He genuinely wanted to be around you and be a friend. He didn’t just want to fuck you. Yeah, that would be great, but that wasn’t his goal. And now any trust or understanding that he got from Toji with you probably is completely down the drain.

Now on to Wednesday, nothing could have stopped Sukuna from wanting to talk to you—except, getting fucking sick. Whatever bug you had, he caught it tenfold. He will never regret kissing you, but he definitely forgot you were sick in that moment.

Whatever, it was worth it.

He spent the day throwing up, unable to breathe out of his left nostril, and suffering the worst headache of his life. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Every step you took felt like lead and all he wanted to do was sleep.

The boys saw his state when he picked them up and they were immediately worried. They know their uncle is tougher than most, but when he had to pull over three times on their way home to throw up, they called their grandpa.

Wasuke didn’t hesitate—he made Sukuna go to the doctor, get some medicine, and then took the boys off his hands for the rest of the week. Wasuke would never say it out loud, but he could see how miserable Sukuna was, and tried to help in the only way he knew how.

Thursday and Friday blurred together in a haze of fever and exhaustion. Sukuna barely left his bed, convinced he was dying. He’d hoped he’d bounce back after a day or two, like you had, but instead, he just got worse. Every movement made his head pound, so he look laid there in the dark, drifting in and out of restless sleep.

By Saturday morning, he finally felt a little better. That medicine was actually working. He dragged himself out of bed, took a desperately needed shower, and managed to eat a bowl of cereal without getting sick. It felt like progress.

The first thing he did after that was head straight to your apartment. Even while sick, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, about everything left unsaid. All he wanted was a chance to fix things.

He knocked on your door for like three fucking minutes, stubbornly hoping you’d answer. Eventually, he had to admit defeat—either you weren’t home, or you were ignoring him.

Now it’s time to distract himself.

He spent the rest of the day trying to piece himself back together. He drank as many electrolytes and as much water as he could stomach, and even forced himself through a light workout, hoping to sweat out the last of the illness. He texted his dad to say he’d pick up the boys tomorrow, made himself a simple dinner, and went to bed early.

Sunday came, and he still didn’t see you. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him. He picked up the boys from Wasuke’s, hoping maybe he’d run into you in the hallway, but you were nowhere to be found. When he got home, you still weren’t there. He tried to focus on the boys, to enjoy their company, but thoughts of you lingered at the back of his mind.

He tells himself that if space is what you need, he’ll give it to you—he’s been telling himself that all week. He knows he’s been busy, and you have your own life too. Maybe this is just how things are right now.

And now it’s Monday.

Work offers no escape. No matter how many oil changes, inspections, or spark plugs he works on, nothing can quiet his mind. You’re there, in every silent moment, every lull in conversation, every time he glances at his phone and sees nothing from you.

And then, just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, you pull up to his shop. His heart drops to his ass. There’s only thirty minutes left in the workday, and all his employees are busy, so of course, he has to help you. Not that he doesn’t want to—he’s just being a big baby about it.

Why the hell is she here?

Then he remembers: about a month ago, he’d reminded you that your car needed an oil change and made you an appointment himself. He regrets that right now.

“Hey,” you say shyly, tossing him your keys.

Sukuna nods, avoiding eye contact. The air between you is so thick it’s hard to breathe. He wants to hide in a hole and never be seen again.

“You can wait in my office. I’ll be done in like thirty minutes,” he mutters.

You nod and walk away, and he watches you for far too long before snapping himself out of it. He throws himself into the work, making sure your oil change is perfect, topping off your fluids, even putting air in your back tire. He wipes down your dashboard and leaves your car cleaner than he found it, pouring every ounce of his anxiety and regret into the task.

When he finally walks into his office, you’re sitting in his chair, looking at the photos pinned to the corkboard behind his desk. You look up in surprise and smile. “You and Jin look like twins.”

He chuckles, feeling a bittersweet pang. “Yeah, everyone’s said that since we were little. Can you believe he was the older brother?”

Your eyes widen, just a little, as you look up at him. “Wow, you could’ve fooled me.” There’s a nervous giggle in your voice, and for a split second, Sukuna wants to lean in and kiss you again— he knows that would be a horrible decision at the moment, but it is a nice thought.

You turn your attention back to the photos on the wall, scanning them with a raised brow. “Who’s this?” you ask, tapping a picture of someone with striking white hair.

“Oh, that’s Uraume,” Sukuna says, stepping a bit closer, suddenly hyper-aware of the shrinking space between you. He glances at the photo, then at you, his voice a little too casual. “They’re my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

You nod, but your confusion is obvious. “How come I’ve never met them?”

“They’re in France right now,” Sukuna explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “Some elite cooking school. Total prodigy. They’ll be back soon, though.”

You nod again, but the silence that follows is heavy—awkward, almost suffocating. You glance through a few more pictures, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sukuna’s life. He watches you for a moment, but then his body betrays him and he lets out the biggest sneeze of his life. The sound is loud and abrupt, making both of you jump.

You glance at him, your expression softening. “You got sick because of me, didn’t you?”

Sukuna tries to play it off with a chuckle, but it comes out strained. “Worth it and I’m much better than I was a couple days ago.” he says, voice rough. You frown and roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of guilt on your face.

He clears his throat, searching for an escape. “Well, your car’s ready,” he says, tossing you the keys. He lingers by the door, arms crossed, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

You catch the keys and walk over to him. “Don’t even try to tell me I don’t have to pay,” you say, your tone a little too sharp. “I already left money on your desk.”

Sukuna sighs, rolling his eyes, but then he realizes just how close you’re standing. For a moment, panic flares in his chest. He can’t tell if he wants to pull you in or run away.

He decides to step away and gives you a shy smile, “Well, I’ll see you later, baby—”

You frown, cutting him off. “No—”

“What?” he mumbles, caught off guard.

“You don’t get to do that,” you say, voice trembling with emotion.

He stares at you, stunned.

“You don’t get to call me ‘baby’ and act like everything’s fine and smile at me with that stupid face of yours when we haven’t talked about anything.”

God, she’s so hot.

“Listen—”

“No, you listen.” Your voice is firmer now, and your eyes are shining. “I understand you had every right to go off on her. I get that there’s far more than I know. I wanted to talk to you right after it happened, but I knew it wasn’t the right time. I was waiting for you, because it’s your business. I didn’t want to pry. I figured you needed space but I didn’t think you were gonna ignore me for over a fucking week!”

He just stares, speechless.

Say something you fucking idiot.

“You don’t get to kiss me like you did and then shut me out.”

You swallow, blinking back tears. “I like what we have, Sukuna. I still want to be your friend. I love your kids, and Nobara adores you guys.”

He steps closer, gently brushing away the tear that escapes down your cheek.

“Please don’t shut me out. Please just talk to me. That’s all I ask.” The pleading in your eyes is so apparent and clear.

Sukuna lets out a long breath, a small, grateful smile breaking through his nerves. He walks over to his desk, grabs his bike keys, and then, on impulse, takes your wrist in his hand. He pulls you gently out of the office, heart pounding.

“Wait—where are we going?” you ask, stumbling a little in your heels.

“To talk.”

summary: hello my lovelies! I hope you are having a fantastic week. I’ve been pretty busy and I just celebrated my anniversary with my boyfriend. it blows my mind we have been together for five years😳🙂‍↕️

BUT do not fear I will be posting again very soon. I initially planned to have this be a longer chapter but as I was writing, I realized I was already at twelve thousand words (and I wasn’t finished). so, we’re going to have a whole chapter dedicated to sad sukuna lore. it needs its own chapter anyway.

as always, please let me know how you felt about this chapter. I’m sorry it was a little shorter than the ones were used to. to be completely transparent, this is one of the hardest chapters I’ve written so far, but I still loved writing every second of it. okay, I’ll stop yapping!! love you guys, and I hope you enjoyed!

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

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