Andy @peteunderoos - Tumblr Blog

mitsuki's intern and katsuki just... click into place.

and by that i mean you fuck severely 4 time that night. and again the next day.

"Ugh."

Bakugo is halfway off of the couch, ass in the air as he tries to reach for his pants. He had dropped them in the middle of your living room, legs turned inside out and socks jammed inside. He manages to nab them by rolling over your leg, so you sigh again. "Ugh."

"Fuck off."

"Just get up!"

"I'm fucking tired. Someone needed to get dicked down three times-"

A hard shove nearly topples him off of the couch all together. "You liked it."

Katsuki's eyes flicker to your tits, then your eyes, then your tits again and it nearly, nearly, nearly makes you want to climb on him once again. Though, you're afraid if you move, you'll end up staining your couch-

"Don't you work in design? Why does your place look like dogshit?" Katsuki reads your mind. This the third time he's been to your place and it feels more embarrassing each time. His own place is nice, with a feminine touch that makes you feel sour.

"Tell your mom to pay me more."

"Oh, yeah," he rolls his eyes. "Hey, Mitsuki, I'm sick of looking at your interns ugly ass, lumpy couch, when I should be looking at her tits. Can you give her a raise? Also, she does this thing with her tongue that's worth a bonus-"

"Fuck off!"

The toothy smile he gives you is shortlived.

"Listen, we can't tell her. Or anybody. none of my friends can keep a secret." He leans back. "Things are... weird with my ex still."

You sit up, hand flying to cover yourself.

"Did you just cheat on her with me?"

"Fuck no, that's over. It's dead, but the old lady doesn't want it to be dead. She's still friends with her and everything. It's just... Some of my friends feel the same way, I think. It's just weird."

This feels a bit too personal for what you and Katsuki have. Neither of you have ever mentioned your personal lives before, other than your dire love for creampies.

"I'm sorry," you say, because you can think of nothing else. "Wanna see my pussy again? Would that make you feel better?"

"Honesty?" he says. "Yeah."

sleepdeprivedfrfr

sukuna vs girls night

the atmosphere was calm, well as calm as it could be with sukuna there.

you sat curled up in his lap while he yelled at toji through his headset for the nth time. you shifted slightly before slowly sliding out of sukuna's lap, he muttered a quick

“where ya goin?” his eyes shifted towards you, now fully out of his grasp.

“bathroom.”

he let out a low hum and returned his hard gaze back to his monitor.

“holy shit ryomen, yer washed.” toji snickered through the mic.

“easy to talk when you pick OKC every fucking round.” sukuna snarled back.

“aye back to back dubs speaks for itself.”

“its been two rounds already?” sukuna checked his phone, its been almost 2 hours since you left his lap.

“two rounds of belt? yea bro.” a snort came out from sukunas headphones.

“im hoppin off anyway to go out with my girl. cus i got other shit to do, like my girl. get it? cus i have a girlfriend.” sukuna teased.

“blah blah blah we get it asshat.”

sukuna chuckled to himself before logging off and heading over to barge on you in the bathroom, which was locked? he lifted a heavy knuckle and tapped on the door twice.

“babe, you takin’ a shit?”

bfbkg

horny y/n jumping on bkg even though he’s exhausted from work and still helps her 🤤

i love goofy ideas like these. u WIN

you were the brave one today. working from home… all alone… unable to adjust to your lover not being around… even if he was at work and you planned for this weekday to be at home. especially when you heard him let himself into your apartment while you had to finish up a work call. it was the hastiest, a borderline unprofessional goodbye how you rushed to end the call because he was here finally.

you only saw him a few days ago after all.

stepping into your living room, bakugou katsuki is hard to miss. massive body sitting in the centre of your sofa, he’s got his head in his hands, elbows on his knees in silence, sporting a black hoodie and shorts.

“you okay?” you ask, practically floating to stand in front of him, tugging his hand so he can uncover his face for you.

when he pulls away, looking up at you, your heart drops to your clit. in sickness or health, whatever words you’ll be saying on your wedding day to this man… well, you get it now.

katsuki meets your eyes with these droopy ones, cushioned with two dark bags underneath them. to anyone else it looks like he’s gonna curse you out any second, his eyes are practically slits but you can note, it’s just tiredness, especially when he leans his head into your palm.

chaeuvy

messy. . ⸝⸝ ＃katsuki bakugo 𝜗ৎ

⋆.𐙚 ̊ a messy, breathless, early-dating makeout session on bakugo’s dorm bed ‎𐦯

⊹ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ early relationship · fem!reader · messy kissing · lap-sitting · flustered!Bakugo · mutual pining · firsts · handsy · tension · suggestive

·̩͙ ･῾ ᵎ rq ⋆ „bakugou and his girlfriend … started to date … still new … in the dorm … a messsyyyyy makeout“

“You don’t have to, like… sit on me or anything.”

Bakugo said it while you were already halfway into his lap.

You froze—halfway between kneeling on his bed and planting your ass right on his thighs.

“…Should I not?” you asked, suddenly unsure.

He looked like he regretted speaking. “No—shit, no. I just—fuck, you can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes. Just—do it quick before I die or something.”

That made you laugh. You climbed the rest of the way onto his lap, settling carefully on his thighs with your hands braced on his shoulders. His arms stiffened at his sides. His entire body felt like a coiled spring—solid muscle, warm under his shirt, and completely overwhelmed.

“You okay?” you whispered, tilting your head.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, eyes darting from your face to your mouth to the corner of the room and back again. “Totally fine. He was not fine. He was flustered as hell. The blush across his face was criminal.

You leaned in and kissed him. Just once. Soft and quick. And then again. And again, And suddenly, it wasn’t soft anymore.

He kissed you like his body caught up before his brain could—hands finally landing on your waist, gripping, like he didn’t trust himself to let go. His lips moved like he’d been thinking about this since your first date and trying not to. A little too rough, a little messy.

You gasped when his tongue brushed yours—and he immediately froze.

“I—shit,” he breathed, pulling back an inch. “Sorry. Was that—too much?”

You blinked. “No. No, it was good. You’re good.” He looked like he was short-circuiting. “Oh.”

You giggled. “You’re really bad at this, huh?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to scowl, but he still had his hands on your hips like they were glued there and his ears were turning red. “I don’t do this shit.”

“You don’t kiss girls?” you teased.

“Not ones I like.” Your brain short-circuited. Before you could say anything, he muttered,

“Forget I said that—shit—fuck—”

You kissed him again to shut him up. This time he kissed you back with a little more confidence—not much, but enough to make you melt into him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, tugging you closer, and when your body pressed into his and your skirt slid a little too high, he made a sound in his throat that was pure, panicked arousal.

“Katsuki.”

“…Yeah?”

“You’re, like, really hard right now.”

“Don’t say that out loud—!”

You buried your face in his neck, laughing, and he groaned like he wanted to sink into the floor. But his arms wrapped around you anyway.

And his voice—muffled, mumbled against your shoulder,

“Can we just… do that again? The kissing part?“

“Yeah. We can.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time. And something in him broke.

His hands moved like they were figuring it out in real time—gripping your hips, then sliding up your sides, then back down again, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted more: to hold you still or pull you closer.

Your fingers twisted in the front of his shirt as you tilted your head, kissing him harder now, mouths warm and open and clumsy. When your teeth bumped, you both flinched and laughed—but then he kissed you again before the moment could even end.

His breath was hot, ragged against your lips. “Fuck, you taste good—” You moaned softly, and he shuddered.

“Don’t make that sound,” he muttered, trying to pull back. “Seriously. I’ll combust.”

“Then don’t kiss me like that.”

“You kissed me like that—”

You rolled your hips just slightly, and he whimpered—an actual, involuntary noise punched out of his chest. His head fell back against the wall.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

ּ ֗ ִ ּ ۪ mha. ╱ navi. ╱ taglist. ⋆·˚ ༘ *

𖥨᩠ׄ݁ 𐔌taglist 𐦯 ‧₊˚. empty.ᐟ

xoshiitaa

eren's canonically pathetic. just saying. don't come for me lol.

a princess and her knight; eren jaeger

things to know: one-shot, knight!eren, princess!reader, medieval era, forbidden love, angst, lowercase intended, use of y/n but with purpose?, not proofread, yes this is based on that tiktok trend sue me

"thank you for everything, lady yvette," you abruptly said in a soft tone, an octave higher than a whisper. "i can take care of the rest. i'll see you outside, okay?"

your handmaiden brushed your hair one last time before looking into the mirror and noticing why you had stopped her. your father, the king's most trusted knight, was standing outside your door—eren jaeger.

you had known eren ever since you turned seventeen, which was over three years ago. he was young, just a year older than you when he sought asylum from his home country, germany. he was appointed to be a knight for your kingdom, but your father had other plans for him.

eren had shown the most dedication, resilience, loyalty, and strength amongst the other soldiers of the batch. because of that, your father decided he could take on the responsibility of being your personal guard—your knight in shining armour. your life or death would be in his hands. if anything were to happen to you, eren would be executed, and he agreed to those terms.

being a knight meant having status. whatever conditions that status came with, he would take on—being shunned, imprisoned, stoned, lynched, beheaded; anything that resulted in his inevitable death, he was more than willing to endure. he was confident in his skills and knew it would never have to come down to that. as long as he had decent food, clean water, warm shelter, and an income, he was content with his way of life. it would be better than the life he left behind in germany.

what he wasn't prepared for was falling in love with you.

shallowhearts

🧸Yoga with Pent Up Eren

Eren lets out a groan that borders on obscene the second your feet hit the last stair, and you laugh as he throws his head back with his eyes shut. “You’ve got to be doing this on purpose.”

You’re both going to a hot yoga class, something Annie and Armin are forcing all of you to go to as a “bonding experience”. You’re using it as a way to make Eren suffer for the ‘No Nut November’ stunt he and the boys agreed to.

“You’re being dramatic, Im not doing anything on purpose!”

You absolutely are. The workout set is far from conservative, shorts riding up every time you step, and sports bra small enough that you're genuinely a little concerned for downward dog.

He comes over and rests both hands on your hips, leaning down to catch your lips in a heated kiss.

You pull back once you feel his tongue slide across your bottom lip, but not before pulling his between your teeth and gently tugging.

You’re being mean, and you know it.

He lets out a whine that borders on pathetic, lips chasing yours as you turn to bend and put your shoes on.

You don't acknowledge him again, even as he huffs every few seconds like a small child not getting their way.

Not when you stand, not when you grab your water bottle, not even when he lets out a quiet, frustrated sound behind you.

“C’mon,” you say over your shoulder, already heading toward the door. “We’re gonna be late.”

You can feel his eyes on you the entire walk to the car. It’s definitely worth the price you'll have to pay to sway your hips a little as you walk.

By the time you get there, the room is already warm, and you drop your bag and unroll your mat next to Annie’s, saying hi to all of your friends as the instructor starts walking you all through a warm up.

Eren lingers next to you for a second, turning his head to see all of the men and women behind you on their own mats. He sighs, dropping his mat a little too close to yours.

You giggle a little to yourself at the small display of possessiveness.

“…you’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

You glance over your shoulder, all innocence. “What?”

He just deadpans back, and you smile sweetly in return.

“Hurry up and sit,” you whisper, “I can’t focus with you hovering.”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens in protest.

“YOU“ He lowers his voice, “you can't focus?! I’ve been half hard since we left the house and you cant focus?” He whisper yells as he finally plops down and begins following the stretches.

Jean, on his other side, quietly snorts to himself as he tries his hardest not to make eye contact with you.

It takes everything in you not to laugh out loud, and you have to turn your face into your arm to stop the noise from escaping.

“Shut up and pay attention, we’re supposed to be aligning our chakras.”

“Oh good, let’s start with the stomach.”

This time you do laugh, and you silently thank God for the level of noise the music makes to cover it.

The instructor guides all of you into, you guessed it, downward dog, and you send up a silent prayer that this is going as well as it is.

You lift your hips up, and turn to look at Eren, who’s still staring right at you, ass still on his mat.

He’s leaned back on his hands, the perfect angle to stare right at your ass without making it too obvious. And you laugh to yourself as his brain finally reboots itself and he starts placing his hands in front of him. “I’m gonna blow up.”

The class continues on, and you actually start getting into it.

The instructor starts wrapping up the class, telling everyone about the upcoming classes while you all start rolling up your mats and returning your foam blocks to the front.

You, Mikasa and Annie are still laughing to yourselves when you feel Eren press up behind you, hands settling on your stomach right below your belly button. Bending his head to whisper in your ear as Annie and Sasha turn to say hi to Jean and Armin as they start walking toward you all.

“If we don’t leave right now I'm going to scandalize every person in this room.”

You giggle and turn in his arms, hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck.

”What’s the matter baby? Did you not enjoy the class?”

He bends his head to kiss you, mouth sliding from your lips to your ear.

“Keep going baby, let’s see how much you enjoy being teased later.”

Your face warms, and you swat his arm, stepping back to say bye to your group.

Armin cuts in before you can say anything. “Annie and I are going to grab lunch, you guys should come!”

Before anyone else can cut in you hear Eren let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Absolutely not, I’ve been suffering for the last two hours- scratch that, I’ve been suffering for the last two weeks.”

Your face gets even warmer, but Jean and Armin are loving every second of watching their friend fray at the edges.

“We will not be making it to lunch,” He cuts himself off to reach into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Fuck this stupid challenge”, He shoves a hundred into each of their hands, “we will see you all later, don’t call or text either of us for at least 24 hours.”

Both Jean and Armin start hysterically laughing, and you feel your face blazing hot as Eren proceeds to grab your hand and start walking out of the yoga studio.

You turn, waving bye to your friends as they all wink and shout their goodbyes and good lucks.

You reach the car, sliding in as Eren opens the door, holding it for you before crowding you back against the seat.

His mouth is on yours instantly, and he gives you zero time to react before his tongue is down your throat, licking across the back of your teeth. It's filthy and you have half a brain left to be concerned about the people around you still getting into their cars.

He pulls away, a string of spit connecting you both before it snaps. He brushes the hair back out of your face and reaches over to buckle you in.

He rounds the car, starts it, and turns his upper body, hand resting on the back of your headrest, backing out of the parking lot.

“I can not believe you just said that to our friends, you're never going to live losing the challenge down.”

He doesn’t even look embarrassed about it, turning to look at you as he pulls up to a light.

“I dont care, I was four seconds away from chewing on my mat like a dog.”

You throw your head back laughing, and he continues on.

“This challenge was the worst idea we’ve ever had, and you enjoyed fucking with me too much.” His eyes darken, voice dropping into that tone that sends chills through your spine, “Let’s see how funny you think it is when you're bent over.”

everrinsly

sundress season. nsfw. fem!reader. | not proofread.

sundresses hit different when he can't keep his hands to himself in the grocery store (but you're not exactly complaining).

cw; mature content, smut, fingering. wc; 2.1k

more of your favorite boys!

more reads!

a/n; Hello hello! I'm sorryy for slow updates again. busy bee once more... hope everyone is doing great and thank you for reading!! (we are overdue for some freaky cough cough wink wink in honor of spring season here hahah ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

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The dress was a mistake.

Not because it's not cute—it is. And not because it's inappropriate—it's perfectly modest, sweet even, and makes elderly shop owners smile at you.

It was a mistake because he’s losing his goddamn mind.

He's been half-hard since you left the apartment, since he caught sight of you smoothing the fabric down over your thighs, adjusting the ribbon at the waist. It makes you look soft and untouchable all at once.

You're ahead of him now, standing on your toes to reach something on a high shelf. The dress rides up just slightly, exposing the backs of your thighs. He stops walking in the middle of the aisle and stares, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

"Babe, can you—"

You turn, catching him frozen, and raise an eyebrow.

"Can I what?" His voice comes out rougher than intended.

"Grab that?" You point to the shelf. "The rice crackers."

He moves forward and reaches over your head easily, but instead of stepping back, he stays there, crowding into your space, one hand braced on the shelf above you. You tilt your head back to look at him, and he watches your throat work as you swallow.

"Here." He drops the package into your hands, but doesn't move away.

"Thanks," you whisper, and something in your eyes tells him you know exactly what you're doing to him.

He lets you slip past, but his hand catches your hip briefly, fingers pressing into the soft fabric, into the softer skin beneath.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The dairy aisle is his downfall.

You're reading the label on a container of Greek yogurt, completely absorbed, and he’s standing behind you trying to remember how to act normal, trying not to think about how the dress clings when you bend slightly or how he can see the outline of your underwear when the light hits just right.

"Hey."

He blinks. You're looking at him over your shoulder, concern creasing your forehead.

"You okay? You look weird."

"I'm fine."

"What're you staring at?"

"I'm thinking."

"About yogurt?"

"Very deeply about yogurt."

You turn fully, and he's forced to confront how close he's gotten.

"What's wrong?" you ask quietly, and the genuine care in your voice does something catastrophic to his chest.

"Nothing's wrong." He reaches out before he can stop himself, fingers catching a strand of hair that's fallen across your face. He tucks it behind your ear, lets his hand linger against your jaw. "You just look pretty today."

Your breath hitches, and then—god, help him—you smile. That sweet, utterly oblivious smile that makes his brain short-circuit.

"Oh! Is it the dress?" You do a little spin, completely uninhibited, and the fabric flares out around your thighs. He's going to have a fucking aneurysm. "Yuki and I got matching ones when we went shopping last weekend! She got the pink version, but I liked the cream better, and she said it would look good on me, so we both got one, and I wasn't sure about the length at first because it's a little shorter than what I usually wear, but the lady at the store said—"

You're rambling. You do this when you're excited or nervous, words tumbling out in that animated way that's so fucking cute he can barely stand it. Your hands are gesturing as you talk, eyes bright, completely unaware that he's having very detailed, very filthy thoughts about bunching that dress up around your waist and—

"—and the fabric is so light, which is perfect for this weather, right? I was worried it might be too see-through, but it has a lining, so—babe? Are you listening?"

No. He's thinking about how easy it would be to slide his hands up under that "light fabric." How you'd sound if he pressed you against the shelves and kissed you until you forgot about everything except his name. How fucking perfect you'd look with those innocent eyes all wide and dazed while he—

"Bubs?"

"Yeah." His voice comes out strained. "Listening."

You tilt your head, studying him with that open, trusting expression that's going to be the death of him. "You sure? You look kind of..."

"Kind of what?"

"I don't know. Intense?" you giggle. "It's just a dress. You're acting weird."

Just a dress. Just a dress. Just a dress, his fucking ass.

You're standing there looking like every fantasy he's ever had.

"It's a nice dress," he manages, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

"Awh, baby!" You beam at him, and then—because you're completely innocent and have no idea what you're doing to him—you lean into his touch. "I'm glad you like it. I almost wore a different one, but—"

Fuck.

He can't take it anymore.

"Come here." He moves, fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to follow him.

"What are you—babe, where are we going?"

He finds what he's looking for, a narrow space between the refrigerated section and the endcap display, hidden from the main aisle.

It's ridiculous. You’re both in a grocery store, but he can't think about that right now, can't think about anything except getting his hands on you properly and ruining you in the best way possible.

Your back hits the wall gently, and he presses close, one hand planted beside your head.

You're breathless, eyes wide with confusion and something else, something that makes his blood run hot. "We're in public."

"I know." He dips his head, nose brushing your temple. "I know, pretty girl."

The pet name makes you shiver.

"You’re so crazy," you whisper, but your hands are curling into his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away.

"No." His lips find your forehead, pressing a kiss there that's too tender for what he's thinking. "You're driving me crazy." His other hand finds your waist, fingers spreading over the fabric, over your ribs. "In that fucking dress."

"Baby, seriously, we're at a grocery store—" Your voice is getting breathier, even as you try to sound rational. "There are people—what if someone sees—and we still need to get the eggs, remember? You literally finished the last ones this morning, and I wanted to make that frittata tomorrow, the one with the—oh—"

He's not listening. He's too busy kissing down the column of your throat, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you melt. Your skin is so soft, tastes faintly of that lotion you use, and he wants to mark you up, wants everyone to know—

"—and we're in the dairy section, this is insane, what if we bump into—"

"Shut up, baby," he mutters against your skin, and you let out a cute moan that goes straight to his cock.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

He's gone.

He’s so gone.

His hand slides down, over your hip, gathering the fabric of your dress slowly. You're trembling against him, fingers tight in his hair, and he wants to memorize this: the way you look flushed and wanting, the little sounds you're making, the trust in your eyes even as they flicker with nervousness.

"Is this okay?" he asks, palm flat against your thigh now, thumb stroking small circles. "Tell me if it's not."

"It's—" You swallow hard. "Yes. But we're in a—"

"I know." He kisses you again, softer this time. "I've got you. Just be quiet for me."

Your eyes roll slightly at that. His hand moves higher, and your head falls back against the wall, lips parting on a silent oh.

He watches your face as he touches you over your underwear, learning what makes your breath catch, what makes your hips cant forward seeking more. You're so responsive, so perfect, and he has to kiss you again to muffle the sounds you're making.

"Ah, please—"

"Please what, baby?" His fingers slip beneath the fabric, and you keen softly. "Use your words."

"I can't—we can't—" But you're moving against his hand, desperate and needy, and he loves you like this, loves seeing you unravel.

"Yes, we can." His voice is low, commanding in that way that makes you shiver. "You're going to be quiet, and I'm going to make you feel good. Okay?"

You nod frantically, and he rewards you by sliding two fingers inside, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. You're so wet, so ready, and it takes everything in him not to groan out loud at how you feel.

"Fuck," he breathes against your ear. "You're soaking, baby."

You whimper at his words, hips rolling forward to take his fingers deeper, and the movement is so needy, so fucking perfect that his cock throbs painfully against his shorts. He sets a steady rhythm, curling his fingers just right; you respond immediately, grinding down on his hand, unable to help yourself.

"That's it," he murmurs, his free hand gripping your hip to steady you. "Take what you need."

And you do. Your hips are moving in small, desperate circles, riding his fingers while trying to stay quiet, and the wet sounds are obscene in the quiet corner. He can hear it—the slick slide of his fingers inside you, the way you're dripping down his palm—and it's driving him fucking insane.

Your voice breaks on his name, barely a whisper. "Oh fuck, I—"

"Shh, pretty. I know." His thumb finds your clit, circling with the same maddening patience he uses for everything, and you bite down on your lip so hard he's worried you'll draw blood. "You're being so good for me. So fucking perfect."

You're babbling now, soft little nonsense sounds and broken fragments of his name, your inhibitions melting away as pleasure builds. "Please—I need—please—more—"

He gives you more, adds pressure, keeps the rhythm steady while you grind shamelessly on his hand. His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down gently, and you keen, the sound muffled only by your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

"That's my girl," he growls against your skin, sucking a mark into the soft flesh just above your collarbone. He'll have to be careful—can't mark you anywhere visible—but fuck, he wants to, wants to cover you in proof that you're his. "Look at you, grinding on my fingers in the middle of a grocery store. So desperate for it."

The filthy words make you clench around him, and he grins against your throat, teeth tugging at your skin again. You're so close. He can feel it in the way you're tightening around his fingers, in the desperate rolls of your hips, in how wet you are—god, everything is so fucking wet, his fingers sliding easily, your arousal coating his palm.

"You're making such a mess, baby," he whispers, and the words are barely out before you're whimpering again, hips stuttering. "Can you hear how wet you are? How good you sound taking my fingers?"

"Ah—mm—I'm—" You can't even finish the sentence, too far gone, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"I know. I've got you." He increases the pressure slightly, keeps the pace steady, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit with each thrust of his fingers. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging gently. "Come for me, baby. Lemme feel it."

It's the command in his voice combined with one more curl of his fingers that does it. You break, shaking apart in his arms, face buried against his neck to muffle the sounds as you pulse around his fingers. He works you through it, gentle now, kissing your hair and murmuring praise while you ride out the aftershocks, still grinding weakly against his hand.

"So perfect," he says, over and over. "So fucking perfect for me."

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For a moment, neither of you moves. You're still trembling slightly, forehead pressed against his shoulder, breathing hard. That is until reality crashes back: the fluorescent lights, the hum of refrigeration units, the distant sound of a shopping cart squeaking past the aisle.

"Eggs," he says suddenly.

You blink at him. "What?"

"You wanted eggs. For your frittata." He steps back, adjusting himself discreetly, still painfully hard.

"Oh. Right. Eggs." You sound dazed, and he has to resist the urge to kiss you again. "Yes. Eggs. That's—that's why we came here."

"Among other things," he mutters, and you turn bright red.

The egg section is mercifully close. You grab a carton with shaky hands, barely looking at it, and practically throw it into the basket. "Got them. Okay. Good. Let's go."

"What about the vegetables?" he asks innocently, and you shoot him a look that could melt steel.

"We have lettuce. That's vegetable enough. We're leaving."

"I thought you also wanted—"

"Leaving."

He grins, satisfied, because you're adorable when you're flustered. "Yes, ma'am."

yut2achoya

< here i present to you my pride and joy, my goated tumblr debut… please read with caution, care, love, and both hands if possible xxx >

ᯓ★ masterlist—sneaky link frat!toji x reader

₍^. .^₎⟆

you clearly missed your sneaky link toji more than you let on

you learn that toji doesn’t like it when you ghost him…

car sex in the rain at toji’s special spot?

things are beginning to feel a bit too… real

frat president! toji has a… girlfriend?

ᥫ᭡.

satoruslovey

Frat!sukuna x soft!reader

synopsis: Sukuna doesn’t fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because you’re different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortable… until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.

Only this time,you don’t chase. You don’t fight. You just… disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizes—he’s not done with you.Even if you’re done with him.

So will he learn to live with it… or do whatever it takes to make it right?

Wc: 12.2k!!

warnings: emotional confrontation, misunderstandings, mutual yearning, kissing in the rain, sukuna is DESPERATE, grovelling, emotional intimacy, soft happy ending

Chap 1 ch2 ch3

After the last time you spoke to him, things didn’t break the way you expected them to.

Nothing around you changed. Classes went on, people talked the same way, the campus stayed just as loud and careless as it had always been. There was no visible change, no moment where everything slowed down to acknowledge what had happened. If anything, the world felt almost indifferent to it.

And that made it easier.

You went back to your routine without interruption. You reached class on time, sat where you always did, kept your focus where it needed to be. No one stopped you in the hallway anymore. No one stepped into your space like it belonged to them. You didn’t have to anticipate anything-no unexpected conversations, no presence you had to prepare yourself for.

It was simpler like this.

You didn’t have to think about him.At least, not intentionally.

There were moments that slipped through anyway.

They were small enough to ignore if you wanted to. A pause before leaving a classroom, like you were waiting for something without realizing it. A glance toward a corridor that didn’t need your attention. The faint, unnecessary awareness of absence,something missing that you refused to define.

You noticed it once.Then again.After that, you made sure you didn’t because there was no reason to.

The first time you saw him again, it wasn’t because you were looking for him.

You were just walking between classes, focused on getting through before it filled up, when your gaze lifted just enough to register movement on the other side. Recognition settled before you could stop it.

Sukuna.

He looked exactly the same.

Same posture. Same presence, people moved around him like he pulled attention without trying. There was nothing about the scene that stood out, nothing that should have made you pause.

And yet,you did.

Someone was talking to him. Laughing, standing too close, brushing against his arm like it was natural. It was the kind of thing you would have ignored without thinking before.

You should have.Instead, your steps slowed just slightly.

He didn’t lean in.Didn’t respond the way you expected.

There was no shift in him, no engagement that pulled him closer into whatever was happening.

He just stepped back,it was small and barely noticeable to anyone else,

But you saw it.

Your gaze lingered a second longer than it should have before you looked away and kept walking.

It didn’t matter.You told yourself that immediately.And for the most part,you believed it.

On the other hand,for him,

He sees you before anything else registers.

It’s immediate. The second you step into view, his attention shifts without asking him first, like it’s already decided where it belongs.

He doesn’t move ,that’s the only difference.

Before, he would’ve crossed the distance without thinking. Would’ve stepped into your path, said something just to get your attention, just to see how you’d react. It used to be easy,instinctive in a way he never questioned.

Now, he stays where he is.Not because he doesn’t want to move.That part hasn’t changed.

The instinct is still there. His body reacts the same way it always has,the pull to close the distance, to step into your space before the moment passes, before you’re out of reach.

It hits just as fast.Just as strong.

He just doesn’t act on it and….it’s because of him that he can’t.

His jaw tightens slightly, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be.He tells himself it’s nothing,that this is how it should be now.

No interruptions. No stepping into something he already ruined. No pretending it can go back to what it was.

It should have been simple.It isn’t.

Because now that he’s not moving toward you, he notices everything else instead.

The way you walk past without looking at him. The way your attention doesn’t move, not even for a second. The way there’s no hesitation in your steps, no awareness of him anywhere near you.

Like he’s just—another person.

That is harder to accept than he expects.

Someone beside him says something,he doesn’t catch it.A girl laughs, closer than necessary, her hand brushing his arm like it’s nothing.He doesn’t react or lean in like he would have.He just steps back ,subtly, it comes to him naturally.

His attention is still on you.For a second, he thinks about it.

Moving. Calling out to you. Stopping you before you disappear into the crowd like another face.

The thought settles in his chest, sharp enough to make him shift forward without realizing it.

Then,he stops, he knows its not like before.

So he stays where he is and watches you walk past,and doesn’t follow.

To him,that restraint doesn’t feel like control.It feels like losing something,and not being able to do anything about it.

—-

Days pass as usual,

The routine doesn’t break.

It holds in place, steady enough, You move through your days the same way you always have, lecture, notes, the quiet discipline of keeping your focus where it belongs. It’s controlled. Measured. Exactly what you wanted.

And still something keeps slipping,Not enough to disrupt anything.Just enough to be felt.

You notice it in the middle of things. When your pen pauses longer than it should, when your thoughts drift somewhere you didn’t send them, when your attention shifts before you can catch it.

It doesn’t stay long enough to take over,But it happens.

You don’t look for him.You make sure of that.

But your awareness shifts anyway.

A door opening.Footsteps slowing.

Someone taking a seat behind you,and your body registers it before your mind does.

You don’t always turn.But sometimes,you already know.

It gets harder to ignore than it should be.

You don’t let it settle.You don’t give it space to become anything more than a passing thought.

Still,it lingers just long enough to leave something behind.

A quiet, persistent awareness that doesn’t belong,but refuses to leave.

For sukuna,It stops being unintentional. That’s when it gets worse.

At first, it’s easy to dismiss.

Same classes. Same schedule. Same places he would’ve been in anyway. There’s nothing strange about ending up in the same room, nothing that needs explanation.

But then,he starts adjusting.

Not enough for anyone else to notice or make it obvious.Just enough for Him to know

He gets there earlier.Not by much.But enough that he’s already seated when you walk in.

He tells himself it’s nothing.That it doesn’t mean anything.

And still he waits, Although its not something that he’d admit.

But the moment the door opens—

his attention locks.Every time.

He watches you walk in.Watches the way you move without hesitation, like nothing around you matters enough to interrupt you.

And something in him tightens feeling so sharp.Like it’s been building all day just for that moment.

He doesn’t move toward you.But he doesn’t stay away either.The distance changes.

A seat closer than before.Then another.Not beside you yet.

But close enough that he doesn’t have to look for you anymore.Close enough that if you look up,

you’ll find him-

And you do, more and more each time.Enough that it stops feeling like coincidence.

The first time your eyes meet—

he doesn’t react.He doesn’t smirk or say anything.Doesn’t turn it into something lighter than it is.

He just-holds it.

And that’s where it goes wrong.Because he doesn’t want to look away.

Atleast immediately, because it finally feels like there’s something there , that it hasn’t completely disappeared.

Even if it’s just a second.Even if it’s nothing more than this.

You look away first. of course you always do.But it’s enough.More than enough, Because,that moment.That look.

That brief, unguarded awareness that slips through before you shut it down again.It stays with him longer than it should. Long enough to follow him out of the room,to settle somewhere he can’t ignore.

It makes everything else feel less.He notices it everywhere.

The conversations that don’t hold.The people who expect something from him that he can’t seem to give the same way anymore.The way he steps back without thinking, like his body’s already decided it’s not worth it.

The problem is not them, its you.

And the way everything else falls short of something he didn’t even realize he was holding onto.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, irritation settling in where something else is trying to take shape.

It doesn’t make sense,shouldn’t matter.And yet he’s here earlier.Sitting closer.

Watching you like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t know how to ask for.

That’s not something he’s used to or something he knows how to handle.But it doesn’t stop,Nothing about it does.

——

The lecture ends in the usual way,chairs scraping back, voices rising, people already halfway into their next conversation before they’ve even left their seats.

You close your notebook and gather your things, taking your time the way you always do, to avoid getting caught in the rush.

When you step into the aisle, you expect it to be clear.

It isn’t.

He’s there.

Standing in the way , not really blocking you or…Not trying to.

But he’s close enough that you have to acknowledge him.

For a second, you think he’ll step aside but he doesn’t.

You glance up and he’s already looking at you.There’s something different in it.

The usual sharpness is nowhere to be seen, that easy, unreadable confidence he used to wear like it cost him nothing, also not there.

This has a hold in it.

Like he’s been standing there longer than he should have, something he decided to do.

Your grip tightens slightly around your bag.

You wait.So does he.

Then—

“…You’ve been leaving early.”

sasuketwo

please write an eren one-shot with exactly what Anon said about him being the guard and sneakily calling u princess in public in front of everyone know damn well ur getting flashbacks from last night I’m begging this is so eren he’d be so smug about it I’m foaming at the mouth 👄🤭🤭 also can u imagine royal guard eren with his hair down and just looking gorgeous I’m going crazy

YES, PRINCESS

pairing: eren x reader

plot: being the princess has its perks... and disadvantages

warnings: 18+, and I think that's it lol

wc: 9.1k

Being a princess comes with a lot of responsibility. A lot of pressure. A lot of strict discipline and a tight schedule. As the first born child and the heir of the throne, the king and queen put a lot of effort into raising you, fit to marry a prince and rule the country one day.

And to the naked eye, you are the perfect crown princess. Caring toward your people. Present at every charity, every hospital visit, every ribbon-cutting ceremony the palace can fit into a calendar week. You do all kind of sports, play all kind of instruments. You give speeches with a steady voice and a steadier smile. You are poised. You are composed. You are pristine. You're the princess every other kingdom could only dream of.

But as they say — the stricter the upbringing, the more rebellious the result. And safe to say, neither the king nor the queen expected this level of rebellion.

sapph22

No-strings!Sukuna x reader

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

Tw : MDNI, 18+

Part 1 Part 2

Sukuna knows he fucked up.He knows he deserves the award for The Biggest Dickhead of the Year.

You spent your birthday alone because he was too busy being a selfish prick to remember the one person who’d been there for him for literally everything.

You were there when his mom got sick.You were there when his dad was a drunk asshole. You were there when he failed maths and thought his life was over. You were there for every birthday, every breakup, every panic attack about nothing and everything. And somewhere along the way you stopped being his best friend and became…. just a girl he fucked.

When did he stop seeing you?

When did he stop noticing you were there?

What’s killing him is that you just gave up on him. You didn’t scream or throw shit or demand explanations…he could handle anger. You looked exhausted. Tired of him. Tired of being the person who cared more.

Fix it. He has to fix it.

But how the fuck do you fix fifteen years of friendship that you torpedoed in six months?

☾☾☾.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, is fucking exhausting.

Not in the romantic way movies portrayed it. No standing in the rain, no meaningful stares out windows while sad music played.

Just bone deep exhaustion.

You’re extremely fucking confused when Sukuna shows up at your apartment ten days after your birthday….. ten days of radio silence, ten days of you ugly crying into ice cream and deleting his number only to restore it from recently deleted like the pathetic creature you are……. with flowers and mochi. Not just any mochi. Mochi from your favourite place that’s twenty three minutes across town in traffic. You know because you’ve driven there multiple times. Usually when you were having a shit day and needed something that felt like a small extravagant fuck you to responsible adult decisions.

He’s holding it out like a peace offering. Like it’s a white flag. Like it’s anything other than what it actually is, which is a desperately transparent attempt to buy forgiveness.

You stare at him through the crack in your door chain lock still on….. and he looks… bad.

You can tell he hasn’t slept properly, which you know because you’ve seen Sukuna on two hours of sleep after exam season in university and he still looked better than most people do on a full eight. There are actual shadows under his eyes.

And his usual expression…. that infuriating smirk that says he knows he’s hot shit and you’re probably thinking about him naked… is completely absent. Replaced by something that looks almost… nervous?

Ryomen Sukuna. Nervous. The same man who once fucked you against your kitchen counter, maintained eye contact the entire time, and then had the audacity to eat your leftovers after.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out flat, which is good. Flat doesn’t show that your heart’s jumping just from seeing him standing there.

“To talk.” He lifts the mochi box slightly.“Please.”

‘Slam the door in his face.’ That’s what your best friend would say, right?

‘Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning’ At least listen to Dua Lipa. You’re undoing all the progress you’ve made.

What progress? You’ve made zero progress. You’re a mess.

So you undo the chain and let him in, because apparently self respect is a myth and you’re living proof.

He steps inside and immediately your apartment feels smaller, which is saying something because it’s already pretty fucking small. It’s not even that Sukuna’s particularly huge, he’s tall, yeah, but it’s more about the way he takes up space. The way he’s always had this gravitational pull that makes you orbit him whether you want to or not. You’ve been orbiting him since you were kids. Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe you never learned how to exist in your own solar system.

“You have five minutes,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, which is definitely a defensive position but also necessary because you’re not wearing a bra and you’re not about to let him think this is that kind of visit.

“I fucked up.” The words come out so fast like he’s been practicing them.

You can’t help it… you laugh. “Oh, wow. Groundbreaking. Should we call the press? Alert the media?”

His jaw does a tiny clench that you’ve seen a thousand times, usually right before he says something he knows is going to start a fight. But he doesn’t. He just takes it. Absorbs your sarcasm because he deserves it.

“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continues, and his voice has this quality to it that you’ve never heard before. It’s rough.“I know showing up with flowers isn’t enough. I know…” He stops and runs his hand through his hair and you watch it happen, watch the way his fingers drag through the pink strands and leave them sticking up at odd angles. “I’m fucking drowning without you.”

Your chest squeezes painfully. Like your heart’s being wrung out like a wet towel. You ignore it. You’ve gotten good at ignoring things. Six months of practice.

“You forgot my birthday, Sukuna. You went on a date with someone else and then you showed up here expecting me to be available? Like I’m some 24 hour convenience store for your dick?” The words come out quieter than you intended. Less accusatory and more… hurt. Which you hate. You wanted to sound angry.

“No, I…….”

“Do you even know what that felt like?”The words explode out of you and you’re not yelling, not quite, but your voice is definitely raised and you can feel the tears threatening and fuck, you don’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. “Waiting all day for a text. Checking my phone every five minutes like a fucking idiot?

He looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked, and some petty part of you is glad. Wants him to hurt the way you hurt. “You’re right. About all of it. I treated you like shit. I took you for granted because you were always there and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Apology noted. Was that all?” you say, and you’re proud of how steady your voice is. How calm. Like you’re not actively falling apart inside.

“What…no……” He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” And oh, there’s the anger. It’s bubbling up now, hot and acidic. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just walk away. You’re good at that.”

He flinches at your words “please…” He pauses “The last ten days have been hell without you. I miss you.”

“You miss fucking me.”

“No.” His voice comes out sharp. “I miss hearing about your day. I miss you stealing my hoodies. I miss the way you laugh at stupid shit. I miss you falling asleep on my couch during movies. I miss you.”

“Don’t do that” You can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Don’t try to…. ”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words land and it feels like getting punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time. White noise fills your ears where thoughts used to be. You’re vaguely aware that your mouth is open…. definitely looking stupid……. but you can’t seem to close it. Can’t seem to do anything except stand there and replay those four words over and over

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.”He steps closer and you step back. Your spine hits the kitchen counter. “I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long. Maybe always. Maybe since we were kids. I don’t know. But I know that I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid an….”

No.

No, he doesn't get to do this.

He doesn't get to say the words you’ve been dying to hear for months…. not now, not after everything, not when you’ve finally started to piece yourself back together.

“Bullshit.” Your voice shakes. “No feelings, no strings, remember?”

“I was wrong.” He moves closer. You let him this time, too shocked to move. “I was fucking wrong about everything.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You don't even try to stop them.

“Ten days,” he continues, voice raw. “Ten days without you and I’ve been losing my fucking mind. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except how badly I fucked up.”

“Stop.” You are full on sobbing now “Just stop talking.”

“I love you.” He reaches for you, then drops his hand when you flinch. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging. Please. Let me fix this.”

You stare at him through blurry vision. This is what you’ve wanted, isn't it? For months, this is all you’ve wanted… for him to choose you, to love you back.

But now that you have it…

“I can’t….. after everything, I can’t just jump back in like nothing happened.” You want to believe him. You wantto believe him so badly it physically hurt. It’s like this ache in your chest that radiates outward, makes your fingers tingle and your throat tight. But you’ve been hurt before. So many times before.

“I’ll wait.” He says it without hesitation. “However long you need. I’ll wait.”

This is stupid. This is the kind of shit that happens in romance novels where the emotionally constipated man child suddenly becomes a feminist poet who understands feelings and the girl forgives him and they have passionate sex in the rain and everyone forgets that he was a dick for the first two hundred pages.

Real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messier.

You wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself. “I need you to leave,”

That hurts more than he expected. More than anything has hurt in his entire fucking life.

He nods, stepping back immediately. He makes it three steps before you stop him. “Sukuna?”

He turns back

“Yeah?” He looks at you with so much hope in his eyes it hurts to see.

Giving Sukuna a second chance to prove himself is like giving a gambling addict chips and expecting them not to hit the casino. It’s like trusting a cat to guard your sandwich. It’s doomed to fail.

But a stupid, naive part of you wants to believe that he can change. “If you actually mean this…” You wipe your eyes. “If you’re serious about this…prove it.”

Relief crashes over his face…. Like you just told him he’s been pardoned from execution. “How?”

“Figure it out.”

And for the first time in ten days, Sukuna feels like he can breathe.

You don’t t know if this can work.

But maybe it is worth finding out.

If he proves it.

☽☽☽.

He proves it slowly.

Not with flowers (though he sends them anyway, your favorites, every Sunday). Not with expensive gifts (though he leaves your favorite mochi on your doorstep some mornings).

And somewhere along the way, you soften.

You let him take you to dinner (not a date, you insist, even though it feels like one). You let him drive you home (you don’t invite him up). You let him text you (and you text back).

Three months after that night, you let him kiss you.

It’s different this time… Softer. Like he's cherishing every moment, memorizing the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, the way you sigh against his lips.

Six months later, you’re in his bed (your choice this time, you’d insisted), and he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, your hair a mess, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. “I love you too”

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Not proofread 😭 I'm sorry

@pulsinginvaderstarfarer @indickca @cattleray @sukunash0e @succubussdreams @luvs-angel @chicharotbebotwow

sapph22

No-strings!Sukuna x reader

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

This is for my bb @sugusplaything just this once event ♥︎

Tw: MDNI, 18+

Loving Ryomen Sukuna is a bit like willingly walking into a burning building and being surprised when you get third degree burns.

You knew the fire was there. You saw the flames. You smelled the smoke. And your dumb ass walked in anyway because the warmth felt nice.

Sukuna Ryomen: A selfish bastard, commitment phobe, serial heartbreaker, occasional decent friend, and…for the past six months… the man whose bed you crawled into like a pathetic little moth drawn to an extremely hot, emotionally unavailable flame.

Friends with benefits.

Six months. That's how long you'd been doing this little dance with him. Six months of watching him leave your bed to go to someone else’s and telling yourself it was fine because you agreed to this.

No strings. No feelings.

The problem? You forgot to tell your heart about the arrangement.

Your phone buzzed at 11:47 PM. You already knew who it was

Sukuna: you up?

And there it was. The modern equivalent of a booty call smoke signal. Your thumb hovered over the screen while your dignity staged a small protest somewhere in the back of your skull.

Don't do it, the last remaining brain cell screamed. Have some self respect.

You typed back: maybe

See? Growth. That was practically playing hard to get.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Sukuna: that a yes or a no?

You: depends. what's in it for me?

Sukuna: me.

God, the audacity of this man. But It worked. It always fucking worked. Because you were a clown, and this was your circus.

Twenty minutes later, you were in his apartment, and his mouth was on your neck, and his hands were everywhere, and for a few blissful hours, you could pretend this meant something. That the way he held you after…meant something. That when he murmured "stay" against your hair, he meant it the way you wanted him to.

You'd known Sukuna since forever. Since you were eight years old and he was the mean kid who pulled your hair on the playground. Since you were fourteen and he showed up at your door at midnight because his dad was drunk again and he had nowhere else to go. Since you were seventeen and he held your hand at your father’s funeral without saying a word because he knew you didn't need words.

He was your person. Your best friend. The one constant in your life.

And then, six months ago, shit happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you… both of you drunk on cheap wine. Maybe it was how he said "I've always wondered" before he kissed you

"This doesn't have to change anything," you'd whispered after, your forehead pressed against his.

"No feelings," he agreed.

"No strings."

Famous last words.

The first time you saw him with someone else, you told yourself it was fine. Expected, even. That was the deal, right? He could do whatever…. whoever…. he wanted. You had no claim to him. No right to the jealousy that clawed at your throat when you watched her laugh at something he said.

You went home and cried in the shower for forty five minutes, then texted him like nothing was wrong.

The second time, you learned to swallow it faster. Shove it down into that little box where you kept all the feelings you weren't supposed to have.

The third time. The fourth. The fifth….

You got good at it. You could watch him flirt with someone at a party and still end up in his bed two hours later, because you were built different. Damaged different, but who's keeping score? Pathetic, really. Truly embarrassing behavior for a grown woman.

March 15th.

Your birthday.

You woke up to seventeen texts from various friends and family, a call from your mom that went to voicemail, and radio silence from the one person who'd never missed it.

Sukuna had remembered your birthday since you were nine years old. The year his mom was sick and his family had no money, he'd stolen flowers from the neighbor's garden and presented them to you with dirt still clinging to the roots. "They're not dead yet," he'd said, like that was the selling point.

You'd kept them until they were.

But today? Nothing. Not a text, not a call, not even a stupid meme with the crying cat that he always sent because he knew it made you laugh.

He's busy, you told yourself. He'll remember later.

You checked your phone at least eight thousand times throughout the day. Totally normal. Just a girl, standing in front of her phone, waiting for a man who promised her nothing to give her something.

By 7 PM, you'd graduated from "he's busy" to "maybe his phone died" to "maybe he's dead in a ditch somewhere and I should call hospitals."

9 PM, you were on Instagram.

And you saw his story, time stamped thirty minutes ago. Sukuna at some fancy restaurant with fairy lights and candles, and across from him sat a girl with perfect hair and pretty eyes,

He was on a date.

Something in your chest cracked. Like ice under pressure, spiderwebbing outward until the whole surface was compromised. You stared at that story for longer than you'd ever admit. Watched it loop three times. Four. Let the image burn itself into your retinas.

And then, finally, something clicked.

You were hurting yourself.

Every time you answered his late night texts. Every time you convinced yourself that maybe this time he'd look at you different. Every time you swallowed your feelings . You were doing this to yourself.

He wasn't the villain here. He'd been honest from the start. No strings. He'd kept his end of the deal.

You were the one who broke the rules.

You crawled into your bed, and let yourself cry. Ugly crying that leaves you dehydrated and blotchy

~~~

You're packing when he finally texts. Not packing packing. Just... putting things in boxes. His hoodie that had somehow came to your closet. Little pieces of him scattered around your apartment like landmines.

For one stupid, hopeful second, your heart leapt. Maybe he remembered. Maybe this was him texting to apologize, to explain…

Sukuna: come over

Translation: I’m horny, come over and spread your legs.

Ah, the late night classic. The mating call of the emotionally unavailable fuckboy. Your fingers itch to respond.., muscle memory at this point… but you don't.

When have you become this person? This pathetic, desperate girl who waits by her phone for scraps of attention from a man who can’t even remember her birthday?

You stare at the message until your screen goes dark, then you go back to shoving his things into the box

Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at your door.

Of course. Because god forbid Sukuna not get what he wants.

You consider ignoring it. But then he knocks again, harder, and calls out: "I know you're in there. Your light's on."

Oh ffs

You yank the door open. Sukuna's standing there in that leather jacket you've always secretly loved, hair pushed back

"Didn't answer my text," he says, inviting himself in.

"I was busy."

What are you doing?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like you were the confusing one here.

“Cleaning."

Sukuna pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, and God, you hate how your heart still stutters. How your body still remembers every place his hands have been.

"You're being weird," he sys, reaching for the box. "What's…” He stops and stares at the contents. "Why is my shit in here?"

"Because it's yours." You yank the box away. "Take it.”

Sukuna stares at you. That look he gets when he's trying to figure out an angle. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong.” you say, starting to feel numb. You are so tired you can barely feel anything at all.

He steps closer. That gravity pulling you in, same as always. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and your treacherous body leans into it

"Can I stay," he murmurs. The voice that's gotten you into bed more times than you can count.

And for one pathetic second, you almost say yes.

Then you remember… The candles. The other girl's hand in his.

You pull back. "Not tonight."

He looks confused because Sukuna doesn't hear "no" very often. "Why?"

You look up at him, his eyes are fixed on you, waiting for your response. "I'm tired. Just…. go home, Sukuna."

He doesn't move. "Did I do something?"

"No. You didn't do anything."

That's the problem. You didn't do a single fucking thing.

"Then what…”

"It's my birthday." The words fall out flat and exhausted.

Silence.

You watch it hit him. The slow widening of his eyes. Confusion, then realisation, then guilt showing on his face before he smothers it

"Shit," he breathes. "Fuck, I….."

"Don't." You hold up a hand. "Don't do the thing where you apologize and I pretend it's fine and we fuck and nothing changes. I can't…. " Your voice cracks. Goddamn it. "I can't keep doing this."

Sukuna's face has gone still. You've never seen him look like this before.

"You were my best friend," tears stream down your face "For fifteen years. And now I'm just... what? Just someone you fuck when you're bored?"

Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.

“We agreed no feelings.” He finally says. And there it is. The rejection you’ve been expecting, wrapped up in his typical Sukuna way.

A laugh rips out of you. You are crying and laughing at the same time. You wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hand. Your face is probably a mess… puffy eyes, snotty nose

"You're right," you whisper. You feel like throwing up. Youre so exhausted but the only thing you can think of is how you needed to get out and away from Sukuna “I think we should stop”

You expect him to argue. To charm his way out of it like he always does.

"Okay," he says finally.

Okay. Just like that.

You weren't expecting it to hurt this much.

He leaves.

You sit on your bed and cry until you can't breathe, then cry some more.

Happy fucking birthday to you.

~~~

What you don't see is Sukuna in his car, parked outside your building for two hours, staring at his steering wheel.

What you don't see is him pulling up fifteen years of photos on his phone. You at eight, cake on your face. You at sixteen, asleep in his passenger seat. You at twenty, laughing so hard you spilled champagne all over your clothes.

What you don't see is the moment he realizes the hollow feeling he's been ignoring for months isn't boredom, isn't restlessness, isn't anything fixable by another nameless girl in another forgettable bar.

It's you.

It's always been you.

A/n : your reblogs and comments are appreciated

heich0e

love men who fall into "my girl is mad at me i hope i die" category but who also regularly do things to piss their girl off. duality of man

haughtyraban

“there’s an ai tool for that” okay ?? there’s probably an ed sheeran song for it too who gives a fuck

sasuketwo

I DESPERATELY NEED A TOXIC HOCKEYPLAYER!PORCO ONESHOT THAT IS ALLLLL SMUT NO PLOT or JUST A ONESHOT WITH FWB!PORCO WHO IS slightly TOXIC BUT HE FUCKS TOO DAMN GOOOOOD SO HE’S OUR #1 FUCK (also pure smut no plot) 🥹🥹

ROUGH PLAY

pairing: porco x reader

plot: hockey player!Porco is a dick but unfortunately the dick attached to the dick is too good

warnings: 18+, uhh i usually don't put warnings but toxic dynamic and rough sex with barely any plot

wc: 6.2k

You've been fucking Porco Galliard on and off for eight months now, ever since that stupid after-party following the Marley Warriors's brutal overtime win against Shiganshina Titans'. He'd scored the game-winner with thirty seconds left, ripped his helmet off on the ice, and skated straight to the glass where you were screaming in the front row like an idiot.

Maybe, you should've known better than to mess with the star hocket player. But when he tossed the winning puck over the glass for you, you knew you were going to that after-party. And you were not the slightest bit surprised when the night ended up with your chest pressed flat against a wall and no one other than Porco between your legs.

That night turned into a pattern. He texts you after every home game, usually just a location pin to his apartment. Sometimes he's still half in gear, pads half-off, smelling like that sharp, metallic edge of fresh ice. Other times he's already pissed for whatever reason; bad loss, bad ref call, bad teammate, whatever excuse he can make up, and he takes it out on you in the filthiest, most delicious ways.

You keep telling yourself you'll stop answering those texts one day, but you never do. Because no one else has ever fucked you like Porco does, mean and rough, like he's trying to carve his name into your cervix.