#o8 fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sakuraryomen01 · 5 months

Text

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Reader/ .10

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, smut/nsfw, hook ups, sexual fantasies and masturbation

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 1.761k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n:: before u guys read i hope that y'all r doing well and that the beginning of this chapter isn't as traumatic as it seems (to me anyways lmao XD). my life is crazy, but i wanted to get this next chapter out asap!! i love u guys!!

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

. . .

“A-Ahh, fuck.. Shit~“

Dirty and whiny moaning, harsh slaps of skin on skin. The bed rocking hard, creating dents into the headboard, knocking against the wall. Nails dug into the skin of Sukuna’s biceps, his groaning and panting masked by the girl beneath him. Her cries louder than his ever were, the lewd mewls elicited from her throat as he continued to ram his cock deep into her cunny.

“Dammit, haa..” Sukuna’s brows pressed tighter together, his eyes glazing over as his edge neared. “Fuckk..”

The lady blushed, her gazed foggy but her cheeks flushed as she reached up to grab a hold of Sukuna’s face. Her fingers grazed the edges of his jawline as she squeezed harshly around his aching cock. He was so close.

“S-Sukuna.. I’m gonna cum again,” Her sultry voice echoed through his foggy head. The distraction he wanted to keep creating for himself wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.

At this point, Sukuna didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Raise your damn ass, woman,” He said, his rough voice making the girl’s blush go from a slight heat to an almost feverish touch. Sukuna slipped himself from her heat– lifting her hips and flipped her onto her stomach– before slipping himself back into her warmth, beginning to feel his edge nearing, truly. “Fuck, ‘m close, girl.”

While Sukuna’s soft groans start to grow louder, even if only slightly, while the woman’s wails beneath him began to break. Her cries of pleasure and almost pain echoed with the bed’s creaking, only to be covered by the boom box downstairs and thirty other seniors and junior college students. The loud music, the booze, it was all a dangerous combo Sukuna had taken a liking to since attending this college.

Since seeing you, and the moment he was forced to have you as a tutor.

He wasn’t so used to the common hustle and bustle, but seeing you among it. Seeing how well you were already molded into the society of the city, it disturbed him deeply. He didn’t understand, nor did he want to know why. All he knew was that it upset him, and he wanted to beat you at whatever this sad game was. This heart-to-heart shit wasn’t in the cards, neither was that “promise” he made.

Sukuna was foolish when he was young, he didn’t want a broken heart.

He didn’t have a broken heart.

“Call me sometime, hunny?” The drunk girl he had just destroyed giggled, slipping her pink and lacy thong over her plush thighs, a droopy smile on her face. “This was really, really fun.”

Sukuna, who was busy with his thoughts and belt, didn’t take a second glance. He just fixed his leather jacket up and grabbed his shoes, unlocking the door and leaving the room. “Not interested.”

While the woman was left frazzled and somewhat hurt, Sukuna fixed up his shirt and slipped on his shoes, glancing around the hallways before heading to the main living area. Grabbing another drink from the table, he chugged it down quickly despite the numb stink he got from the weird mixes. He crushed the plastic cup and turned away from all the grinding women and men that were swaying to the music that was playing outside, heading to the door as his mind began to fog up.

It was like an addiction, to remove all worry and annoyance from his mind.

Taking a second look around the party room, he pulled a small box from his back pocket and headed outside. Getting a lighter from his other pocket, he opened the small box, and lifted a cig from it. Bringing the stick to his lips, Sukuna lights the end of it as he climbs into his truck and starts the engine. While he said very few words on the way back to his dorm, he was lost in thought.

Thinking about the last month, seeing you near daily.

Seeing that skittish smile, and your nervous glances towards him. Even just recently, seeing you straight from the shower, it brought a small warmth to his cheeks. Although he’s seen tits before, it was shameful that he was wondering often what was hidden under that damned towel. What was covered that he didn’t want to think about after so long.

He had thought at first that you were truly the most annoying thing on the face of the planet, but a very small and dark part of him thought you had grown well. That your looks were down right gorgeous and adorable at the same time.

You looked so soft, but toned. Eyes pretty but they didn’t sparkle as bright as any attention whore he crossed paths with. You were perfectly imperfect to him.

Poetic.. Gross.

Once parked and out of the car, Sukuna walked from the parking lot to the male’s dormitory. His eyes found themselves looking towards the girl’s area, tracing each darkened or lit window they came across. Unable to spot which one probably belonged to you, he took a breath of the cold night air and a puff from his cancer stick. Wondering if your dorm was still as messy as it seemed last time. If it still smelled like cum and perfume. If your gaming system was all sorted like you used to keep your books in the Stix.

The very thought of back then made him shiver and stiffen, pulling the now burned out end of the cigarette from his pinkish lips and pressing the lit end to a brick wall.

Tossing the bit over to the sidewalk, he stepped up to the building and headed to his dorn. Stepping passed the socks on knobs, the laughs of friends playing games in their rooms, the quiet murmurs and somewhat opened doors of people studying for their semi-finals and upcoming midterms. Sukuna passed them all to the third floor where his door sat at the very end of a quiet hallway, the silence almost too loud as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Taking one step inside and feeling a sense of slight dread. A sense that something inside him wanted to stir.

Whatever it was, he was going to have to do it by hand.

Closing the door, he went to shower before going to make a breakfast burrito that he had saved from that morning. There wasn’t much on TV other than some news that didn’t interest him, so he got finished with his dinner and ended up watching some of the cartoons that he, you, and Gojo had watched prior.

It didn’t matter if it made him kinda smile at the thought of you sitting on the floor with a blanket wrapped around your waist and thighs. It didn’t upset him to think about how cute you had grown up to be, that your features weren’t as bad as he wished they could. It was hard that he had to ignore this shitty clench of his chest and the throb in his pants.

Not a day in his life did Sukuna ever feel anything but rage or anger, but today, it was a feeling he despised. That he never wanted to feel again since his childhood, it was a stupid feeling he had squashed the second he left the Stix.

“..Fuck me,” He muttered to himself, letting his head rest back on the head of the couch. Pulling a blanket over his lap as Sukuna’s hand found its way underneath the cloth and rubbed at his crotch.

With very little effort, he could tell that he was rock hard. And even littler effort to free himself and start pumping his shaft, feeling all the pre that had collected in his pants. Sukuna lets out a groan, pressing his brows together as his mind wanders back to when he had walked in on you.

In my own room, you weirdo. At least you could’ve hung up a sock or some shit.

The cartoons continued to play, although the childish music and jokes on the screen didn’t make it to Sukuna’s ears. All he could think about was his new release, and about that damned towel. Wondering what would’ve happened if he had just snatched that rag and saw what was underneath for himself. Sukuna’s eyes lidded and his breath became ragged, thinking about what your tits felt like against his chest, wanting to grind his girth between them.

“Shit.. fuckk..”

The image of your small hips in his hands, letting him glide them over the fat or your ass until you yelped. Sukuna had wondered plenty about what your lips felt like against his, if you were a good or bad kisser. Whatever you were, he was willing to teach you.

Returning the favor right?

Imagining the feeling of your lips between his teeth as he tugged and nibbled, wanting to watch them slightly swell from the kisses and breathless moans.

Sukuna felt his tummy and thighs clench, wanting to savor his orgasm. His hand went faster, the sounds of his fist pumping and shaking as pre slipped through his fingers became louder. Completely drowning out the sounds of the TV, Sukuna’s face scrunched up and he grabbed at the blanket.

His imagination brought him to his bed, your body under his. Your face flushed red, hands against his chest as if to attempt to push him away.

“Ryo.. It's embarrassing!”

Sukuna smirked as his fist squeezed his shaft, groaning under the intense pleasure. Wondering what your whimpers and moans sounded like, if your pussy was tight enough to make him finish early.

The thought of what lay between your thighs sent a jolt up Sukuna's spine, a sudden urge to cum overcame him.

He pulled the blanket from over his cock and glanced down at his naughty member. Seeing it become an angry looking red, it made him upset. How could you of all people make him so hard?

Why was it you? Your soft looking lips, your huggable waist and chest? Why of everyone he's fucked, everyone he's come across it was you that toppled over all?

Whatever his mind wanted, he wished he didn't.

As he released all over his pants, even kicking at his coffee table from the powerful climax, Sukuna's heart wasn't fulfilled.

He could feel a ping of guilt in his chest.

He really, really shouldn't have done that.

Worst part about it all was that he was going to be seeing you in class again, after the third time he played with his cock to thoughts of you.

“..Really.. Fuck my life.”

. . .

a/n: finally got the chapter out guys!! I'll be quick on here since there's little to say but I hope y'all r doing good!!><

Chapter Song Theme:

— Varsity Fanclub - Zero [Lyrics] | 7Vibes Lyrics

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalflashlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleeboomed, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir, @domainofmarie, @the-moongoddess, @dark-n-dirty-duchess, @agentdedf1sh, @sukunastoy, @lyn-soso, @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9, @heyitstacy, @lost-in-tokyo, @marksassybanana, @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-c-h, @chaoticqueen33, @dxxny-loves-u, @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci, @opossum0-0, @gumisgirl, @mommasbigd, @heyitstacy

last chapter || next chapter

233 notes · View notes

liliawrizz · 1 year

Text

★ NOTEBOOK ★ : BLOG INFO

LILIAWRIZZ . this blog contains dark content that falls under the yandere category.

"Yandere" is derived from the Japanese words yanderu, meaning insane or sick, and deredere, meaning affectionate or loving. Simply put, a yandere is someone who is lovesick, someone who has been driven to insanity by extreme obsession or love, thus resulting in abnormal behavior if not violence.

O1 . welcome, welcome! this blog is dedicated to SFW & slight NSFW yandere writings. the definition of yandere is written above next to the bullet point!!!

O2 . request status is open at the moment. thus meaning you may send in requests you’d like to see me write. when my request status is closed, please refrain from sending in requests!

O3 . emoji anons are welcome! ex: “may i be known as 💗 anon?” so anytime you send in a request; you’ll sign off with that emoji!!

O4 . id love to make some new friends! please no one under 15 ask to bmf. i feel uncomfy chatting with people younger than that. you can ask to bmf through my request box, messages, or as a comment under my post! (please don’t ask to bmf with anon on!!)

O5 . my tag directory is below! these tags help identify a posts’ purpose. take a look;

#liliawrizz (to show that this is my post / work. featured under every post of mine)

#liliacommuni (not a piece of writing / fanfiction but instead is me just posting a random thought / opinion of mine)

#liliarespo (the tag i’ll feature when answering an anon ask / send in)

O5 b . other tags will be added under a post depending on what fandom i wrote the fanfiction for!

O6 . my writings are all yandere. if that makes you uncomfortable, please go find another blog. i won’t be writing anything but yandere content. if you don’t specify yandere in your ask, i’ll automatically assume it was meant to be a yandere ask. if you send in anything that’s not intended to be yandere, i will delete your ask.

O7 . reader will be GN unless specified to be female. this means no pronouns will be mentioned / specified unless the ask mentions a female reader. i only write for fem and GN reader. any requests that ask for a male reader will be ignored and deleted.

O8 . reader will never be yandere in any of my fanfics. if you’re looking for yandere reader content, you’ll need to find some other blog that’s not mine.

O9 . yandere is always male. i don’t write for fem yanderes since i personally enjoy the concept of male yanderes more.

#liliawrizz #blog info #info #yandere #yandere content #dark content #dark content warning #yandere x reader #character x reader #yandere character x reader #fem reader #gn reader #x reader #fanfiction #blog rules #make sure to read #important info #important announcement

9 notes · View notes

ultradiqueer · 9 months

Text

A 'Brief' Comment on the Quadrants (and how humans interact with them)

so this is gonna be a mess sorta cause im not good with formatting. also SORRY it took so long for this to be made im miserably low on motivation rn. but yaknow

For anyone who (somehow) isnt aware, the trollian quadrants are 4 separate, unique relationships a troll can be in. Hence the name "quadrants" since, yaknow,,, theres 4 of them

Of these 4 quadrants there are: 2 conciliatory, 2 concupiscent and 2 red, 2 black. Red-rom is for quadrants that are more centred on feelings of pity (being the trollian ~equivalent~ for love), and black-rom quadrants, hate

♥♦♠♣

♥ Matespritship (represented by the heart <3) is the red, concupiscent (Flushed) quadrant. It is the most similar to human romance, so I won't really explain it cause, yaknow, humans/non-trolls can experience it (and other trolls know what its like anyways)

♦ Moiraillegiance (represented by the diamond <>) is the red, conciliatory (Pale) quadrant. It centred on emotional regulation, extreme care expressed by both parties, and is generally utilised most in (social) troll society to help mitigate the extreme violence trolls are prone to

♠ Kismesissitude (represented by the spade <3<) is the black, concupiscent (Pitch) quadrant. Being a black-romance quadrant, it is more centred on feelings of hate, and is generally a more ~intense~ relationship as a result (keep in mind that feelings of Hate and just general Dislike for another troll are very clearly different, at least in my experience.)

♣ Auspisticism (represented by the club o8<) is the black, conciliatory (Ashen) quadrant. This quadrant in particular is an outlier from the others, at it contains 3 trolls (which is generally unheard of in regards to the other quadrants, which only contain 2). This quadrant arises when a 3rd troll feels Ashen for two trolls in a Kismesissitude (typically, the kismesissitude that one would feel Ashen FOR is unbalanced, or excessively violent). The third troll (being the Auspice, or Auspistice) would then mediate between the two Pitch trolls to ensure they dont Fucking Kill Each Other

♥♦♠♣

My problem with human's interactions with the quadrants is that: They don't understand them, and don't make an effort to.

When you see a human post about Matespritship, they get it right, since its the quadrant most comparable to typical human romance. That's all fine and good, obviously

The real issue arises when they try to talk about any of the OTHER quadrants

For example, Moiraillegiance. A lot of humans look at moiraillegiance as the "besties" or "best friends" quadrant. IT IS NOT. It is a ROMANCE. It is in the QUADRANT ROMANCE SYSTEM for god's sake.

Ashen romance clearly just goes over humans' heads. Most seem to not consider it at all when it comes to art or fanfic or anything, since its just seen as an "add-on" to Kismesissitude, which is WHOLLY incorrect, and frankly, really fucking rude. The Club is a quadrant that is centred on another trolls' Spade quadrant, yes, but that doesn't make the quadrant inherently less. It is just as important, and valuable, and REAL as any other quadrant, and frankly, I'm quite fucking tired of seeing how little humans seem to care.

And Pitch romance. Oh. My. God. I hesitate to say this is the most misrepresented quadrant, due to how wide-spread the issue is with Moiraillegiance. But holy god. If I see. Another fucking person. Say that "pitch romance is inherently abusive". I'm going to lose my mind. First of all: Trolls are an alien race. The concepts of abuse, romance, love (pity/hate) and so on are COMPLETELY different for us. People don't ever seem to take this in to account when talking about how ""toxic"" kismesissitudes are. Secondly: Did you even fucking READ the quadrant explanations? Like at all. Did you just skip over the Pitch quadrant? Pitch romance's MAIN FEELING is HATE. Fucking obviously theres going to be insults, and fighting. That is the nature of the quadrant!!!! Can pitch romance be abusive? Absolutely it can. just like how ANY OTHER QUADRANT can. But it being Pitch doesn't ~make it toxic~. Pitch romances can be abusive if theres an imbalance in hate, or manipulation or violence that exceeds the boundaries of what can be considered Pitch. For example, a purpleblood using chucklevoodoos to psychically torment their jadeblooded kismesis, even though it's been established that that is too far and excessively cruel, that would be considered abusive! If a kismesis emotionally manipulates their pitchmate? Abusive! A lot of things that would make human romance abusive do apply to pitch romance. But Pitch romance being ~kinda violent~ and involving ~Hate~ doesn't make it abusive by default, considering That Is The Nature Of The Quadrant (not that humans CARE because they're not trolls)

Additionally, I am extremely fucking bothered when humans use quadrant terms to describe their relationships with other humans/nontrolls. Because humans CANNOT EXPERIENCE THE QUADRANTS. They just Can't. It is not a thing they are Capable of experiencing. A human cannot be Pale for another human. Two humans cannot be Pitch for each other. And while human romance does fall close to Flushed romance, it is not the same, so the issue applies there as well. Humans cannot, and never will, experience the true emotional and romantic scope of the quadrants. A human cannot have a moirail (and someone calling their QPR their moirail does not work, because moiraillegiance is a romance). A human cannot have a kismesis (that'd just be a rival they have feelings for, which doesn't make it a kismesissitude). Ashen quadrants cannot exist between humans.

In the case of a human-troll romance, it's up to the troll to decide if they want to use quadrant terms (NOT the human. For reasons I hope are obvious considering the above ~rant~). If they decide to use quadrant terms, sure. Who am I to say anything about it. But it is woefully inappropriate (and I'd go so far as to say it bastardises the terms entirely) for humans to use quadrant terms for their relationships with other humans

As always, I'm totally down for asks or questions. Sorry it took so long for me to post about the quadrants lol

#trollian culture #trollposting #ask if you want me to add a read-more also #“comment” more like rant bucko #long post

3 notes · View notes

ricochetmoon · 3 years

Text

tfw you’re nearing the end of a fic but you didn’t actually plan it all the way out and now you have no freaking idea how the story should end and hate everything you’re writing.

#fanfiction #fanfiction is hard #writing is hard #o8 fanfic #text post #about me

1 note · View note

psychdyke · 5 years

Link

Fandom: Ocean's 8 (2018) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Characters: Debbie Ocean, Lou Miller Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Drinking & Talking, post-heist celebrations, they even say the p word, Partners in Crime

Summary: “So, tell me. Lou… what's that short for?” “Actually, it’s short for Lou,” the blonde replies. Somehow, she sounds both serious and teasing at once and Debbie is confused which way she means it. “Aww, come on, tell me... Please?” Debbie gives her her best puppy eyes, but Lou only glances over and grins, amused and the slightest bit endeared. “What’s Debbie short for, then?” “Oh no, I asked first!” “Then you'll never find out, baby.”

#oceans 8 #loubbie #debbie x lou #o8 fanfic #debbie ocean #lou miller #ocean's 8 #o8 #my work

25 notes · View notes

widomauked · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ocean's 8 (2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Characters: Lou Miller (Ocean's), Debbie Ocean Additional Tags: First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Cigarettes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Introspection, Character Study Summary:

Debbie was very easy to fall in love with. She had this innate quality that pulled everyone into her orbit — and either they didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. They just wanted to be around her. Lou just wanted to be around her.

#mine #my writing #my fic #my fanfic #heistwives #loubbie #lou miller #debbie ocean #ocean's 8 #oceans 8 #o8 #lou x debbie #debbie x lou #lou miller x debbie ocean #debbie ocean x lou miller

7 notes · View notes

magdalenacats · 3 years

Text

It's a Ocean's 8, it's mainly about Lou, Debbie and Juliana (Lous biological daughter).

It's also a Loubbie Fiction 🧚🏼‍♀️🫐🌌💜

#debbie ocean #fanfiction #fanfic #lou miller #lou miller x debbie ocean #loubbie #oceans 8 #o8 #cate blanchett #sandra bullock #daughter #family #wlw ship #wattpad

4 notes · View notes

blackacre13 · 8 months

Note

I'm obsessed with your proposal AU - could you write a part 7?

Part 15 is here: Part 16 below!!

“Tell us, Bee. I’m sure your grandma wants to hear everything. Was it love at first sight?”

“Not exactly,” Debbie admitted.

“I’ll give Rusty that,” Grandma Ida smiled, grabbing Lou’s hands. “I must know how you proposed, Lou, my dear. I mean, I assume it was you? I apologize if that’s not how it works. I love my dear Deborah, I just can’t quite imagine our little Debbie taking it upon herself to ask and since she has the ring I just—I’ll stop before I put my foot in my mouth. But please, do tell us.”

“Go ahead, baby,” Debbie smiled wickedly. “I know how much you love telling it. And with such vivid detail too. You’re in for a treat, grandma!”

“We’ll see,” Dennis grumbled, looking at Lou with squints eyes before he threw back the rest of his drink.

Lou shot Debbie a not-so-subtle death glare and Debbie knew it was because Lou was now regretting saying no to Debbie when Debbie had suggested running through how to respond to certain scenarios. Like how they got engaged. You know, especially since they were now at their apparent engagement party where everyone was desperate to know how Lou had popped the question.

Debbie had to admit that she liked watching the blonde squirm under the attention. Lou never got shaken. Even the typical celebrity who came through their halls set on making demands of one Lou Miller was quickly silenced with a mere look or raised eyebrow. Lou called the shots. She did things her way. And they could nod and say thank you or go anywhere else. She was good. More than good. And that earned her a rare kind of respect in the industry that had always held Debbie in awe of her and the power she exuded.

But now Debbie knew the blonde was floundering under the attention. Not that anyone else would be able to pick up on that. She still looked poised and confident as ever but Debbie knew she was far from in her element and she felt a pang in her heart.

A couple of days ago she would’ve thought: good. Let her struggle to tie up all these loose ends. This was her game. Her need. And Debbie was just along for the ride. It would be easy to watch Lou flail a bit only ensuring she didn’t bomb and fail their mission completely. But now—now she could see the panic wedged behind the glint of her blue eyes. The thick swallow of her throat. And something that made Debbie gasp aloud before she could stop it—Lou was grabbing Debbie’s hand. And it wasn’t for show. She was gripping it tight like Debbie was holding her hand through a blood draw or getting big news. And automatically, Debbie squeezed back.

We’ve got this. Because they did. They were a team.

Lou’s grip on Debbie’s hand loosened, but she didn’t dare let go and Debbie shuffled closer to her, leaning her head on Lou’s shoulder. Tracing circles into her palm with her thumb. Supporting her partner. Praying it would help and that they could actually get away with all of their bullshitting.

“It was a simple little thing, really,” Lou waved it off. “You know. Popping the question. The usual.”

“You’re being too modest,” Grandma Ida laughed. Debbie was considering saying the same, moreso to give Lou shit and see her think on her feet to come up with something elaborate, but she was trying to take it easy on her. After all, it was enough to already have multiple eyes on them. Her own palms were starting to sweat and her father was making her beyond anxious.

“There were flowers,” Debbie provided, scrambling to come up with something. Anything. That might be able to help jog Lou’s fake memory.

“Yes,” Lou nodded. Debbie felt her squeeze her hand again. She figured it was a thank you. “Rose petals. Red rose petals. I laid them out.”

“And baby,” Debbie cooed, really leaning into it now. “The candles? I mean—“

“But Debbie’s favorite flower isn’t roses,” her mother interjected.

“Yes, of course,” Lou huffed. “Thank you for that,” she smiled through gritted teeth. “I—I—“

“She was so nervous,” Debbie spoke, stepping in to her rescue. “She left the original flowers at home. Had to run out and get some last minute ones to sprinkle. But it didn’t matter,” Debbie assured her, smiling up at her as Lou’s eyes found hers. “It was perfect.”

Lou was silent for a moment. Their eyes still locked. Lou legitimately staring at her with an emotion that Debbie couldn’t quite peg but it made her chest feel all fluttery and she was going from sweaty palms to icy veins fast.

A throat cleared in the distance but Lou still didn’t look away or keep talking. Her eyes wouldn’t leave Debbie’s and while Debbie wanted to analyze this new situation right now immediately, she knew she needed to step in and wrap up the story to save them both.

But Lou didn’t seem to mind drowning at that moment. She seemed fascinated. She seemed like she was just now seeing Debbie for the very first time, her eyes darting between Debbie’s eyes and lips repeatedly, a blush ghosting across her cheeks.

“They’re so in love,” Grandma Ida whispered, her eyes tearing up. “Our Lou can’t even find words she’s so taken with our Deb.”

24 notes · View notes

dulciscoeur · 5 years

Text

It took me some time, but the last chapter of Lapses is finally up. Click here if you want to read the whole fic on AO3. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Summary: Lost time doesn’t matter now. Trigger warnings: child neglect/abuse, trauma, dissociation. It’s angsty!

Lapses

Chapter 1: Conquest

Lou wakes just past three thirty. January is unapologetically cold, bringing along freezing air that filters through the places of her loft that don’t quite close or aren’t sealed properly. The only illumination comes from city lights outside and the pink Christmas lights on the opposite wall that she forgot to turn off last night, her attention focused on something-- someone else. Frost creeps up the windows behind Debbie’s sleeping form next to her the same way that realization of what they did just hours before creeps up her spine to settle vividly inside her mind. It definitely makes the cut for her top three most precious memories. She smiles, lets warmth sink into her chest when her eyes travel to Debbie’s face.

Debbie looks softened like this, no barriers around her. Lou thinks of lilies and soft summer breeze. Shadows from the snow falling dance across her face, bare shoulders and comforter like military expedition ghosts. Her lashes, dark and curled, rest against the softness of her cheeks, lips slightly parted. Fingertips ache to touch them, itching at the sense-memory, now familiar with how they feel against the pad of her skin. Lou moves as quietly as she can to rest on her side, right hand advances slowly as does the tightening in her heart.

The sound of the ice maker slices the quiet of the night, and she retrieves her hand as if she were a child caught doing something wrong.

Maybe she is.

Falling in love with Debbie came organically, an inevitable fate that she couldn’t nor wanted to fight against. Doing something about it though, that was something different. She was painfully aware of that, looking away whenever she caught herself admiring the way Debbie’s mouth curled when she spoke, making sure her hand didn’t linger on her lower back for too long when guiding her through doors, or straight up leaving the room when her emotions were too much to handle, her lone-wolf personality as an excuse.

Debbie interrupts her thoughts mumbling something in her sleep and snuggling closer to Lou, smooth legs wrapped around her like silky vines. The warmth emanating from her body is well appreciated, and she sighs at the time lost. When Debbie squeezes Lou with her arms, a small smile on her lips barely imperceptible in the dim light, Lou closes her eyes. Lost time doesn’t matter now. She lets the current of her emotions pull her back to sleep.

Chapter 2: War

Lou’s sipping the last of her coffee when Debbie wakes, eyes wide for a moment. Lou watches her from the small kitchen, half expecting Debbie to sigh in relief once she realizes where she is. She knows Debbie got good at sleeping at unfamiliar places, growing up with a dysfunctional family that would take her to jobs if needed. But this is not a hotel room, or the back of a car, or even a friend of her dad’s house. This is Lou’s bed and so Lou’s not really disappointed when, instead, Debbie sits up and smooths her hair, face twisting with concern. Judging by the way she does sigh, definitely not relieved, she’s either still confused or, on the contrary, very aware of where she is and what’s happened.

Lou suspects the latter.

She wasn’t expecting Debbie to have a breakdown once guilt (or regret) settled in, exactly. But she’s cursed with knowledge and some part of her she’d tried really hard to ignore figured she would react like this. Debbie’s predictable that way.

It still takes her by surprise— the tightening that forms a lump in her throat, the prickling of hot tears behind her eyes. She finds a distraction by pouring water into a cup of tea she had prepared for Debbie, instinctively dissolving two teaspoons of sugar in it, painfully aware that she’s done this so many times before under different circumstances that she knows how Debbie takes her tea without having to even think about it. Of course.

Feeling strangely out of place, she moves slowly and deliberately to let Debbie know she’s there. Debbie’s peripheral vision catches the movement and she regards her presence with a stare, whole body going tense. Her face is impassive, but Lou sees right through her.

Quietly, so as not to scare her: “Hey.”

Brown eyes remind her faintly of a scared deer before Debbie looks away, eyeing the items of clothing carelessly discarded the night before scattered on the bed and floor, mentally targeting each, and then standing up to collect and most likely erase (at least) the physical evidence of what happened between them as fast as she can, not even bothering to hide her nakedness.

Deep burgundy underwear in hand, she has the decency of darting her eyes at her when she says, “Lou,” her name on her lips a blend between an embarrassed apology and a low warning. Don’t.

It absolutely guts her, how Debbie acts sometimes. Lou’s used to ignoring it, the way Debbie just pretends her actions don’t have any impact on the people around her, as if the things she does and says don’t affect anyone except her. A whole minute of silence, Debbie in her bra and panties now, and Lou’s tired of pretending.

There’s a coppery taste on the back of her tongue when she speaks.

“We need to talk about this.” She slides the mug intently towards her on the breakfast bar that serves to divide both the kitchen and the bedroom, and them both. An unspoken threat.

Debbie stares at the mug as if it were a Molotov cocktail, then back at her, and Lou senses her trying to decide whether or not to act like she doesn’t know what she means. Scrutinizing her, she holds her gaze steadily, impassively. Another minute of silence (or hours, Lou doesn’t know anymore) where the weight of her words thread through the space between them, making its heavy presence impossible to ignore, humming and buzzing in the air like tension wires.

A sigh at last, defeated, Debbie gives her that face that says she’s irritated by Lou mind-reading her before moving to the end of the bed where her pantsuit is.

Lou can’t find the strength to look away from the paleness of Debbie’s legs starting to disappear as she puts the dark grey fabric on. She finds herself taking mental notes of the newly discovered birthmark on her upper thigh, almost hiding where the silk of her underwear begins; convinced that would be the last time she’ll see it. Africa-shaped, kind of. Faint cinnamon in color. Small, but noticeable if you’re close and interested enough. Which she is, both. And then the pants move upwards, upwards, past it, and Lou suddenly feels like she’s lost something valuable.

Her gaze flicks back to Debbie’s face, where a pantomime of emotions plays out across her features.

Debbie breathes in deeply, smiles a sad smile right into Lou, and says, quiet, like an afterthought, “Okay.”

Chapter 3: Famine

It hurts Debbie, looking at Lou’s hopeful expression and knowing it’s about to turn into something much more hurtful because of her. So she doesn’t, because it’s pitiful and that’s the last emotion she wants her face to show when she takes one last look at Lou and says the words that weight heavy on her chest, struggling to come out and cause inevitable damage. She’s also selfish and knows that look will haunt her later, and God knows for how long, which is the last thing she wants. They’ve known each other for years now, and Debbie sort of curses Lou for making her do this. Lou knows better than to force her to explain her feelings (feelings she’s more than happy to ignore and go back to pretending that nothing changed between them), knows better than to trick her into confessing why this (whatever this is) shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Debbie manages to get through the awkwardness of getting dressed while pretending that Lou wasn’t blatantly staring, and finds herself moving to sit on the small couch where Lou’s already taking up half the space with her legs spread. She considers sitting on the coffee table to put more distance between them without it being so obvious, but she’s not so certain it will hold her weight and isn’t particularly inclined to find out. At last, she settles for the second best option, which is as far away from Lou at the other end of the couch as she can.

She feels Lou breathing deliberate shallow puffs of air in and out waiting for Debbie to look at her, the burn of those stubbornly expectant blue eyes that surely already predicted what she’ll say but probably want to, knowing Lou, search what truly hides in Debbie’s eyes when their gazes lock as she finally speaks, looking to find any hint of emotions that’d contradict her words and give her away. So Debbie keeps her face lowered, glares intently at anything that isn’t Lou, partly because she can’t bear exposing herself like that, but mostly because she’s never been one to make things harder than necessary. A pragmatist, if she’s ever seen one.

Still.

Her mind runs with thousands of useless excuses she could use to get out of the situation. Her eyes flicker to her phone on the bed, hoping for something to come through instead, a call about an emergency that requires immediate attention.

No such luck.

Reluctantly, she decides that Lou deserves better than her stalling. She deserves better than her, period. As ready as she’ll ever be and not wanting to prolong the tension any longer, she opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by Lou.

“At least have the decency of looking at me when you say it,” comes dryly, measured voice through clenched teeth.

Oh. So she really is tired of letting her off the hook. Fine.

Debbie sternly instructs her face to stay impassive, tilts her head and finds Lou watching her almost defiantly. Defiant is better than hopeful, she supposes. She’s not sure why that doesn’t make her feel any better. If anything, the pang in her chest feels even more painful than before.

“This can’t happen again.” She says simply and honestly, and it’s about as cold as she was afraid it would be.

“I thought you’d say that,” Lou says automatically with an irritably knowing look on her face, but the usual fondness in her voice is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a disappointed but unsurprised tone.

Debbie doesn’t remember moving closer, but somehow, her leg is almost pressed against Lou’s, and she’s acutely aware of her own body betraying her, embracing the warmth that seeps through her skin with a sigh she thinks for a second she had managed to suppress, but if Lou tensing next to her is anything to go by, she hadn’t. Lou notices because of course she does, she’s fluent in Debbie.

Debbie almost rolls her eyes. There’s an odd stirring and restlessness in her limbs as if she were physically rejecting this whole situation.

She is used to being the one in control. She is used to well thought out plans that she ploys carefully in advance so that everything happens as it should, her mind calculating every option and possible outcome in every situation because being a few steps ahead makes her feel safe. She’s used to knowing what to say and do, which is why her mood further darkens as helplessness takes over her.

She’s never meant for any of this to happen because yes, they flirt, their bodies are drawn to each other magnetically and the air is filled with undeniable chemistry buzzing and sparkling between them even in the most innocent exchanges, but before last night, Debbie could count on Lou to efficiently make a witty remark when the atmosphere got too heavy and lighten the tension so that Debbie could breathe again.

It’s not that she feels like she’s drowning when Lou invades personal space or says something that’s charged with a little too much double entendre, enough to make her chest heave unpleasantly, which happens more often than she’d like. It’s just that the air catches in her throat when there’s not enough physical distance between them and her mind feels foggy at the innuendos and the blood thrumming incessantly in her ears makes it impossible for her to concentrate on whatever task she’s taking care of that needs to be done properly lest she makes out of character errors— which leads to her feeling like she’s losing touch with who she is, which then leads to her needing something to ground herself. That something usually being Lou reading her body language and taking a step back instinctively, giving her space, or Lou willing her eyes to erase the unbearable adoration (raw enough to suffocate Debbie sometimes) that shows there when Debbie catches her staring without meaning to, or Lou changing the subject and guiding the conversation into (safe) work-related territory when her actual feelings for Debbie lurk behind a teasing joke. All things that Debbie greatly appreciates because she relies on them being part of the equation, part of the routine.

That is, until now.

“I just can’t afford to lose you, Lou, when I eventually fuck up,” Debbie catches herself saying, only the slightest hint of a waver in her voice.

Lou seems to chew on that for a minute, but apparently decides it’s not good enough for her. Debbie sighs impatiently, not sure what Lou really expects.

“I’ll hurt y--”

“Oh, don’t fucking patronize me!” Lou bites out wryly, offended that Debbie would still try to take the easy way out. “Don’t make this about me. You don’t wanna face your feelings, fine, but don’t pretend this is about you worrying about me,” her voice is brittle and crisp.

Lou’s only inches away from her face now, a fact that Debbie only noticed because all her instincts are telling her to move back as if Lou’s hard expression were scalding her, earnest as ever, eyes roving across her face trying to read her.

Debbie can feel herself pale despite her best efforts to keep her composure, words caught in her throat. “I--”

She sees the exact moment Lou realizes she’s pushing the right buttons, holding her gaze and refusing to let go. Her mind registers the shift with panic, caught like a prey with no escape. Lou’s intent on further needling at her, Debbie knows she wants to make sure she feels as off-balance as she’s feeling.

“I’m more than capable of keeping things professional, Debbie. In fact, let’s keep it at that from now on. That means you don’t get to send mixed signals,” Lou snaps heatedly, standing up abruptly and whirling to walk towards the bed to grab Debbie’s phone and put it inside her purse forcefully.

Debbie stands up awkwardly, looking at Lou inching closer to her, tries to clear the dismay from her face when Lou shoves the purse to her chest, dismissing her.

“You don’t get to flirt with me the way you do and then push me away whenever you feel like me flirting back is too much.” Lou hisses, careful to keep her voice low, threateningly forcing her to step back towards the exit without ever touching her, even when Debbie trips on her feet a little.

“You don’t get to put your hands on me and then act like I’m the one who’s pushing it too far when I lean into your touch,” Lou pushes on, almost nose to nose, blindly opening the door beside her, glare glued to her own.

“You don’t get to act jealous and possessive when a woman looks at me, because I see you, Debbie, and I’m not your fucking toy. You don’t get to play with my feelings anymore,” Lou finishes, radiantly angry; but before she shuts the door in her face, Debbie manages to catch the hurt that passes across her blazing eyes.

Chapter 4: Death

Debbie’s eight the first time it happens. It was supposed to be exciting, the first winter storm of the year, but that day something more than just snow falls around her and eight-year-old Debbie dies, along with most of her innocence and all of her immaturity.

And at that moment, dying felt like this: Being held from behind by big muscular arms that are too strong for her fragile body. The cold barrel of a gun like a kiss of death pressed against her temple, the foul smell of alcohol hot in contrast at her cheek when the man speaks,

“I won’t hurt her,” he says, voice thick. You already are, Debbie wants to say, “if you just give my boss his money back.”

The playroom is freezing despite the fact that the heater is working. The temperature was not supposed to be a problem because Debbie took it all into consideration when she made the list of things she needed to keep herself warm: her fluffiest stuffed toys, piled up pillows and blankets on the carpet and a mug of hot cocoa. Now the improvised fort sits abandoned and the beverage must be as cold as she is in just her pajamas.

His father looks at her like he’d just realized she was there, and Debbie tries her best not to cry because he doesn’t like it when she does but the tears prickle her eyes all the same.

Oh, but then.

The hesitance she reads in his face digs a hole deep and wide in her chest that webs out and expands, expands, expands with every passing second until there’s no more room and suddenly something clicks and everything shatters, tears spilling down her face that somehow have nothing to do with the stranger holding her and everything to do with the one that’s looking at her like he’s considering her worth with mild resentment, like she just cost him his plan. She understands, because she’s little but she’s always been too smart for her own good.

Mr. Ocean opens his mouth to speak, but before he does, the man’s cell phone rings and he interrupts him to answer, the hand holding the gun still aimed at Debbie’s head.

She stands in place, dead but not quite gone. Listening, but not really.

She somewhat feels like she’s escaped her body to watch the scene develop from above, like the camera that hangs on the corner of that very room— unmoving, quiet, like an all-seeing eye rhythmically blinking red.

Her gaze darts down to stare at her own chest quizzically like it’s a stranger’s, contracting with sobs that she didn’t know were breaking through her. It looks like it should hurt but it doesn’t. She tries to logic her way out of it, to will her body to stop whatever it’s doing because it’s scaring her, but there’s no response. She feels empty, like static on a radio signal that chirps with every little breath she takes but that communicates nothing but buzzing hollowness, interference noise that makes no sense to her.

The idea of continuing to exist physically trapped, limited and controlled this way suddenly overwhelms her.

She says, “I can’t feel,” but it comes from the voice inside her head instead of her own, the words caught in her throat like fragments of bone.

She forces herself, ruthlessly, to swallow in much the same way she does when they have Borscht for dinner. Her mouth is sandpaper dry, but she thinks it would be silly of her to ask for water.

Instead, as if she were in class, she tries really hard to pay attention to the man’s chatter that continues to reach her ears like her head is sunken underwater, distorted. With difficulty, because the lurch of terror that is making her sick is still there, she follows the sound of the voice that seems to be coming from another room until the syllables start to make sense. There are curse words, lots of them, then something about his boss’s rule, not harming any kids and coming back. For her father, she supposes. It should make her feel bad. She feels guilty that it doesn’t.

When the man lets her go, she barely registers the burn on her knees as they hit the carpet.

After some time, when she looks up, there’s no one else in the room with her. After some more time, when the sun is starting to set, Danny finds her, curled up on the bed of pillows and talking to herself. Lately, he’s been ignoring her because he thinks he’s a grown-up, and Debbie only notices his presence when he asks if she’s seen his special deck of cards.

“No,” she says. Something in the way she’s said it must’ve caught his attention. He stares at her. She stares back. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks in that worried voice that’s reserved only for her.

She tells him what happened mechanically because they never told her she should keep it a secret and she likes that he is finally talking to her again like he used to. She decides she won’t cry because she’s afraid he’ll think she’s not strong and she wants to prove that she is. Danny looks at her like she’s weird, as if trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. Before Debbie can get defensive because she thinks he doesn’t believe her, he rolls his eyes, embarrassed about what he’s about to do, then hugs her for the first time in months and sits with her to teach her about Schödinger’s cat.

He says it might make her feel better.

It... doesn’t.

She understands the concept, kind of. Mostly. But it still upsets her that Danny is defending their father to some extent and acting like “dad isn’t capable of doing such a thing.”

“Yeah, to you,” she thinks.

“You weren’t there to see it but I was!” she wants to say.

Instead, because she’d hate to make her brother sad:

“Thanks. I feel much better.” Her index and middle finger are crossed behind her back. “Now leave, loser. Unless you wanna have a sleepover with me and Ms. Sprinkles.”

She looks pointedly at the light pink teddy bear that’s been sitting next to them smiling perpetually.

He leaves and she doesn’t sleep, that night and many others, wondering what would’ve happened if rules about harming children didn’t exist and her father hadn’t been interrupted.

Debbie hears what people don’t say. Always has: the “I’m not” behind every dishonest “I’m sorry” she’s ever received, the “I’m doing this to hurt you” that’s covered up by “this is for your own good”, the “but” after every “I love you” before the words are even spoken.

“but you can’t give me what I want and this is not enough.”

“but there’s something wrong with the way you handle emotions that I can’t quite figure out and I rather leave.”

“but what is it with you and your family?”

“but you won’t open up and let me in.”

To read unspoken words and non-verbal cues is freeing as it is useful. She did make a living out of it after all, collecting paychecks thanks to her ability. Or more like stealing them. But for all her skills, she’s pretty bad at reading angry Lou, because her anger has never been directed at her and she doesn’t know what to make of that because it’s not the type of anger she’s used to being surrounded by growing up.

No shouting, no threats, no punishment. There’s only cold and she’s good at reading people but she’s not good at reading... nothingness.

She’s lost track of how many times she’s knocked on the door that Lou just closed, fighting not to let her body sink to the floor. She waits for the clamor, for the door to open again and the sharp accusations to cut deep into her but they never come. She waits and waits and waits but she’s not sure what answer she’s expecting, if there will be one at all, because she’s saying something but she doesn’t know if she’s apologizing or cursing or making sense at all because already she’s starting to experience the sounds coming out of her mouth in the surreal, distorted way she recognizes and loathes.

Lou’s silence is so loud she can hear it over her own heartbeat thrumming erratically in her chest and echoing in her ears.

Her heart weighs heavy in her chest when she accepts silence is an answer in itself like she used to accept her mom telling her TV static is expected during a storm. The last thing she remembers before willing her feet to leave is telling Lou “I understand”, and braces herself to listen to white noise buzzing and humming, glitched and broken, for however long it takes for the signal to come back.

Lou doesn’t speak to her for four days. Her absence in the aftermath is abrupt, it leaves a mute echo everywhere and only hollowness to fill her outstretched hands with, wrapping her up in a cemetery quiet similar to the one she sees in the movies after a grenade has gone off.

Coincidentally, she feels the passing of time acutely during those days, like a sharp blade that is slowly sinking into her, making it bleed pain inside - pain that seeps over, under, around.

She’s thought about calling her, about texting her. She’s considered knocking on her door, going to the places she knows she frequents, asking about her to a friend in common.

Endless possibilities, but all of them with the same result: breaking her trust by disrespecting her boundaries. And as a result, watching the ledge she is standing on begin to crumble, only to shatter and widen the space between them like a rift in the landscape.

Lou has never asked anything of her before. Debbie owes her this, respecting that she wants to be left alone.

It is more than she knows what to do with, but she tries.

It’s hard.

Debbie thinks that she should be used to knowing what dying inside feels like by now. She became capable of not being paralyzed by it because she’d been forced to adapt to survive as a little girl. Good times. The thing is, after she’d left the family house, she never felt the need to fight to regain control of herself again, and now that is happening to her more often than she considers fair and she feels out of practice.

She tries to remember how to block out her emotions enough to function properly but not so much that she disconnects from her body, because that’s even worse.

She can’t remember and she loses herself, over and over again. Each time is different, each time feels the same.

Five days after that day, the day when everything went wrong, she gets a text from her. Lou tells her she should talk with Tammy, then doesn’t reply to her when she tries to make conversation. Debbie takes the hint with a heavy heart, grateful that at least she is speaking to her, and eventually meets Tammy at a café after a long panic attack bent over behind a drugstore that has seen better days.

Tammy counts four different pill boxes at the bottom of Debbie’s purse when she opens it to put the paper with all the necessary information of the target into her bag. She is smart enough not to mention it but she does ask,

“Is that everything you need?”

“Yes,” she answers too quickly. Tammy looks at her, achingly sweet. Debbie’s right leg bounces impatiently.

“Debbie...” her voice holds an extra layer of caution like the one people use on wounded animals.

Even knowing she means well, she resents her for it.

“I’m fine,” she says, flat.

She’s not. Tammy must notice because she touches her arm very gently before saying goodbye.

Debbie finishes her tea watching the snowflakes fall outside the café window, one after the other. If she could muster any sort of fondness for it she would, but she just rolls her eyes because she has come to hate winter. No need for another reminder of how she feels inside.

There is a party being held at this hotel, Tammy had told her. Lots of rich people. Lots of stupid rich people. Lots of stupid rich people drinking. Easy. Tammy also telling her Lou would be there had been more than enough for Debbie to put extra effort into the way she looked. It was presumptuous and she hated herself a little bit for it but it made sense earlier.

Now, not so much. Dressing up is no fun when the only person she is hoping will notice is nowhere to be seen.

She mostly succeeds in not letting her eyes roam the room looking for her and do her part of the job - like she said, easy, really: run into businessman, swap key cards and put his in the plant pot near the entrance for Lou to pick it up and do the rest - but she can’t help the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat at even the suggestion of blonde hair.

It’s done in a matter of seconds and she sits at the waiting lounge by the reception area instead of joining the party, eyes glued to the Monstera Deliciosa.

She has to tear her gaze away when she feels fingers poking her shoulder. For a moment, her traitorous mind thinks it could be Lou and a rush of adrenaline courses through her but when she turns, it is a man that is looking at her expectantly. She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Hi, I’m Joe. Can I buy you a drink?” and then says something about seeing her there all alone but she’s distracted enough to miss most of his words.

She never gets the chance to see Lou that night-- by the time Debbie turns around to look back at the plant pot she is already gone.

Excusing herself absentmindedly to a confused Joe, she laments a quiet “maybe next time” on her way out, though she is not talking to or about him.

In the parking lot, she looks up at the barely shining stars hidden behind clouds that announce storms, self-conscious in only her aubergine dress. She tells herself she is shaking from the cold breeze that is curling sweetly around her, but she can’t justify the apprehension that’s radiating from her heart and pushing against the slashes of her ribcage.

So she looks up for a long time, lets the night engulf her until it feels like she’s suddenly in space. Darkness, no oxygen, no sound except for the rush of blood in her ears.

The silence expands.

There’s a sob trapped in her throat when she finally grabs the car keys from her purse, eager to get home and take off a dress that feels tighter by the minute, clinging to her in a suffocating way.

Debbie ponders what to do with the money on her account now that she’s not spending half of it going out to eat with Lou or purchasing top-shelf vodka from the fancy liquor store across the street to keep in her apartment— no use in doing that if the person she used to buy it for doesn’t stop by anymore.

The last bottle she bought for Lou has been sitting there half empty, untouched, for a week now. She feels like it’s mocking her by just existing but stops that train of thought before it evolves into something else and drags her away.

She grabs the bottle of wine next to it instead, her laptop, sits on the couch. She checks online shops to see if there’s anything worth buying instead of stealing.

Six open tabs later, she can’t really think of anything she wants besides... well.

She researches properties in Italy just to imagine what it would be like to live someplace else, far away.

It’s two weeks later that she finally meets Lou, really meets, for the first time in what felt like forever.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all lately. They have, but definitely not like this. Most of the conversations about how to approach their jobs have been over the phone and whenever they did saw each other it was painfully impersonal. They talked briefly about going separate ways after what happened but agreed that it made no sense to either of them. They’re just that good when they work together, seemed stupid to waste their potential.

Although in moments like these, Debbie regrets their decision.

Lou’s gaze focuses on anything over Debbie’s shoulder but never on her when she meets her in the casino bar. She sits next to her, close enough to touch if she wanted to (was allowed to), which is already nerve-racking enough, but then her hand covers Debbie’s, discreetly putting there the earpiece that’ll whisper numbers in her ear when she goes to play blackjack in a minute, and bittersweet ache fills her lungs. She feels like she might burst into tears when Lou breaks contact, already missing it.

Lou seems unaffected, a fake-warm smile on her face while she goes over her part of the plan monitoring the cameras. Debbie nods at her and tries to breathe through the pounding of a heart that seems too big for her chest so it looks they’re having a normal conversation to anyone who might be watching.

She tries to ignore Lou’s hand resting too close to hers, but can’t help it when her pinky twitches involuntarily to brush against Lou’s.

Debbie feels a hot rush of shame, embarrassment coloring her cheeks pink when Lou pulls her hand away almost immediately, giving her an accusatory look.

“Lou,” she says. Sorry, she means.

Both of them stay in silence, looking at each other for seconds that feel like forever.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” is all Lou says, and is gone before Debbie can respond.

Debbie stands to do what she came here to do on autopilot.

It becomes a routine. Days of silence that become a week, sometimes more, and then a text or a phone call or, if luck is on her side, she gets to see her.

“You look like shit,” Lou says one night after pulling off a job successfully, her smile the closest thing to experiencing what heaven is like.

They’re at the rooftop of the second hotel they’ve checked into with fake names in as many days. Lou is usually gone right after she finishes her part, so Debbie is pleasantly surprised she is still there with her, looking at her in a way she’s not quite familiar with. Almost tender, like the look the Lou that usually bleeds into her dreams has, but not quite. There’s an elusiveness and vulnerability to it that serves as a reminder of what she’s done to her, and suddenly all the exhaustion and sleep deprivation and guilt and shame she’s been burying hit. She is so, so tired she thinks any second her legs might give away. She sort of wishes they do, just so she would have an excuse to look away from Lou’s eyes.

“I also feel like shit,” she says, and hopes it didn’t sound as pitiful as she thinks.

Two things happen:

Something about the way Lou’s hands shake makes Debbie think she is about to reach out to her, a thought that is only reinforced by the way the air, biting and crisp just seconds ago, seems to shift and turn into a current of nervous anticipation, humming between them like a live wire.

A group of friends chooses right that moment to open the door that leads to where they are, startling them-- and just like that, the moment is gone.

In some ways, Debbie feels as though she’s been waiting her whole life for it to end.

“I should go,” Lou half-whispers, but to Debbie’s complete surprise, she doesn’t move.

The wind had ruffled through her blond hair and her eyes seem to be sparkling and it’s only then that Debbie realizes just how much she’s missedher. Warmth spools through her organs, for the first time in ages. She doesn’t want Lou to go. She tells her that.

Lou wavers.

Thoughts whirling, spiraling, Debbie blurts out, “Let’s go to my place. Let’s just talk.”

Lou considers this, frowns for a moment as she contemplates an answer.

“Please,” Debbie adds softly, and the low timbre of her voice is enough to make Lou nod.

“Okay,” Lou breathes, and it’s filled with so much-- something familiar, something electrifying and pulsating and right.

The tiny quirk to her lips, the molten eyes that shine as if the sun had set in their depths ignite a flicker of hope inside Debbie. She breathes in, feels a pressure against her ribs, scribbles of emotions weaving a thread, like a spiderweb, around her heart, stitching up the broken parts together and mending the cracks.

“Okay.” She repeats, voice only trembling a little.

Everything is quiet around them except for the sound of heels piercing the silence and echoing on the city streets as they make their way to her apartment.

Determined to keep her nervousness at bay, Debbie focuses her attention on her steps, studying the ground moving underneath her feet, the yellowy blobs of light thrown downward by street lamps, the shadows that contrast with the neon pink that dances with a tidal motion as they pass by a tattoo parlour. The lights wavers and flares in yesterday’s rain reflection, and it’s not long until she feels dizzy and has to will her gaze to focus on something else.

Lou, looking straight ahead, all business, doesn’t seem to notice the way her eyes roam over her body, appreciating the black turtleneck that insinuates soft curves, the red faux-fur jacket thrown on top that ends at her hips where toned legs clad in leather pants start and end in graphite ankle boots to tie everything together.

Just when she’s about to complain about how long it’s taking them to get to her place, Lou stops abruptly, and Debbie almost bumps into her.

“Like what you see?,” she jokes, amused, and Debbie would’ve acted like she wasn’t blatantly staring if she weren’t too tired to pretend she wasn’t doing just that.

And this Lou who is trying to hide in the shadows the playful smile at the curve of her mouth, whose gaze feels like it’s reaching something remote inside her, reminds her so much of the Lou that would throw an extra blanket on her in the middle of the night or bring her something to eat when she would forget how to be a person that she wants to swallow the faint curl of her lips with her own and just soak in the warmth that is working through her body and pouring over and into every part of her. It’s hard to stop herself from reaching out, but she does, too afraid of breaking this image that seems to soften her around the edges, diffusing the coldness that had settled into a pang in her chest ever since she stopped talking to her.

“I’ve missed you,” is all she murmurs. Is all she can say.

This time, not only Lou’s eyes don’t skitter away from hers at the raw honesty, but there’s no bitterness to her voice when she eventually says,

“Yeah,” she agrees, not scornful, neither her tone nor her look. Just understanding in that way of hers that still surprises Debbie to this day.

Lou has written her code into hers with such naturality that it’s hard not to believe they’re not intrinsically linked, she is so planted into her that she is able to sense everything she’s feeling as if she were experiencing the emotions herself. There is a part of her that is afraid she will never be able to fit as seamlessly into Lou’s life here as she had been able to fit into hers. But standing in front of her apartment with the world seemingly slowed to a standstill in a city looks like it’s been here forever, silent and untouched and unwavering, she makes a decision.

“Let’s get inside,” Debbie says after a beat. Lou nods.

Her grip is tight on the keys when she moves to open the door. If she listens closely, she can pick up the steady sound of Lou’s breathing behind her, even over the thunderous beat of her own heart, and sense the tenseness of her posture mirroring hers. She feels faintly sick with anticipation as she steps inside.

By march the winter is already starting to die, but the cold in the flat is still present-- delicate, calm, the fading baseline at the end of a song. She doesn’t have to ask Lou to take a seat because Lou is already moving to her spot on the couch, the one Debbie avoided even looking at just hours ago and it’s almost like nothing ever happened between them.

Almost, anyway.

Lou is looking up at her like she’s waiting for something and, oh. Debbie had forgotten how her irises look under the soft glow of the fish tank, fire burning blue.

The scent of her perfume is comforting as she closes the distance between to sit next to her, hands pressed between her knees. Lou doesn’t comment on her closeness but clears her throat impatiently. Debbie knows she’s invited her for a reason other than just sitting in silence.

She wants to say Don’t make me say everything you already know but she’s tired of disappointing the people she cares about.

Fuck it.

“I need a drink, first,” she says, mostly to herself. Lou agrees with the softest smile, nodding.

It is essential to her psyche to distract herself so as not to have an anxiety attack, so she takes her time walking over to the kitchen, putting some ice cubes into two glasses and pouring more than enough whiskey into them. When she comes back, she finds Lou in the same place she’s left her, only mildly surprised she’s still there. Lou stares back with interest through her inspection, head slightly tilted to one side.

She offers one glass to her as she swipes a droplet of condensation off the side of her own, sitting next to her once again. They sip in silence for a second, both cognizant of how they filled in the void last time they were in a similar situation.

It isn’t the liquor, but she finds her throat cleared to speak, emboldened by it, committed.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, meeting her eyes, sharp and full of emotion. It’s a relief to look at her and see something familiar.

“I know,” Lou says.

It’s not enough, though. She needs to get this right.

“No, listen,” she continues, conscious of their proximity. “You were right,” she acknowledges. “I was-- I am terrified of my feelings.”

It’s comforting how transparent she sounds when she says it. Lou chews her lip, light dancing to life in the once guarded ice of her eyes, making her feel twelve and daring.

A sort of sound of amusement, and then: “Feelings, huh? I think we’re going too fast.”

Lou’s mouth, shaped like laughter, makes it hard for Debbie to concentrate, but with a proud tilt of her chin she manages to say,

“Feelings, yeah. I just... It’s not an excuse, but I don’t have much experience with those.”

“Deb—” Lou starts, with a soft look accompanied by an even softer smile.

“And I’m tired of that,” she goes on quietly, frown heavy on her face.

She thinks of how right the confession feels, and how true it is. For someone who considers herself strong and fearless, all her life she had instinctively leapt back when it came to facing her emotions, used to disdain emotions because to her, they meant weakness-- weakness she didn’t need or want. She has sought physical company as frequently as she wanted, but never committed to anything past that because she’s experienced first hand what loving someone does to you if things were to go wrong.

But things don’t have to be that way, she understands that now.

“And if I’m being completely honest, I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s not your decision to make, is it?” she asks, voice imbued with the knowledge of one who already knows the answer.

The way she is looking at her is something out of a movie, in that way of hers that even if the best artist were to paint her they wouldn’t get the emotions quite right. So she looks and looks and looks. She doesn’t answer but she lets herself enjoy the longing, the unbreakable circling, the pressure of every single one of her molecules being pulled by Lou’s gravity. She doesn’t answer, not with words, but she lets herself fall into everything that is Lou, her lips against hers a near-worshipful thing, and for once, she’s not afraid of how Lou makes her want for things she never thought she would.

All her guilt collapses until it’s nothing but a flat surface where she can rebuild again, something better, something with Lou.

That is the last thought that reigns in her mind as she pulls her closer, fingers tracing the nape of her neck, slipping through silky hair like she’s holding onto a lifeline. And then she’s too preoccupied with the delirious torment of Lou’s body pressing against her-- skin warm, mouth pliant, greedy-- to think about anything else.

#fanfiction #my fics #O8's fanfic #ocean's 8 #debbie ocean #lou miller

9 notes · View notes

sakuraryomen01 · 6 months

Text

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Reader/ .o9

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, Gojo getting a drink of water and healing up his cheek, soft! sukuna, fairly fluffy morning with sukuna and gojo, gaming with geto, a new pov!

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

words: 4.256k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n:: not only am I starting to cook something up in my lil pea brain, i am making more fanfictions on wattpad as well! i don't know if i've let y'all know that yet but i felt i needed to tell you! there's going to be some only-wattpad reads on there (unless taken down ofc) that are hopefully gonna be good!

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

. . .

At first, Gojo thought that the night had started pretty decently.

He got a few new numbers at a party with Geto, aka his best friend, and a quick blow job from a lil blonde in the bathroom. He can’t exactly recall where the loo was since he was just a smidge drunk. Normally, his head would be throbbing from the alcohol within a few minutes, but it was just a light buzz. Either way, the end of the night didn’t turn out that way sadly.

He had waddled on home after Geto dropped him off at the male’s dormitory to go park, his bunned up hair and silver rings flashing in the lamplight of a pole before he spun off to the student’s designated parking lot.

Gojo had started walking back, fumbling with his keys and phone. A drunken smile on his face while he hiccuped and a coo eliciting his throat, although he looked up and saw a very sexy silhouette walking his way from his base of origin. Quickly though, he saw that it was just you, a very flustered little mess walking from the building in your casual attire. Adorable.

Messing with you was like Gojo’s favorite pastime.

He stumbled over as best he could towards you, seeing just over his shifted sunglasses with the smallest of smiles on your face. But, it disappeared and changed into a concerned gasp. Gojo felt a soft hand on his forehead, though was somewhat shocked that you had the potential to reach such a height. Though he was leaning forward, sloppy and dirty this Satoru was.

He heard you speak, but the first half was blurred. You had asked him a question out of concern. “..Are you high, drunk, or sick?”

“My girl, you're judgy so muchy~ Let me live without demands!” Gojo said in a very matter of faculty way, at least that’s what he thought. Although, he was more curious as to why you were at the male’s dorm. It wasn’t a tutoring night, was it? Oh?

Maybe something else was happening? Hm? Sounds exciting and gossip worthy.

Sadly, there was very little to offer as you fixed him up before patting his shoulder and parting ways. Well, at least that’s how it was going until a pink haired blurr rushed over and there was a loud crack sound. There was also a thump sound, but Gojo’s eyes had already closed and a groan was leaving him before everything went black.

⇦ 🃍 🃎 ⇨

“You’re kidding me, right? You had to knock his ass out?”

What..?? Who?

“He was kissing your cheek, what was I supposed to do?!”

Oh, so like a pervert? Huh, I wonder who that is..

“It’s Satoru Gojo, he’s not that big a pervert, idiot! Honestly, now he’s going to have a sore jaw or something worse!”

Gojo’s hearing was definitely coming back, there was no ringing anymore. That’s a win. And there’s two people fighting over him, one of them was a girl– he could tell. Also win. The other was a guy. Still a win, but it depends on how he looks. Either way, Gojo’s eyes slowly began to open and the light of the tv was starting to register for him. The room he was in was a living room, with a blanket poorly draped over his middle and left leg.

It wasn’t that big a deal though, seeing as he was tall as fuck and not many blankets covered him now.

“..Mghh..” He grumbles, pressing his brows together and lifting a sore hand up to his cheek. Feeling the damage, there was just a sore ache and a bump. But thankfully, whoever found him gave him an ice pack for the swelling. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Oh he’s awake?” A man’s voice rings through Gojo’s ears and there’s a sudden twinge of annoyance with it. “Finally. He’s stinking up my couch.”

“You’ve gotten really dramatic,” A woman’s voice spoke back, a sigh of annoyance before stepping over to check on the currently disgruntled Gojo.

Gojo’s eyes managed to adjust to the light and landed on you, smiling and reaching up to pat your thigh. “Oh, so you are the one fighting with some guy over me. I’m touched.”

You chuckle at this before removing the ice pack, checking his jaw and cheek before returning it to its spot. Looking over at the man at the kitchen counter, Gojo recognized the pink fluffy hair and sat up. Seeing a very ruffled freshman with drooping eyelids and resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. Eyes glued to Gojo and you being close with a slight annoyance on his face.

I mean, of course he would. You’d be mad if you knocked someone’s lights out and they were moved into your living room to recover.

“So, can he go now?” Sukuna muttered, pressing his brows together and letting out another sigh of annoyance. Clearly Sukuna didn’t like having other guys over. It’s giving, no friends?

“Just relax,” You said, giving Gojo’s head a pat and huffing. “He’s not that bad of a stay.”

A dark look crossed the pink haired punk's face at the mention of Gojo, but it quickly faded as he made his way over to the kitchen’s fridge. He pulled out what seemed to be either a beer or a soda can and cracked it open, taking a sip and walking over. Letting his free black nail painted hand sit comfortable on his hip, looking down at the situation with a disapproving glare.

Gojo chuckled weakly at this and sighs, rubbing his jaw and returning the glare. “What~ Don’t trust me?”

“Not really,“ Sukuna replied flatly and grumbled, lowering his drink from his lips and nodding towards his room. “Either way, she’s gonna be sleeping in there. You.. You just stay there. I’ve heard about you and your moments with girls.”

While you sat there, watching the obvious alpha vs alpha moment– total cringe by the way– you laughed and grabbed some blankets and pillows that decorated the couch and started getting the space ready for two men to sleep in.

“Boys,” Is all you said while you roll your eyes, taking the bundle of warmth into the next room while the said boys continued their little staring contest.

You quickly made a place for Gojo and Sukuna to both sleep in the living room, although everything in your mind said to just switch with Sukuna instead. You couldn’t go into Sukuna’s room, it’s too embarrassing and personal wasn’t it? For him at least?

Nonetheless, you finished setting up your bed and quickly making sure with Sukuna that it was absolutely alright to sleep in there, you badgered him into watching three different horror movies with Gojo. Picking between the three though, it was a little tougher than you had planned it to be.

“Friday the 13th is one of the dumbest horror movies,” Sukuna said, arms crossed on his end of the coffee table.”I like seeing tits as much as the next guy, but Nightmare on Elm Street has more story.”

Oof, you got him there, Sukuna.

“At least Friday the 13th is better than Halloween!” Gojo whined in response, lifting up the movie’s case and shaking it. Pointing at the label, right under the “uncut” bit of it. “At least it’s not this garbage! This has almost no plot other than a psycho chasing after his baby sister like a weirdo.”

True, true..

While the boys continued to rant and grumble, you stood from your cushion on the floor and grabbed the movie you had chosen. It was fairly recent, kinda creepy and gross, and with a dancing clown. Opening the case, the crack caught the attention of the two guys at the table and you pop in the DVD. There was a triumphant smile on your face as you made your way to the kitchen and grabbed three bowls and spoons.

“What did you put in?” Sukuna asked, his brows furrowed in obvious annoyance. “We agreed we would be coming to a decision together.”

You shrug and pull out a big tub of ice cream you had purchased earlier when Sukuna had gotten sick. “Y’all keep bickering so I decided to choose mine. It’s a little spooky, a little gross, and has a clown in it.”

The white haired, blue eyed, slightly drunk Gojo shuddered and pressed his brows together. He had seen this movie with Geto before and the fear inside him made him cringe. “Really? It? Did you have to choose that creepy movie?”

Sukuna waves a hand, watching you put ice cream into the bowls from the massive tub you had bought. “Hold on, is it the 1990 version or the 2019 one?”

You sigh and shake your head as you finish putting up the ice cream and make your way over to the table. Placing the bowls on the table and making at least one of the boys smile, while sitting between them and lifting the remote to skip through the previews that were already playing. Sukuna grumbles under his breath, something he appears to be doing often, and you play the movie. The scene starts on a thundering day in Derry, the gray sky giving an ominous feel to the already creepy music that was playing. The camera pans to a large and abundant home that held two brothers, Billy the oldest, and Georgie the youngest.

The pair are currently working on a paper boat, Billy smiling once he finishes and turns to his little brother. Asking him to go and get some wax to finish their little paper boat, but Georgie complained until he was finally convinced to go get the wax.

During this, Gojo had managed to scoot his way over to join you and face the TV screen. Actively scooping his ice cream with a childish gleam in his eye as he watched the movie, while Sukuna sat somewhat farther away, side eyeing the both of you with a huff and an upset look on his pouty face. While you wanted to tease and make fun of the face, you stayed quiet as the movie played on.

The iconic 2019 scene with Georgie and Pennywise started, the clown being played by the fabulous Bill Skarsgård. You smile and look between the two men before smirking and announcing suddenly;

“Bill is really pretty.”

The sudden confession earned you a confused side eye from the boys, their brows raising in perfect harmony. “Sorry?” Gojo started, still sucking on his cream covered spoon between his pink lips. You chuckle at the dumbfounded looks and stay quiet, letting their minds fester in confusion until the scene where Pennywise and Georgie meet and start to talk.

Sukuna’s tongue clicks at the cgi that plays later, making you giggle and lean back against the couch, continuing to munch on the ice cream and snuggling into your blankets. Smiling as the boys also got comfortable. Sukuna puts his bowl on the table once his dessert is gone, Gojo’s already on the table since he finished a while ago.

While you wanted to stay up and watch more movies with them, your eyes started to slowly close. And while the main group of the movie started getting hallucinations of Pennywise, and their darkest fears, you had fallen asleep. Head resting on Sukuna’s shoulder and thoroughly surprising him.

Gojo glanced over with half his face behind the blankets and chuckles, smiling slightly at the cutesy scene before him. “Aren’t you two snuggly~? Kinda cute of you to act like that, punk.”

“Says the punk,” Sukuna grumbled back, brows pressed together in a quiet attempt to regain some dignity. Though, that didn’t come back as he lifted you into his strong and warm arms, biceps flexing under the weight. “I’ll get her to bed. You just.. don't touch anything."

Gojo lifts a hand and uses his other to make a cross across his chest, turning his attention back to the movie and letting Sukuna take you to bed. (But once Sukuna got back, he was definitely convinced that Gojo used it as an excuse to get more ice cream.) The trip wasn’t long, and Sukuna couldn’t help but glance down at your sleeping face before entering his own room, seeing your cute little lips still as plump as before. Doing that same pout they always did whenever you slept.

The pink haired bad boy wasn’t particularly proud that he remembered your sleeping face from years ago, but he still did. It doesn’t matter anyways. Sukuna didn’t want to get cuddly anymore.

He’s not the kid he once was, the one that followed you around during school so that he could keep an eye on you. To protect you from all the other snot nosed fourth graders that dared side-eye you a certain way. That wasn’t the same Sukuna Ryomen that was carrying you to bed right now.

Once he had placed you on the mattress, he let his mind wander for a moment and he brushed his fingers lightly against your cheek. Pushing some stray hairs behind your ear with a small hum– he didn’t want to enjoy it, despite all the little holes inside him begging to.

With much restraint, Sukuna’s hand removed itself from your cheek. There was a weird twinge in his chest at this, his hand even clamping up and turning into a fist as he stood. Patting his shorts off though, the feeling soon left. But he felt it linger in his heart when he left the room and closed the door, walking back into the living room to see that Gojo had already claimed the couch and was nuzzling into a pillow asleep.

Woe is the one with no bed to slumber..

With a sigh, Sukuna gathered the empty bowls and went to wash them up in the sink. Letting the warm water from the faucet wash away all the bubbles and cloudy thoughts in his head. Watching the suds foam around his fingers and the sponge, wiping away the ice cream residue on the bowels and spoons. The urge to get a beer and fall in bed with you though was powerful, so all his restraint was holding him back from doing so.

“What the hell..” He muttered to himself, letting one of the spoons slip from his grip and clang in the metal sink. “Ah, shit..”

When did he become so soft? It’s been a month, hasn’t it?

Sukuna stills, squeezing the sponge lightly in his grip. Realizing that it took just a month– maybe even a few weeks– for you to already worm your way back into his heart. He didn’t want that, he didn’t need it. That little childish promise he made all those years ago was just some little dream he once had. It had no real meaning, no need to further investigate.

“..That’s it..” Sukuna says quietly to himself, rinsing off the bowls and spoons before putting them on the rack. Wiping off his hands and going to get a spare change of clothes quickly, making sure to keep quiet as best he can to not wake you or the punk on his couch.

He got his coat and his shoes, grabbing his keys and taking one last glance back at his now full dormitory. Grimacing at the pervert on his couch, and the girl in his bed, he left and locked up the apartment. Rushing down the hall, despite it being almost twelve at night, to find a girl willing to release himself on. Sukuna had to get you out of his head, he didn’t care how, he didn’t care who.

Letting you control over his heart was something he didn’t want you to do to him again.

⇦ 🃍 🃎 ⇨

After you had woken up in your childhood best friend’s bed, you were quick to clean up the room as best you could before leaving to ask to borrow the shower. What you didn’t expect was to find Sukuna missing from his sleeping area on the floor. You were curious but didn’t want to call him, seeing as he was an adult and could take care of himself.

While you were anxious about using it without permission, you stripped in his room and got a towel to wrap yourself up in. Putting your dirty laundry and undies into the washing machine before heading into the bedroom to use the shower. You went to work washing your body, making sure to take care of your hair and face properly, even though you didn’t have your face washing items with you on hand.

Then again, you didn’t plan on staying the night at Sukuna’s dorm.

Now that you thought about it, sleeping in Sukuna’s bed was a lot more embarrassing than you thought. Letting your thoughts wander, you started to remember how warm the bed actually was. It was comfortable, with sheets as soft as clouds, and a pillow that hugged your face and relaxed your neck throughout the spine.

Blissfully remembering your sleep and the peaceful dreams that clouded them, you got out of the shower and dried off. Wrapping a towel around your chest, taking special care to make sure the slit of the towel was covered before leaving the bathroom only to be startled and slam the door closed just as quickly as you had opened it.

Sukuna. Behind the door.

“...What the hell?” His voice croaked out after a second– once you had finished screaming your heart out of course. “What are you doing in a towel?!”

“SHOWERING, OBVIOUSLY!!”

There was more silence between you two, before you cracked the door open to see Sukuna rummaging through his drawers for something. Completely shielding his view of you, which made your heart throb slightly. Doki Doki? You got out of the bathroom and squirmed in your spot by the door before Sukuna tossed a large shirt over his shoulder at you and grabbed some shorts as well.

His brows pressed together with a gruff tone to his voice. “Go on, put them on.”

“Ah, Sukuna..” You blush slightly at the gesture, shaking your head when you catch the shirt. “R-Really, I’m okay–”

“I’m not letting you walk around with your pussy out. Put it on.”

The vulgarity in his words make your face flush bright red. Steaming so badly you swore you heard the sounds of a kettle whistling in your head. With a shaky sigh, you lift the shirt over your still damp hair and turn to face the bathroom. The cool fabric touches your skin, sending small waves of goosebumps across your arms and legs. Once the shirt was on fully, you pulled the towel out from underneath the shirt and patted down the bum portion and front a little before looking back to Sukuna.

“..N-Now the shorts.” He says calmly, averting his attention from you and tossing over the shorts, sitting on the bed with a hand covering a good portion of his face. “Hurry up. The breakfast I got for you and that twink is gonna get cold.”

“Oh? That’s where you went?”

Pulling up the shorts over your legs and waist, Sukuna nods and slowly starts making his way out of the room. Face still covered in what you could only imagine as pure embarrassment of the situation. Sorry Sukuna..

You made yourself look normal, drying your hair out and applying some lotion you got from the bathroom, before getting out of the room and into the main living area where Gojo was already up and rubbing his sore and sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” He said, a pout to his lip at the sudden disturbance of being awake. “Shower? You smell nice.”

You nod and pet his head, chuckling before heading over to the counter and looking at the breakfast Sukuna claimed to have brought home. He lifts a bag with a bright label and begins pulling out platters. The see-through lids reveal hotcakes with other assortments of breakfast items and some syrup. Sukuna placed these platters on the counter while you stood next to him and watched his movements.

Personally, he thought this was kinda cute. He wouldn’t tell you that though. He’s not that kind of guy to get all mushy over feelings.

So, he settles for a small pat on the head, a ruffling of your still damp hair and hums. “Grab a platter and some utensils. It’s messy too so get a few napkins.”

You raise a brow and look over at the pink haired man, pursing your lips. “I’m not a messy eater, you know that!”

“That’s not what the younger you would say,” Sukuna teases, sitting at the couch– practically crushing Gojo’s legs– and flipping through channels on the TV until he found the news station. Letting your broil in your own embarrassment at the mention of your childhood eating habits.

“Y-You.. Just.. shut up.”

There was a triumphant smirk on his face. He won.

You gathered the remaining food and sat on the floor between the two, handing Gojo a platter as well and starting to eat. Giving thanks for the food before watching the TV as well, grumbling to yourself. “Can’t we watch some cartoons or something? It’s a Saturday!”

“Cartoons are for babies,” Sukuna responded while shoveling down a pancake. Whole. Like a damn snack. “I want to see the weather at least.”

“That’s so old of you,” Gojo huffed. “Be cool for once.”

Sukuna returned with an authoritative grunt and quietly watched the screen as the weather analysis was brought up. “Silence and eat.”

The forecast predicted sunshine during the morning and afternoon with relatively calm winds and decent heat. During the evening though, there was a slight chance of rainfall or a mild thunderstorm. It didn’t matter much to you, seeing as you’ll be at your dormitory gaming with Geto later.

“Nice, now you know what’s gonna happen,” You say, turning your attention back to Sukuna. His maroon eyes turned to you, glazed over with some kind of annoyance. You smirk and lift your hand over your shoulder for the remote, wiggling your fingertips slightly. “May I, sir?”

He takes a deep breath and hands over the remote and slowly goes insane as some cartoons were flipped to. Their annoying intro songs playing and driving him even deeper into a Hell he didn’t wish to go down.

⇦ 🃍 🃎 ⇨

That day during your classes, they felt like a fever dream.

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Everything went by in a blur, and you kept replaying the events of this morning in your head. Seeing Sukuna in such a calm state, it made your chest ache. You felt a small twinge at the thought of how he was every morning. Borderline obsessing over it.

It wasn’t until you had a talk with Geto did you clear your head.

Kicking someone’s ass at Mario Kart was every child's gamer dream.

Geto’s fingers tapped at the buttons, as did you. Focused on the screen as you discussed your struggling, somewhat creative love life– slash friendship recovery. That’s what it was supposed to be in the first place.

“So.. what you’re saying is..” Geto trailed, turning a sharp corner on the rainbow bridge and grumbling. “..Sukuna saw the goods?”

Your cheeks burn a little and you pout your lips, clicking the toggles and buttons. “No.. He just saw me from out the shower in a towel. He also got breakfast, and then drove me to classes today too.”

Geto side eyes you with a small smile and hums. “Interesting.”

“And then he says to not worry about it and that he’ll return my clothing once they’re done by tomorrow ‘cause he’s going to the gym and he’ll swing by. Swing by? Not only does he do things like this for me, but he also let me keep one of his old shirts! He’s sending mixed signals all the time! He’s more confusing than most of my history homework.”

Geto nods, still focusing his game, he listens with a smirk to his face. His brain worked overdrive just imagining all the drama that was going on. To him, he knew what the problem was. No one told anyone anything, letting the problems arise and fester. Letting their feelings just bubble in their chests but never say anything.

Such a troubled couple. Just talk, not that hard.

“Well, my advice is to relax more around him,” He says quietly, rushing over the finishing line and turning to look at you. “If you let your guard down a little, he’ll open up more– I think anyways. Sukuna’s a tough person, just let him lean on you. He clearly needs that.”

You stare at Geto in silence, somewhat stunned by the advice before nodding a little.

“Alright.”

Geto nods and stands, heading to the kitchen and grabbing a drink to have before heading off to his dorm and going to sleep. You had turned off the console you both played on, removing the game as well and giving your goodnights. Geto returned the pleasantries and headed out, leaving you and your already sleeping roommate alone in the home.

You got to bed rather quickly, showering quickly and putting your things away, changing into your pjs and folding Sukuna’s clothes neatly into your chair. You rolled around in your bed before facing said chair and staring at them, fiddling with your pillow casing and pressing my brows together.

“Sukuna.. What are you thinking..?”

. . .

a/n: how is y'all doing today? i hope you're doing good ^^;; i am currently struggling with my gen psychology class, it's nothing fancy rn but omg does my brain hurt. anyways, if u guys read the top, i have a wattpad now! there's nothing special about it right now since it's got the current fanfictions on there but yeah wanted to lyk!!!

a/n (.2):: i finished my gen psychology class with a B! i'm literally so proud oml but now i gotta struggle with history ~~;;; also, i'm trying to get back into thr groove for writing my drabbles again ~~;; lmao i'm literally so used to writing for fanfictions right now XD

Chapter Song Theme: — Play Date / Melanie Martinez / lyric video

last chapter || next chapter

260 notes · View notes