#blame it on the alcohol. OOC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starmapz · 4 months ago

Text

what you know - ch12: too sweet || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 19.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

With a resounding slam, the hood of a newly-serviced Nissan latches shut. Stepping over a dirty rag and a wrench, Sukuna wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and makes his way across the shop to his boss. With a flick of his thumb to point back to the little silver hatchback, he mutters an “it’s good,” before trudging back across the shop and ducking under a half-open garage door.

His breath billows out in front of him, the chill of the air frigid on his sweat-laden skin. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out his lighter, rubbing his thumb over the engraved last name across the metal. It’s only his father’s last name carved into the silver, yet he swears yours is written across it too, in the way that the former scrapes and scratches once littering the surface are now gone.

Blinking out of the trance he’s found himself in, he reaches back into his pocket for a cigarette, flipping the cardstock top open, only to be met with an empty box. With a sigh, he grinds the back of his wrist into his temple, attempting to keep grease and oil away from his face by using his wrist, only to look down at his wrist and see it, too, is covered in oil.

Shutting his eyes, he leans back against the smooth concrete of the building, letting his head fall back on the wall. Letting out a breath, he blinks and watches the warmth swirl into the air, not unlike smoke. He has half a mind to try to placebo himself into believing there’s nicotine running through his system, calming his rampant thoughts.

Letting the empty box hang at his side, he stares at the overcast sky. You had been so uncharacteristically cold this morning that he finds himself going over the barely-ten-minute coffee meeting as though it’s a script reading and he forgot every single one of his own lines. Swallowing hard, he contemplates what he could have said or done differently, but at the end of the day, one thing is painfully clear to him.

You have no trust in him.

He can’t be upset with you for that.

He wasn’t in a good place when you’d gotten into an argument, but a few weeks of hovering over your contact every time his chest tightened gave him a lot of time to consider things.

It took him too long to come to the conclusion that if he’d just shut his damn mouth, maybe you would have come to him first for this job. He wonders how many people you contacted before coming to him for something that’s right up his alley. Something that he might even like.

He watches his breath billow above him again with another long exhale.

He’d tried to blame it on the alcohol, on the weed, on his stress, on the hurt you’d caused that had caught him off-guard and pierced him when you’d accused him of being inebriated in front of the kids. He’d looked to blame anything or anyone but himself. No matter how many times he tried to find blame in something else, at the end of the tunnel, it was always him, a decision he’d consciously made.

If he’s about to let you down, then he’ll dig that grave himself. He won’t let you put him there at the cost of what’s left of his dignity.

He remembers the thought running through his head. He’d been so caught up in his own anger, pain, and hurt, that he’d actively made the decision to double-down. He’d gone too far.

It’s not like Sukuna wasn’t accustomed to looking after his brothers on his own, but he’d grown so used to having you around that he hadn’t realized just how much you did for him. It was never just about the kids, or studying, or classes. It went beyond that. You went beyond that.

You made him feel sane.

“Ryomen, the Ford’s ready.”

Crimson irises slowly slide towards his co-worker, a head of raven hair peeking out from under the half-open garage door. “Be there in a moment,” Sukuna grumbles, pushing off of the wall and tossing the empty cigarette box into the trash at the corner of the building before hunching to fit under the garage door. Setting his gaze on a red F-150, he sighs as he falls into familiar motions of servicing the truck.

The next few hours pass by in what feels like a slog of sweat and unwelcome stray thoughts, but before he knows it, he’s opening the door for Uraume back at his apartment. He’s not sure he remembers the last time he saw them, a scowl drawn across his brows as they slip into his home.

“Rume!” Yuji excitedly calls, running straight into Uraume’s outstretched arms.

“I owe you,” Sukuna sighs, running a hand through his wet hair.

Uraume takes a moment to evaluate Sukuna, a frown pulling at their lips. “You don’t,” they shake their head as they always do, pulling Yuji easily into their arms. “I’m happy to help.”

Sukuna swallows hard, nodding. “Right. Thanks.”

Satisfied with his reply, Uraume nods, taking a step towards Sukuna. Little Yuji clings to their shoulders, playing with the collar of Uraume’s shirt. “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about? All of this?” The motion they make with their chin towards- well, all of him- has Sukuna’s scowl deepening.

His gaze lowers to Yuji, before flickering towards Choso fiddling with his GameBoy on the couch. It doesn’t look like the system is even on from what he can tell. He’s listening in, Sukuna’s almost sure of it.

Choosing to leave out the details surrounding the argument he’d had with you, dropping out of school, and anything else that could concern his little brother, he runs a hand down his face. “Got an interview,” he sighs, explaining that it’s at your publishing house.

Uraume’s brow lifts, as though they’re surprised. He wonders if you mentioned the argument to them, but he doesn’t have the time to ask.

“I gotta shave,” he mutters to excuse himself, his footsteps heavy with the weight of responsibility and exhaustion as he makes his way to the washroom to clean up.

Once he’s satisfied with his gelled hair and shaved face, he tucks the black button-up dress shirt clinging to his biceps into his slacks. He doesn’t exactly have the luxury of buying a shirt that doesn’t look like it’s about to burst at the seams, so it’ll have to do. Maybe it’ll work to his advantage, as egotistical as it is to think. With one last onceover of his appearance, he flicks off the lights and makes his way back out to the kitchen.

Yuji and Choso are watching Uraume intensely as they teach the two boys how to fold paper shurikens. His eye involuntarily twitches as he envisions himself getting hit by a stray flying star when he gets home tonight. Yet another way for the boys to pester him.

“I’m headin’ out,” he grumbles, grabbing his keys and throwing his coat and boots on. Before he can slip out the door, Uraume grabs the back of his jacket, stopping him in his tracks.

Sukuna turns on his heel to face Uraume with frustration flickering in his gaze, but they interrupt before he can snarl whatever meaningless words were about to spill in his irritation. Their voice is low enough to keep out of earshot of his brothers as Uraume sternly tells Sukuna they won’t leave until he’s told them what’s going on, really. “You look like shit,” they add. “And not in the usual way.”

“Ouch,” he mumbles, but there’s truth behind their words that he can’t deny. He simply nods and pulls from their grip with a hostile tug, shutting the door behind him.

He remembers you being grateful that your office is on a bus route, and now he’s grateful for it too, given that it’s not exactly within walking distance and he’d prefer not to take a cab to work every day if he gets the job. As the bus comes into sight, he boards it, popping some change into the box at the front before taking a seat with his portfolio in hand.

He winces as the bus hits a pothole, the sudden realization of an oncoming headache spreading a grimace across his lips. With everything and nothing on his mind all at once, he supposes it only makes sense.

Taking a step off the bus into the brisk air, he follows the route on his phone down a block and a half before finding a small unmarked office building. Standing at three stories tall, the building sports a faded ivy green roof that doesn’t fit this decade, or even the last one, for that matter. The windows are all covered in a layer of mud and snow, while the walls of the building themselves are weathered from the elements quite harshly.

His eyes scan the blank sign at the entrance, before falling to a buzzer. A wavy paper with smeared ink is taped to the edge of the box with the names of eight businesses and the numbers to dial to reach them spread across it.

Dialing the number of the publishing house, Sukuna buries his hands in his pockets. There’s no noise as he waits and he finds himself nearly punching in the number again when a cheery voice picks up, inquiring how they can help.

“Here for an interview,” Sukuna states simply, his eyes sliding to the door as the lock pops. Following the signage, he makes his way up a set of stairs to the second floor, pushing his way through the corresponding door.

Within the office, everyone seems to be in somewhat of a mad dash. He’s sure there’s lots of work to be done, but it has an air to it of being amiss. He supposes that’s likely the impending loss of a client you’d mention hanging over the heads of the employees.

The publishing house isn’t particularly big, focusing primarily on local authors and young readers’ books. Despite the run-down appearance of the outside of the building, there’s a homely feel to the office itself. It’s well-lit with a bright oak floor sprawling beneath his feet into a combination of desks strewn across the floor, printers, stacks of paper and filing cabinets, and a few offices along the walls away from prying eyes. Plants line many of the desks and the far wall is covered in a mural of art from books that Sukuna can only assume the business has published. He’s pretty sure he even recognizes a character or two from books Yuji’s brought home from the school library.

Taking a step towards the reception desk, Sukuna shrugs his coat off in an effort to make a good impression with his outfit.

A woman with curly black hair looks up at him with a grin, using what could only be described as a customer service voice as she tells him to take a seat and she’ll inform Maya of his arrival. He can only assume Maya’s your boss, so he quickly shakes his head, asking for you, instead.

The receptionist eyes him curiously before rolling her chair back a few feet to poke her head into an office.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

The look on your face as you peek out at him in your usual pencil skirt and white blouse nearly kills him. Your eyes don’t light up as they once had, your face neutral for the split-second you actually meet his gaze, only to look away as though you can’t bear to keep eye contact, turning back into your office for a moment.

Swallowing feels like an effort with the way his throat tightens.

He hears a chair rolling and chatter from within the office you’d disappeared back into before the clack of your black heels across the floor makes its way to him. Getting to his feet, he’s forced to wonder what’s going through your mind as your eyes scan him, but apart from the obvious discomfort on your face as you continue to avoid eye contact, he can’t get a read on you. His heart sinks as you greet him in a tone that speaks strictly of business.

“You look nice,” Sukuna attempts to break the ice, but the twitch of your brow as you glance back at him doesn’t instill confidence.

“Thanks…” You whisper, beginning to lead the way towards the back of the office. You thread around a number of desks, greeting a few colleagues on the way before finally turning towards him in front of a door labelled Maya.

“So listen,” you begin with a sharp inhale, turning to face him and steeling yourself. “My boss values experience above everything else, which I know you don’t have in the industry, so put your focus on your portfolio, okay?”

Sukuna nods, opening his mouth to thank you, but you’ve already turned away to lead the way into the office. Fuck, if you’d just give him one goddamn moment. He follows after you, his eyes scanning the office for anything to help him with the interview itself.

Light shines onto the desk in the center of the room through the large window in the back, while books with colorful spines line the shelves pressed against the walls. An old typewriter sits on one of the higher shelves, a few plants dotted here and there for some added flair.

What really catches his attention is the photo of your boss kneeling down in front of a lake with two kids with bright smiles. They look about the same age as Yuji and Choso, and Sukuna has to tear his gaze away, blinking as he’s reminded of the life and experiences his brothers never got.

Running his tongue over his lower lip, he sets his attention on your boss. She’s older, with long, straight black hair and curtain bangs. A pair of glasses sits along the bridge of her nose, while a sleek gray suit-jacket is fitted perfectly to her form. She sits at the desk with an air of perfect control in spite of the underlying issue that Sukuna knows plagues the office.

As he approaches with a dossier filled with his portfolio and resume tucked under one arm and extends his other in greeting, he watches the judgment pass over her features. Sukuna’s come to expect it these days, the way eyes will roam his tattoos, silently coming to conclusions about him.

“This is Sukuna,” you introduce him as Maya takes his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sukuna.” She takes a seat, motioning to the chair opposite her, while you sit at his side. There’s something comforting in knowing you’re there with him, even if the feeling is fleeting as you straighten, a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes plastered to your face.

The interview is fairly standard, though Sukuna clearly doesn’t have the experience that your boss is looking for. Still, he sets the dossier on her desk in hopes that she’ll reconsider. If he’s lucky, between his portfolio and the possible loss of a client, she’ll give him a shot at the job anyway.

Maya pulls the folder towards her, flipping it open and pulling out a mix of anatomy pages, sketches of characters his brothers like, inked cleanly in fineline, and the real standouts, the fully realized characters within worlds. The first page has Alice in Wonderland characters, while the tail of the Cheshire Cat curls neatly around the image as though it belongs on a book cover. The second has the Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar in a more crafty style crawling up a tree. He’d pulled the drawings together late last night in an effort to impress her.

Your boss’ brows raise, clearly more impressed by Sukuna’s actual work than either his standard interview answers, or his underwhelming resume. Her reaction, although minute, makes the extra few hours he’d spent awake working on those spreads worth it.

“These are great,” she compliments, leafing back through the pages until her finger catches on a page, separating two pages that had stuck together. Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes the Sonic drawing that Yuji had colored with the half-finished Shadow had somehow made its way into his portfolio.

“That’s, uh, not meant to be in there,” he gruffs, his brow furrowing.

But it’s caught your boss’ attention in a way the rest of the art doesn’t. The scrappy way that Sonic is colored in comparison to the rest of his sketches that use primarily charcoal and graphite, tells of only one thing- a kid. Her whole demeanor shifts as she evaluates the way the cheap marker bleeds through the paper.

“Do you have kids?” She asks genuinely, backtracking quickly as she realizes that’s not exactly the kind of question you ask during an interview. “Sorry, don’t feel obligated to answer that.”

Sukuna sucks in a breath. “No, but I look after my brothers.”

Something softens in her eyes, as though memories of her own children- the ones in the photo Sukuna spotted- are running through her mind.

“May I ask how old they are?”

“Five and twelve.”

Sukuna wonders if you know that none of his employers knew about the kids until he had to get the letters from them for the case. He wonders if you know that by divulging his part of his life to your boss, to someone who doesn’t know him, he’s trying to show you that he’s changed. He’s trying to put in more effort, trying to give more of himself to you.

Maya simply smiles, a warmth held within her features that Sukuna’s not generally regarded with. “Do you have any experience working digitally?”

No. “Yes.”

Maya nods. “Did she fill you in on the deadline for the first seven projects?” She queries, shooting you a quick glance.

“She did.”

“Do you think it’s a possibility to have them done by tomorrow?”

Sukuna’s gaze slides over to you briefly, admiring the way the sun seems to make your skin glow. Swiping his tongue briefly over his lower lip, he nods. He’ll have to work through the night, but it’s not like he hasn’t done that before.

In his periphery, your shoulders sag in relief, grateful that all of your hard work won’t be for nothing. He knows he’s lost your trust, but even so, seeing your relief makes this all worth it.

Maya excuses you to discuss details of the arrangement with Sukuna, so you slip away with a nod. Shutting the door behind you, you let out a breath, making your way back to your office. Well, if it can even be called that.

The room is decorated to the nines with Yuki’s favorite books and photos of her and her partner at pretty much every huge travel destination you can imagine. It’s hard to believe she’s not even that much older than you, yet she’s got so many more life experiences. At least, ones worth hanging photos of.

A table that acts as your desk is pushed up to the front of hers, with an extension cable running up onto the table to plug in your monitor and the laptop the company had provided you. It’s nothing fancy, but you prefer it to being at one of the open desks littering the center of the office space. It gives you a semblance of privacy and some silence to work in, apart from Yuki’s occasional humming.

The blonde’s head raises as she spots you, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. “Puh-lease tell me it went well.”

“I think so,” you sigh, plopping down in your chair and letting it roll back a bit as you stare at the ceiling.

“Thank god, I swear Ayana just didn’t work on our books on purpose,” she groans dramatically, following suit as she pushes away from her desk, her chair rolling back until it hits the wall. “So who is he, anyway? Doesn’t seem like you know him well,” she comments, pointing the tip of a pen in your direction.

Momentarily forgetting about your makeup, you shake your head before pausing, staring down at your fingers that now glimmer with the makeup you’ve smudged. Doing your best to salvage it without being able to see your appearance, you wipe your pointer delicately around your eyes with a long sigh. “He used to be a friend,” you explain, deciding to leave it at that. It’s easier than over-analyzing the way he looked at you as you led him to your boss’ office.

For all your time spent keeping a straight face around him, you feel like you need an entire month-long vacation just to recover. And that hardly added up to twenty minutes. You know it’s for the best, but it’s hard not to give in when your heart still aches for him, even if your mind holds onto his misgivings still.

“Oh? Ohhh?” Your colleague pushes herself towards her desk, leaning over it and clasping her hands together eagerly. “Girl, spill.”

In hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have mentioned that you knew him.

“It’s not a big deal, we just had some disagreements and grew apart,” you shrug, feigning an air of nonchalance that clearly disappoints Yuki, but at least she believes you. You’re not sure you can bear the thought of picking at your wounds that had only just begun to scab over and heal. Especially not with Sukuna only a couple of offices away.

It’s not a case of being civil, you’re more than capable of being mature, and you’re sure Sukuna is, as well. That doesn’t mean you forgive him though. After all, you need to protect yourself first and foremost.

Yuki pouts, staring in disappointment at the colorful arrangement of books on one of her many shelves. “I was hoping your story would be at least a ten minute distraction from work,” she grumbles.

Shaking your head with a smile, you chuckle at your colleague. “Come on, your projects aren’t even that bad.”

In a fit to prove you wrong, Yuki is quick to pick up a stack of paper, wiggling it in the air. “Do you want this pile of knock-off Baby Shark books?”

Your eyes scan the name when she quits waving the paper around. Little Whale. Huh. With a shake of your head, you point to your own pile. “I’m good,” you chuckle, about to comment on some of the strange publications sitting in your own to-do list when someone clears their throat at the door to your office.

A painfully familiar ex-friend is leaning against the doorframe to your office, an iPad and laptop in one hand, with a pile of paperwork in the other. You assume that’s a good sign.

Good for your work, anyway.

And, if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s a part of you that hopes he enjoys the job, given that he’ll have the opportunity to do something he may actually enjoy for a living. No matter how much pain the thought of all your arguments brings you, you don’t think there’s a world where you don’t care for him, so you force a tight-lipped smile as you face him.

“Looks like it went well. Congratulations, Sukuna.”

His brow twitches, but he nods. “Appreciate you thinkin’ of me.”

You can only nod. “Um, yeah… Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”

Sukuna opens his mouth to say something before deciding against it and nodding. He pokes his tongue into the side of his mouth, pushing off the doorframe. “Have a good day, prin-” He catches himself, feigning a cough to cover up his slip. If it can even be considered that. He repeats himself, this time finishing his sentence with your name.

“Yeah, you too, Sukuna,” you wave him off quietly, turning back to your desk and burying your face in your hands.

Yuki fiddles with her pen, simply staring as she waits for the sound of the front door closing. “Soooooo… Are you that awkward with every person you just grow apart from?” She pushes, nosy as ever.

“It wasn’t that awkward,” you grumble, rolling your shoulders as you sit up and attempt to ward away the fact that Yuki is painfully right, and it’s probably for the best that things stay that way.

“Girl, everything about that was painful.”

With a sigh, you let your head hang.

You’re in for an interesting ride at work from here on out.

–

Sukuna shoves his front door open with his foot, his hands otherwise full. Shutting the door with his shoulder, he kicks his shoes off and dumps the laptop and iPad onto the table, alongside the printed client instructions for the covers and the paperwork he would need to formally fill out- all before going in tomorrow. His eyes slide across the apartment to Uraume scowling in concentration at the TV as they lose brutally to Sukuna’s brothers in MarioKart.

“Kuna!” Yuji cheers excitedly, shooting him a glance despite the fact that he’s effortlessly destroying Uraume.

“Winning, Yu?” Sukuna asks in a mild tone, though Choso isn’t too far behind Yuji. Even so, Choso doesn’t seem all that interested in playing. But lately, when does anything interest him?

Still, he’s also still beating Uraume, who can’t even spare a single word towards Sukuna, lest they get beaten by more computer players.

Which is saying something, given that they’re in sixth place in the race.

Out of eight.

“Loser,” Sukuna snorts, completely breaking their concentration as Uraume falters going over a jump and lands themself in last place as they fall off the stage.

“You’re a menace, Sukuna,” they huff as the podium comes up on-screen, entirely devoid of Uraume’s character.

“I don’t think that was my fault,” he comments with a sly smirk, though his eyes are clouded with stress. It’s strange how hardly an hour with you has him completely and utterly exhausted, where once he used to find comfort. Now, he’s stepping on eggshells around you, trying to find an opening where you might give him a chance.

Ignoring him, Uraume gets up from the couch to take a look at the iPad and laptop on the table. “You got the position?” They ask, smiling as they face him. “Congratulations, this looks right up your alley.”

“Yeah, they were pretty desperate,” he hums, running a hand through his hair. “Got a long night ahead of me, though. Seven covers due tomorrow morning, then I gotta head to the auto shop.”

Uraume’s brows draw together in concern. “Please tell me you plan on quitting a couple of those jobs.”

“I already sent a text to the supermarket, I got one more shift. Gonna talk to the shop tomorrow about changin’ my hours.”

Uraume frowns, though. “Don’t you think that’s still a bit much?”

“Need the money,” he shrugs simply, casting a glance at his brothers.

Uraume sighs, relenting to Sukuna’s stubbornness as they follow his gaze. “Can I have a word with you?”

Sukuna hums in acknowledgment. “Cho, homework. Yu, brush your teeth and get in your pajamas.”

“But it isn’t even late!” Yuji whines, whipping around from his place on the couch like this is the ultimate betrayal.

“I’m not asking ya to go to sleep, just get ready.”

Yuji groans dramatically, throwing his head back as he trails after Choso.

“What’s up?” Sukuna asks, turning back to his friend.

“You look like shit. What’s going on?” Uraume finally has the opportunity to confront him.

Way to sugarcoat it. Sukuna lets out a long sigh, running his hand through his hair as he plops down on the couch. A few stray pink strands fall down into his eyes, his hair having grown painfully long. The couch dips as Uraume takes a seat beside him, sitting with their hands on their lap. They push their snowy hair behind their ear, patiently awaiting Sukuna’s response.

“It’s nothin’. Just having a tough time with the brats lately,” he brushes them off, eager to bury his racing thoughts in the seven novel covers he had to put together.

“And the fight?”

Sukuna huffs, pressing the ball of his palm to the bridge of his nose. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” Uraume shakes their head. “But it’s pretty obvious.”

Dragging his hand down his face, Sukuna mumbles, “great.” He leans against his fist, his elbow propped up on the arm of the couch as his gaze shifts towards his friend.

“Will I need to keep pushing, or are you planning on telling me what happened?” They ask, their tone hardening.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fixing it.”

Uraume lets out a prolonged sigh, crossing their arms in exasperation. “I’m not leaving until you stop bottling everything up. The last thing either of us needs is a repeat of when we first met. I can’t be here to peel you out of bed every time you need it.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Shit’s not that bad,” he gruffs, keeping his gaze fixed on the coffee table. He reclines into the couch, continuing to lean on his bent elbow as he kicks his feet up onto the table.

“Maybe not now,” Uraume shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean it never will be again.” Shuffling closer to him, Uraume’s voice softens. “Mental health isn’t a straight line, Sukuna. You can’t expect to always be fine just because you are now.” This garners Sukuna’s attention as his gaze shifts to examine his friend, frustration glimmering in the crimson of his irises. “And for the record,” they add, shrugging. “You still look like shit. So I don’t believe you, anyway.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flashing in his eyes, but he knows better than to push Uraume away, keeping his frustrations contained as best as he can. The last thing he needs is to lose the last person who doesn’t resent him.

“Yeah, fine. Fine.” He drags his hand down his face, sinking further into the cushions and crossing his arms as he explains the fight he had with you. He remembers it all too well. Remember the words that cling to the outer edges of his mind, taking root like the prettiest of flowers that he could never bear to pluck.

Uraume listens with an increasing frown, blinking a few times as Sukuna recounts the events of the last month, still choosing to leave out the details of the lawsuit. He doesn’t need Uraume, Toji, or anyone treating the kids with pity. At least, he convinces himself that’s the reason he won’t tell anyone.

Withholding what may be their tenth sigh in simply the last few minutes, Uraume rubs at their temples. “I understand that you were hurt, Sukuna, but she didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t tell me shit I already know,” Sukuna hisses, having slumped back so far into the couch that he’s staring at the ceiling.

“If you know that already,” Uraume continues, unphased by his frustration. “Then why didn’t you reach out to her?”

With a drawn out inhale, he rolls his eyes. “Broke her trust. That was my last chance,” he mutters, his words dripping with irritation. Between this conversation, his own actions from a month ago, and his growing frustration with his current day, he’s becoming more and more desperate for a cigarette. He should have stopped to grab a box on his way home.

“You’re dense.”

God, he really needs that cigarette. He lifts his head from the cushion, scowling at his friend. “What?”

They sigh again. “Sukuna, you know I have a great deal of respect for you. I don’t want to downplay just how far you’ve come from when we first met and just how much you do for your brothers. So with that out of the way,” their face drops as they deadpan, “you’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs, diverting his gaze from Uraume. He already knows he’s about to be pissed off.

“She said you weren’t being yourself, correct? That she likes the ‘you’ that she got to know?”

“Yeah, and?” Sukuna pushes, irritation now pumping through his veins as he careens towards flat-out anger.

“It isn’t my place to air out someone else’s business, but I want you to think about that, Sukuna,” Uraume speaks with an air of earnestness that Sukuna isn’t accustomed to. They may have a more formal way of speaking than Sukuna, but they tend to keep their tone fairly lighthearted and casual most of the time, especially with him.

“Think about what?” Sukuna’s brow furrows in vexation.

Uraume’s already on their feet, tossing their coat over their arm. They cast a glance at him, briefly shaking their head. “Think about what she meant when she said that.”

He shakes his head, his mind racing to catch up to the meaning behind Uraume’s words as they head for the door. “The fuck do you mean? Uraume-” Sukuna pushes to his feet, catching up and reaching over them to keep the door shut. Their brow raises as they crane their neck to look up at him. “What the fuck do you mean?” The air of desperation in the usually low and disinterested timbre of his voice is unbefitting of him, causing Uraume to raise a brow.

“You know exactly what I mean, Sukuna.” They can only watch as Sukuna straightens, searching their face for any sign of a lie. When he doesn’t find anything, he scowls at the floor in thought. “Go get your work done.” They turn back towards the door, shoving his hand aside and slipping out without another word.

With his jaw hanging slightly ajar, he feels his heart accelerating.

I’ve seen the real Sukuna, and I like him, I- I like you.

That’s what you said. There’s no way he’s misremembering that. It’s replayed in his mind too many times to be wrong.

He blinks, staring at the door. Absently reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he shuts his eyes at the realization he hasn’t magically come up with a box in the last five minutes.

With a sharp inhale, he walks slowly to the back of the apartment, pushing his hand across the paperwork he’d set down earlier. The papers slide across the smooth wood of the table, everything within his portfolio, alongside instructions and HR paperwork for the position now spread across the table in no particular order.

His heart pounds in his ears as he picks up the page he was searching for, something his gaze had ghosted over only for a moment while he’d gone through the paperwork with Maya after you left. Towards the bottom of the page is a category with a box titled ‘referral’, alongside your signature. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he’s left unable to do anything but stare.

You like him. He knows that. You’d been close for a while, able to bounce off of one another as though you’d known each other for an eternity. You’d stuck by his side through his worst days, calming him down and picking him up when he needed it.

You were his closest friend. Maybe even closer than he’d ever been to Uraume or even Toji back in the day. Of course you like him. Is he dense for assuming that’s all you meant? He wants to believe the answer is no, but Uraume is rarely wrong, as much as he hates to admit it.

Bringing a hand up to scratch at his chest, he tears his thoughts from their spiral as something moves in his peripherals. Yuji runs over to tug at Sukuna’s dress shirt sleeve, putting the full force of his tiny frame into pulling at Sukuna.

“Kuna, come look at our shu- um-” he pauses, though his attempt to tug Sukuna along doesn’t cease. “Our sh- our shu… our ninja stars!” He finally settles on a word.

“Shurikens,” Sukuna corrects him with his usual mild expression plastered on his face. He humors his brother, finally allowing the little boy to pull him into the kids’ room. Choso is blankly working on math problems at the desk, but before Sukuna’s given the chance to make a comment about the origami stars, Yuji lets go of his sleeve, picks up a shuriken, and whips it at his oldest brother with the full force of a five-year-old.

Sukuna scowls as the paper hits him square in the abdomen, causing little more than a wrinkle in his shirt, but the older brother snarls regardless. “Cut that out, brat.”

Yuji’s eyes light up at the sight that’s so startlingly normal for their house, that you’d almost forget about the lawsuit, or Choso and Sukuna’s plummeting mental health. Hell, for a moment, even Sukuna briefly forgets as he gives chase to his brother, who slips between his legs back into the living room where he can run around the couch.

The little boy doesn’t anticipate Sukuna simply running over the couch to get to him, shrieking with wide eyes and thrilled giggles as his brother scoops him up off the ground, holding him like a limp sack of potatoes.

“Nice try, brat,” Sukuna huffs, his voice surrounded by amusement that thrills Yuji. The boy laughs in delight as he wriggles around in an attempt to free himself, though it’s completely fruitless against Sukuna’s bulk.

Heading back to the boys’ room, Sukuna tosses Yuji onto his mattress, watching as the boy laughs in delight. Choso doesn’t share the same amusement, but something familiar flashes through his eyes as a hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

In an attempt to capitalize on the moment, Yuji tries to hop off of his bed to make way for another ninja star, when Sukuna lifts his foot to block the kid. “Later, Yu. Your brother’s gotta focus. Can you read a book or somethin’?”

Yuji pouts, staring back at the bookshelf that separates the boys’ beds. “But I’ve read them all.”

“I gotta get some important work done, can you read Dragonology again or somethin’? I’ll get you a new book soon if you can do that for me.”

Yuji glances back at the large red spine with gold sparkling text across it at the bottom of the book shelf, weighing his options. A new book must appeal to him, as he seems to decide it’s worth it, much to Sukuna’s relief.

As the boys quiet down, Sukuna lets out a sigh, changing into a hoodie and returning to his own work. Momentarily forgetting his previous train of thought and conversation with Uraume, he packs all the paper together, tapping the stack on the table to straighten it out before he grabs the laptop and iPad, heading for his bedroom. He leaves the door open a crack for his brothers as he begins leafing through the client requests.

The first one is for a children’s horror novel with animatronics, which he can certainly work with. Sliding a paperclip off the first request, he boots up the iPad, getting himself set up for the first design. The first animatronic is a bear with a hat, which Sukuna realizes is strikingly similar to a character he’s seen from Choso watching YouTube.

Scowling, he takes a look at the second request. A group of kids solving mysteries with a cat in a big van. Huh.

Another flip of a page to the third request. A series about a girl who tames dragons. Tames, not trains. Otherwise, that would be copyrighted. Sukuna chuckles at the realization that everything seems to be a knock-off. He wonders if his brothers would like this sort of shit. Maybe someday his brothers would be able to bring home something he illustrated.

Legally Nondescript Monsterology. It’s not catchy, but he thinks he can make it work.

Regardless, Sukuna works hard putting together the covers in a timely manner, while trying to retain quality. They may be knock-offs, but he still wants to give it his all given that he just quit one of his jobs. Not to mention, you recommended him, and he can’t let you down. Not again.

It’s then that his thoughts come racing back to him suddenly. You like him. He scowls down at the screen of the iPad, staring at the first cover with a glower that isn’t meant for the mildly creepy animatronic bear peeking around a corner in a small diner.

As if on autopilot, he digs through his pockets to pull his phone out and snaps a photo of the nearly-finished cover on the iPad he’d barely figured out to send to you. His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, before sending the photo with the caption ‘do you think your boss will approve’.

He can’t think of a time, even over email, that he ever waited much longer than a few minutes for you to reply, though he doesn’t get that luxury this time around. Do you reserve that for friends? Or was that a side of you that only he was privy to?

Is he so dense, even now, that he’s unwilling to admit the fact that you might have had feelings for him?

Setting his phone down on the drawing table, his leg bounces relentlessly as he leans back in his chair.

Had he unknowingly led you on when he kissed you? He couldn’t have. You’d gone for chicken strips at a little diner after talking through that, you were both just horny and confused, he was sure of it.

Strip Joint. The diner you visited that night. The background of the art for the first novel is a carbon copy of it, he realizes. A complete accident, but it’s exactly what he pictured when thinking of a diner. He blinks at the drawing, so caught up in wondering how he hadn’t realized what he was doing that he nearly misses the vibration of his phone.

7:49 PM Princess || She’ll like it! Looks good.

His head falls forward against his phone with a sigh. You’re using periods at the end of your texts with him. Great.

Looking through your message history with him, he scrolls until he finds the night you stayed at his place, in his bed. Your texts were so bubbly, so full of life. Did you like him, then?

Did you have feelings for him?

Why does that knowledge make Sukuna’s arm hair stand on end?

Setting down his phone, he runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. He’s in for a long night, but the light at the end of the tunnel is the knowledge of how much he’s getting paid. Not just as a salary, but upfront for the overnight covers. Enough to cover whatever fees he was worried about with the lawyer, and whatever book Yuji decided on, as well as something for Choso. Maybe even a dinner at a restaurant.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, an ounce of your trust back.

–

The text you receive from Yuki the morning following Sukuna’s interview has you reeling in relief, thankful that Sukuna pulled through, and not only that, but your books are being pushed through the rest of the publishing process, and Sukuna is onboard full-time.

Well, that last part may not be something to be relieved over, but at least your hard work wasn’t for nothing.

Besides, there’s no way everything with Sukuna will be completely and utterly weird, right?

Your first Tuesday working with him, he was only able to make it for half of the day, so your paths only crossed a handful of times. Still, every time you came across one another seemed to have you both walking on eggshells. It’s not like you can’t both be civil and professional, sharing a wave or smile here and there and discussing business when necessary, but you can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t be coming to the intern when his iPad won’t connect to the company’s file cloud.

“Can’t you ask Felix?” You ask as Sukuna pokes his head into your office for the second time just since you arrived.

Although he remains stoic at your response, something flashes in his eyes. “He’s not at his desk.”

“He’s out this week,” Yuki comments with a yawn, giving you the bare minimum of her attention as she works on another Baby Shark knock-off book.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Sukuna a tight-lipped smile as you get to your feet. “Let me see,” you hold your hand out expectantly, pulling up the cloud service’s settings on the iPad to see if you can find the issue.

After tapping through it a few times, you chew on your lip. “Did you try… turning it off and on again?” You’re met with silence from Sukuna, and when you tilt your head to look up at him, you find him staring at you with raised brows and a look that says that he absolutely already did that. “Sorry,” you murmur, going back to tapping at the screen somewhat aimlessly. You hum in thought as you click through the settings, tapping your manicured nails rhythmically along the back of the iPad as you hold it. “Hold on.”

Leading the way out to the admin computer, you login and search through permissions, before finding that Sukuna’s account simply hasn’t been added to the cloud function yet. He’d likely only submitted through Maya so far.

“That should fix it.” You offer the device back to him with a neutral smile.

He types in his password and nods. “Yeah, I owe-” He pauses, examining your expression with an intensity that has your hair standing on end. “Thanks.”

You nod, turning to head back to your office when Sukuna hesitantly spits out an “I’m sorry”.

Blinking, you pull your lower lip between your teeth once more, only halfway facing him as you wait for him to elaborate.

“For-” He pauses, shutting his eyes, before shaking his head. “For bothering you.”

And with that, he just walks away. You stare after him for a long moment, but the feeling of your heart slowing to a normal rate in your chest is a relief as he gets further away. The feeling that replaces the pounding in your chest is equally unpleasant though, as something akin to yearning wraps its claws around you.

You can try all you want to convince yourself that it’s just because he looks painfully attractive with a black button-up and sleeves rolled up to his elbow in the sluttiest way imaginable, or the way that it hugs his biceps so tightly that you can practically see every vein in his arm, but you’re not ignorant to your own emotions.

No, it’s not the damn shirt, or the slacks that hang low on his hips. It’s not the fact that he cleans up well when he needs to, or the way he’s got his hair pushed back with gel to keep it in place. It’s not even the way he seems to put you on a pedestal, as though no one in this office is capable of anything but you.

It’s the fact that something is clearly different now, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that he’s trying to show you that. He’s still as stoic and mild as ever, but he’s sharing more of himself. Even little things, tiny corrections, little changes in the way he talks not just to you, but to everyone, none of it is going unnoticed.

Does it really make a difference, though? Can you even forgive him after everything?

As he sits down in Ayana’s old office, now his, you shake that thought from your head. That’s not the question you need to be asking yourself. It’s whether you should forgive him.

At the end of the day, you need to make yourself your priority, and you’re not sure if that includes him.

–

The office is fairly quiet as you slip past reception after your morning lecture on Thursday. Yuki isn’t at her desk as you drop your bag alongside the table that’s pushed against her desk for you. Getting yourself set up for work for the day, you pause at the sight of a warm drink at the corner of your desk.

Smiling to yourself, you get to work, pulling the cup towards you.

“Hey, girl,” Yuki greets you, making her way around the room to her chair.

“Hey, thanks for the drink!” You beam at her.

She shakes her head. “Wasn’t me. I just got back from a meeting.”

Turning the cup towards you in search of a name, you come up blank, finally taking a sip of it.

Your exact order.

“Huh, I wonder who it was,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance as though a certain tattooed man isn’t the only thing occupying your mind, causing your heart to somersault in its cage.

“Ooh, do you have a secret admirer?” She leans in with a curious grin, tapping her acrylic nails on her desk. “I bet I could do some digging-”

“I’ll ask around at lunch,” you interrupt, taking another sip of the drink in an effort to dissuade her. The last thing you need is the queen of office gossip herself digging into your business with Sukuna. Yuki’s a sweetheart and you love her for that, but there’s nothing that she loves more than gossip, and as the intern, the last thing you need is to be at the center of it.

She groans dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you point at her stack of paperwork. “Go back to Adolescent Shark or whatever you’re editing.”

She wrinkles her nose in mock offense. “I’ll have you know it’s Baby Whale.”

The small office is filled with your collective laughter as you fall into the familiar routine of work. You hardly get much of a chance to really begin digging into work before Yuki’s dragging you along to the break room for lunch, though.

The break room is fairly gray compared to the rest of the office, the only real hints of color being the plants that line the top of the wooden cabinets that hang along the far wall. A stainless steel fridge and microwave sit at the far end of the cabinets and counter, housing most of the staff’s meals.

“What’d you bring?” She asks curiously, peering over your shoulder to the tupperware you’re putting in the microwave.

“Just stir fry,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Nothing fancy.”

She hums as she takes a seat, beginning to recount how her meeting this morning went. You take a seat shortly after with your food warmed, looking up to find Sukuna across the room, a few tables away.

He’s gripping a matching paper cup to the one sitting on your desk barely an hour ago, his gaze trained on it. Faint stubble dots his chin and his hair hasn’t been styled, but otherwise you’re reminded that he still cleans up fairly nicely, a new-looking red collared shirt hanging over his frame that fits him better than the black one from Tuesday. It’s still pleated across the sides, as though he didn’t iron it, though you don’t exactly take him for the kind of guy to do that.

As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours with an expression you don’t recognize. He blinks a couple of times, examining you before tearing his gaze away as he evaluates the room full of your co-workers. Casting you one last glance, he silently returns to staring at his coffee cup.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your heart twists at the sight of a very obviously dejected Sukuna, who, as usual, has no lunch. Staring down at your stir fry that’s beginning to look less and less appealing, you find yourself prodding at a pepper. Why do you so badly want to give him your lunch? How is it that your mind is telling you over and over how bad of an idea it is to let him back in, while your heart hollows itself out for him again, reopening old wounds?

You continue to prod at your lunch while Yuki fills you in on her day, eventually leaving for a meeting, alongside everyone else until the room is silent and near-empty.

Near-empty.

Sukuna fixes you with an intense gaze, that same unreadable expression drawn across his features.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you spit out in an effort to fill the air, rife with tension.

“Anytime.”

The silence hangs heavily between you both, weighing down on the man who can’t even seem to bear to look at you. The weight of the settled quiet, once filled with so much comfort, presses down around you suffocatingly as Sukuna finally meets your gaze with a scowl. It doesn’t carry anger or irritation as it usually does, but something else. Something different.

“I’m sorry,” Sukuna gruffs, his voice raw with emotion.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, fixing him with a look of uncertainty. The distance between your tables feels so painfully real, wedged between you like a chasm, unable to cross it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he continues, his eyes flitting desperately across the table as though he’s searching for words he’d rehearsed, only to watch them scatter across the surface.

If he’s being honest with himself, that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s watching uncertainty and hurt spread across your features and everything he’s spent the weekend putting together for this moment is falling to pieces in front of him. Every rehearsed and well-thought-out phrase falling to pieces. He swallows hard in an effort to stop his throat from tightening, anything to keep his voice steady.

He grips his empty cup harder, the frail paper bending beneath his fingers as he grows frustrated with himself.

“Fuck,” he hisses, mostly to himself as he scowls down at the empty cup. His grip tightens again and the lid pops off, rolling across the table and down onto the floor, drawing your attention to it as it collides with the leg of a chair near yours, tumbling to a halt. “Had all this shit I wanted to say, and it’s all fuckin’ gone,” he grumbles, huffing in exasperation.

Taking in his words, you nod slowly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.” Your voice is mousey as you fiddle with your fork.

The tattooed man scowls deeply at you, shaking his head. “Why?”

You sigh, attempting to gather your thoughts as everything within you races. Your mind, your heart, your nerves. You’re not sure which one’s winning, but you’re damn-near desperate for your mind to slow down, if nothing else. You can live with your heart pounding in your ears and the slight tremor in your hands, but it would be nice to at least think straight.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have accused you of… Of being drunk and high around your brothers.”

And damn it, Sukuna’s envious that your words come across so eloquently, even as you chew on your lip and avoid his gaze.

“I don’t care,” he mutters in a barely masked huff of frustration.

Straightening your posture, you tilt your head in confusion. That isn’t exactly the reaction you were assuming you would get to an apology, at least not with the way he’s been seeking you out at every turn.

Finally catching on to your confusion, his eyes widen. “No, fuck, I don’t mean it like that.” He pushes to his feet, leaving his cup behind as he shuffles past the chairs haphazardly tucked under the tables between you, until he can find a spot across from you at your table. “I just meant- I mean- it doesn’t matter.” He scowls at the table. “What you said that night. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to make sense of the man who, for as long as you’ve known him, has never been good with words. “You forgive me?”

“Shit, yeah. That’s what I mean.” The burly man scratches the back of his head. “Look, it hurt n’ all, but I’m over it.”

You set your fork down in your stir fry with a sigh, absently chewing on your nail. The sleeve of your blouse falls down your arm to the elbow with the movement. “Still, I never meant-”

“You kept them.” Sukuna interrupts, stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of two woven bracelets around your wrist. His brow, raised in shock, slowly twitches into a furrow.

Humming, you follow his gaze to the bracelets tied to your wrist. “Oh,” you whisper, fiddling with the frayed end of a red piece of twine on your wrist. “Yeah, I didn’t have the heart to cut them off.”

Sukuna swears it takes the breath straight from his lungs.

Shit.

He always knew you loved his brothers, but it’s been a month now since you’ve seen them. A month of lies telling his brothers you’re busy, a month of expecting never to see you again. A month of thinking any care you once had not only for him, but also for his brothers is gone.

Now, every single one of his thoughts and expectations are muddled all because you didn’t have the heart to take off a couple of bracelets. Maybe to anyone else, it would be an act of clinging to something that isn’t there, but to Sukuna, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can fix what he broke.

If only he wasn’t so shit with his words.

“Why?” He gruffs.

Why?

It’s almost as though he’s outside of his own body, watching some idiot fumble with words.

“Oh, um- I don’t know,” you mumble. “I guess it just felt too final, and your brothers are so sweet.”

Felt too final? Did you not want things to end?

“They miss you.”

Oh, great. And now the same dumbass is using his brothers to guilt-trip you.

Your lips twitch into a frown. You’re not sure what you’re meant to do with that information when he knows you still care for them now, just as well as he clearly knows that you’ve been avoiding him.

“Listen, I’m fucking sorry,” he begins, balling his hand into a fist in his lapp as he repeats himself again. “I was drunk, and high, and hurt, and I took that out on you. It was a mistake. I never meant any of it, I was…” he leans on the table, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms. “I was just tryin’ to hurt you back.”

You take in his words, nodding slowly as you try to understand where he’s coming from. “Why?”

Sukuna shakes his head, not quite sure himself. He raises his hand in a loose shrug, letting it fall onto the table with a thud. “Fuck if I know. Guess I just thought that if I was gonna waste my last chance with you, then…” he trails off, realizing just how stupid he sounds. “I dunno, princess.”

Your heart slams itself at full force into your rib cage, giving you whiplash as his nickname for you hits you like a truck. In truth, there’s a part of you that had expected him to move on like nothing had happened. Sukuna may be a more vulnerable person than he lets on to most, but you were there when he fought with Toji. How many years were they friends? So, why did your four months with him make his reaction so different?

At a loss for words, all you can do is blink at him, your jaw ajar.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna lets out a frustrated huff. “Guess I just thought that if I was going down, I was bringin’ you down with me.”

Rubbing your hands down your face, you narrowly avoid smudging your makeup. “That’s… dumb, Sukuna,” you mumble, your voice muffled behind your palms.

He waves his hand through the air again in some form of a frustrated shrug, letting it fall hard against the table. “Yeah, well.” His leg bounces beneath the table as he examines the wall. “You know I’m a dick.”

You exhale through your nose in something akin to a wry laugh. It’s a start, and Sukuna will count that as something of a win.

Silence settles between you both again, and Sukuna doesn’t know how to get his point across. He doesn’t know how to fix things because that’s not what he does. He leaves a path of destruction wherever he goes and lets down everyone he knows.

“Let me make shit up to you,” he offers, wincing when you visibly hesitate.

Your heart pounds in your ears, practically begging you to give in, and you’re thankful for your mind finally catching up to feed you reasonable doubt. “I don’t know, Sukuna. If that’s how you act the moment something goes wrong, how am I supposed to trust you?”

He nods, his leg bouncing impossibly faster beneath the table as his blunt nails dig into his palm. Scratching harshly at his chest with his other hand as though it might dull the ache, he considers leaving you be, but Uraume’s words hang above his head, pinning him to his seat.

Did you really have feelings for him? Do you still?

“Gimme another chance,” he pleads, tone laced with desperation. He wipes the back of his arm across his forehead, the room feeling a good ten degrees too warm as he considers what he can do, if anything, to get you to forgive him.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare down at your uneaten lunch. “Sukuna, I…” you trail off, inhaling a long, deep breath. “You can’t ask me for that, you know that was your last chance. It’s not fair to me.”

Sukuna leans his full weight onto the table, sick to his stomach. Bile rises in his throat and he’s forced to swallow hard in an effort to keep himself in check, but it only makes him want to throw up more.

“Shit,” is all he can mutter, harshly rubbing his eyes. Maybe he should have done this after the trial, waited until he could really get his thoughts in order. Would it change anything? He’s not sure, but he supposes there’s no real point in filling his mind with ‘what ifs’ that make him feel worse.

His stomach churns as he watches you hesitantly begin to stand.

“Just… Let me prove myself,” he begs, standing up as well.

“Sukuna…” You sigh as he unknowingly tugs at your heart strings. You care about him a great deal still, but you can’t abandon a month’s worth of rationale just because you’re clearly not over him.

“I’m not askin’ for things to go back to normal, just… stop avoiding me.” He swallows hard, coughing into his elbow as his throat dries at the mere concept of you saying no. “Please, princess. I’m beggin’ you, here.”

Glancing past him at the office that you need to get back to in order to get some work done, you find yourself sighing. “I can do that,” you agree with a forced tight-lipped smile.

Sukuna lets out a breath of relief, shutting his eyes. “You won’t regret it,” he breathes out, running a hand through his locks to push stray strands of pink from his sweat-laden forehead.

You can only shoot him a wary look as you put your fork in the sink along the wall of cabinets. Returning briefly to your seat, you push it in and contemplate something, before sliding your tupperware across to him.

“Please eat something,” you murmur, slipping past him as quickly and quietly as you can manage.

He knows he won’t be able to eat anything, but as he stares down at the stir fry you’d clearly made for yourself, he finds his heart rate accelerating further, only it’s not from stress. No matter how small, some part of you still cares about him.

–

Your first week working with Sukuna had been… a lot. A lot to handle, emotionally, and a lot to process, and your second week only left you further confused. Although there were no emotionally charged discussions about your falling-out, he seemed to be trying anything that might get him an ounce of trust.

A warm drink sat at the corner of your desk once again when you arrived on Tuesday, still warm, still your exact order. You forgot your charger? Take his. It’s not overbearing, by any means, he gives you space and respects your privacy, but he jumps at any opportunity to help. It’s startlingly kind, maybe even sweet, and you’re not quite sure what to make of that.

It’s not as though his personality has changed, he’s still stoic and mild as ever, he’s just… listening. Paying attention.

And maybe it makes you a sucker, or naive, but it warms your heart.

Still, you remind yourself this is just one day. Things could change when he grows tired of putting in effort.

Thursday rolls around to the same series of events, although you remember your charger. The difference this time is that a pastry accompanies your drink.

Blinking once, you realize you’ve been staring at your monitor in thought for longer than you’d care to admit, letting time get away from you. With a small shake of your head in an effort to regain your focus, you manage to get in a solid hour of work and complete the short young adult novel you’re working on.

Hitting print, you push up from your desk, your heels clacking across the wooden floors as you make your way to the printer, standing in line behind one of the senior editors waiting for his work to print. He pulls up a stack of paper, moving aside as he checks the pages over. Picking up the first page in the printer, you eye the number in the corner.

“Oh, um, I think you might have my first couple of pages,” you smile kindly as you turn towards him. Dressed to the nines in a full three piece suit (a bit much, really), he raises a brow at you, flipping to the last couple of pages.

“Looks like I do,” he agrees, though his eyes rove the page rather than handing it back. His brow twitches, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he continues reading through your work. “I’m seeing a couple of errors here, intern. Tell you what, you go get me a coffee, and I’ll work through your mistakes.” He tilts his head, a strand of long blonde hair slipping from his loose bun.

“Thank you, Reggie, but that’s Yuki’s job, we can manage just fine,” you dismiss him, outstretching your hand expectantly.

His smirk grows, his eyes trailing the length of your body. “I think it would be valuable to learn from a more senior editor than Yuki, don’t you think?”

Keeping your composure, you shoot him a kind smile. “I’ll let Maya decide that.”

“Don’t you wanna learn from the best?” He takes a step forward to nudge you, your first two pages held firmly within the stack of paper he’s keeping in his hand opposite you in an attempt to purposefully rile you up. “C’mon, I’ll do you a favor, and you can do me one. Just go grab me a coffee,” he insists.

Putting some distance between you, you stand your ground. “That’s not my job, Reggie.”

“You’re an intern, aren’t you? ‘Course it’s your job,” he grins, bringing a hand up to scratch at the unkempt facial hair on his chin.

Heavy footsteps fall in quick succession across the floor in your direction, just as you’re about to give up on dealing with Reggie and simply reprint the first couple of pages of your document.

“Is coffee outside of your skillset?” Sukuna gruffs, his sharpened gaze set on the printer as he waits for something as well.

Reggie grins in agreement. “Ooh, can the intern not figure out the machine?” He chides, chuckling to himself.

Straightening, Sukuna turns to face him, towering over the blonde in both height and stature. “Wasn’t talkin’ to her,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. This shirt may not look like it’s about to burst at the seams as he makes a display of showing off his muscles, but it still does him a lot of favors.

Reggie’s brow twitches into a scowl, his attention flickering between you and Sukuna. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as though he can’t possibly believe that someone like Sukuna would be siding with you. “Whatever, man. I can make my own coffee,” he grumbles, turning away.

“I need those pages, Reggie,” you remind him before he can get far. He pauses, fighting with himself for a moment before shoving them into your awaiting open palm and turning on his heel to walk away.

With an exasperated sigh, you turn back to the printer to grab the remaining stack of paper. “Thanks, Sukuna. He thinks he’s better than everyone just because his job title has ‘senior’ in it.”

Sukuna grunts, shooting a glare at the back of the blonde’s head as he disappears into an office. “Fuckin’ prick,” Sukuna grumbles under his breath, turning back to the printer. “Just needed to print somethin’ anyway. Not a big deal.”

As the printer doesn’t seem to have anything queued, you check the bottom of your stack, pulling out the one page that doesn’t belong and raising your brow in a challenge. “You needed to print the cloud storage login?”

Sukuna’s cheeks dust in a faint red as he jerks his hand forward to pull the paper from your grasp. “That was an accident,” he grumbles quietly, staring at the page like it’s betrayed him. “I meant to print a different tab.”

You can’t help the way your lips quirk upwards into a hint of a smile at his obvious white lie. “Right. Well, thanks anyway.”

“Mhm.”

You shoot him a thankful polite smile, stepping backwards a couple of times before turning back to your office with your paperwork clutched to your chest.

His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes in the scene, considering a polite smile another win. At least he had some sort of highlight to his week before his meeting with his lawyer tomorrow.

–

Thankful for Friday’s arrival, you, Shoko, Uraume, and a couple of classmates you’re less familiar with all decide to spend one final night relaxing before you would need to focus on studying for midterms. One last night of relaxing and self-care before the onslaught of exhaustion and cramming began.

Popping a piece of popcorn into their mouth, Uraume sighs. “I took way too many classes this semester,” they groan, seated cross-legged on the floor between you and a close friend of Shoko, Iori Utahime. From what you can tell, she’s friends with Uraume as well, and they share a handful of classes.

“How many did you take?” Iori asks, leaning back against her palm on the floor of Shoko’s place. She uses her spare hand to toss her long brown hair over her shoulder, keeping it out of her face as she takes a long drag of a blunt, passing it to Uraume.

“Six,” Uraume chuckles to themself as they take the blunt while Iori gapes in disbelief.

“I thought four was a lot,” you comment with a shake of your head.

“I just wanted to be done this year,” Uraume sighs. “Toji, Atsuya, and I wanted to graduate at the same time.”

You’re sure Sukuna was included in that group once, but Uraume’s refrained from mentioning him since the argument. Although you never spoke to them about it, you’re fairly sure they’re aware of it. They are Sukuna’s closest confidante, after all.

“How’ve you been managing?” You ask, dunking your hand into the popcorn bowl sat between the three of you. Uraume offers you the blunt, but you shake your head as you toss more popcorn into your mouth, dragging the bowl a bit closer.

Uraume pauses for a moment, in thought. “Let’s just say that if I could go back in time, I would definitely give myself a lecture for thinking this was a reasonable amount of courses,” they chuckle, shaking their head.

“At least we can study for a few of them together,” Iori offers, met with a cheery nod.

As they discuss something to do with a science course, you glance down at your phone as it vibrates, expecting a message from Kento, or maybe Satoru or Suguru.

You tilt your head at a text from Sukuna, simply saying ‘hey’. Deciding to focus on the here and now, you shut off your screen and tune back into the conversation, even if it’s a bit beyond what you ever learned in any science course.

Your phone vibrates again as you nod along to something Uraume is saying, barely a moment passing by before it’s vibrating once more.

Your brows pull together as you glance down at the preview for the texts. ‘could you do me a…’ and ‘please’ are the previews for the following two texts. There’s a strange sense of uncertainty held within the idea that Sukuna’s pleading with you over text that makes your stomach churn. Finally unlocking your phone, all three messages come into view.

9:43 PM Kuna || hey

9:44 PM Kuna || could you do me a favor

9:44 PM Kuna || please

Tilting your head at the message, you glance up at your surroundings. Shoko is sitting cross-legged a couple of feet away chatting with a couple of her classmates as she pours herself a shot of vodka while Uraume and Iori continue to pass a blunt. You’ve been hogging the popcorn for a bit and your mind is lightly buzzed from the shots you’d shared with Shoko. Surely whatever Sukuna needs can wait, given that you aren’t exactly fit for doing anyone any favors.

Not to mention, although you’d agreed not to avoid him, this feels as though it’s crossing the barrier of proving himself into territory you’re not ready for.

But then again, maybe he just needs a hand with something work-related when you have a moment.

Shaking your head to keep yourself from overthinking, you shoot back a message.

9:47 PM You || I’m busy right now, can it wait until tomorrow?

His response is immediate.

9:47 PM Kuna || ya no provlem

9:47 PM Kuna || sorry

Shrugging, you lock your phone and toss a kernel of popcorn at Shoko to get her attention. “Pour me one too?”

She grins, pouring you both shots. You clink the glasses together and tip your heads back, enjoying the familiar sensation of the burn of alcohol running down your throat. It simmers in your veins, your buzz becoming more comfortable as the world around you dulls. Shuffling closer to Uraume and Iori, you join their conversation as it shifts from physics to gossip surrounding one of Toji’s teammates. Toji had been filling Uraume in on every little detail, enthralled in the drama himself.

It can’t even be twenty minutes later when your phone is vibrating in your lap again. Mindlessly unlocking your phone without looking at the message previews or who sent it, you read the new texts.

9:59 PM Kuna || im sorry

9:59 PM Kuna || i lied

9:59 PM Kuna || it cant waut

10:00 PM Kuna || please cab u just text back when u see this

Your brow furrows again as you read through the texts that carry a strange sense of urgency. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate what to say.

“Everything alright?” Uraume queries, nudging you. Your scowl dissipates as you stare up at them questioningly, having missed their question. They tilt their chin at your phone. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” you glance down at the screen, shaking your head as you shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Is it Satoru?” Iori chimes in. “I swear every time he texts me, he makes it sound like it’s the end of the world,” she groans, throwing her head back.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “He’s like that,” you agree, “but no, it’s not him.”

“It’s Sukuna,” Uraume states matter-of-factly. You wonder for a moment if they saw your screen, but the grimace they sport as they continue tells you otherwise. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah… How’d you know?”

Uraume shrugs. “You get this look when it comes to him.”

Your jaw drops. “What look?”

“Like-” Uraume tries to mirror your worried scowl, covering their lips in laughter when you shoot them an irritated look.

“I do not!”

Uraume puts their hands up in surrender. “Don’t blame me. Toji pointed it out.”

Groaning, you drag your hand down your face. “I’m gonna kill him next time I see him,” you grumble, your attention returning to the lit screen in your hand when Uraume’s laughter dies down. You read back over the messages, sending the most direct response you can, although you get the sensation you know the response already.

10:03 PM You || Is something wrong?

It’s mere seconds before his reply comes across.

10:03 PM Kuna || no

10:03 PM Kuna || yes

Scowling at your phone in confusion again, Uraume spots your expression and shuffles closer to you. “Is everything okay with him?” They ask, keeping their voice down.

“I’m not sure. He’s acting a bit weird,” you whisper back to them.

Uraume frowns, their earlier teasing tone now turned to completely serious concern for their friend. “Truth be told, he hasn’t been doing very well. He seemed off the last few times I saw him.”

“Distant?” You question.

Uraume tilts their head in thought. “Yeah, distant. Not all there.”

Tapping your thumb along the side of your phone, you stare at the date. The court date is quickly approaching, and as much as he likes to think he can handle things on his own, you know better. Even Choso knows better.

And Choso is twelve.

10:04 PM You || What’s wrong?

10:04 PM Kuna || i need help

Staring at your phone in bewilderment, genuine concern settles in. The world must be ending for Sukuna to be asking for help. Not a favor, not something he’ll find a way to pay you back for. Help.

10:05 PM You || What’s going on? What’s wrong?

You attempt to repeat your question, hoping he’ll give you some sort of explanation.

10:05 PM Kuna || call me

Your heart begins picking up its pace as you push to your feet and move to the back of the room in an effort to keep the call private. Hitting the phone icon, you’re connected to Sukuna almost instantly, but you don’t hear anything over the line.

“Hello? Sukuna?” You cover your other ear with your palm, wondering if maybe your connection is weak.

“Hey. Can you talk?” He croaks out. Each word is pushed out as though it’s a hurdle, his breath coming in pants and wheezes.

“Sukuna, are you having a-”

“Yeah,” he interrupts before you can finish your sentence.

Your entire demeanor softens, unable to be upset with him.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” he struggles through his words, inhaling sharply. “But I didn’t know who else to ask.” He exhales shakily.

You cast a glance at Uraume, who’s watching you intently. Though you know they helped Sukuna a few years ago to work through his mental health, they don’t strike you as a particularly gentle person. A good friend, but maybe not the person you’d call while struggling with anxiety.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” you soothe, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder in an attempt to make a motion resembling a steering wheel convey a silent message to Uraume. They tilt their head, so you point at the phone and mouth the word ‘Uber’ to them. Their brow raises as the same urgency in your eyes transfers to theirs. They’re on their phone in an instant, ordering an Uber for you. “Breathe in and hold, I’m grabbing my jacket and I’m on my way.”

Slipping over to Uraume, you whisper a ‘thank you’, and walk past them and Iori on the floor, headed in a rush towards the door. “Breathe out.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” Uraume asks urgently, following after you, but you shake your head, making a motion that you’ll text them. They nod solemnly, leaning over to Shoko to fill her in on your sudden departure as well.

“Breathe in and hold again,” you instruct softly but firmly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the Uber. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you check the text Uraume sent you with the Uber’s license plate, sharing your location with them just in case.

“Breathe out,” you murmur over the phone, “I’m on my way.”

You hear his shaky exhale, and the hoarse croak of his voice as you crawl into the Uber.

“Just need you to talk, I know you’re busy-”

“Just let me help, Sukuna,” you insist, interrupting him. He doesn’t reply, relenting as you continue to walk him through his breathing. “Can you get to the door to unlock it?”

He grunts, and you hear shuffling on his end for a moment, continuing your breathing instructions until the shuffling comes to a stop. “It’s open.”

“Keep breathing for me, okay? We’re just pulling up.”

Thanking the Uber driver, you keep the line open as you dial up to his apartment. You hear the buzzer ring for a split second on his end, before the door clicks. Making your way up to his apartment, you jog through the door quietly and carefully, shutting it behind you and dropping your boots and coat off in a pile at the door.

The apartment hasn’t changed much since you were here, though there’s paper all across the house and it seems the boys have been dabbling in origami based on the paper ninja stars and what you can only imagine is meant to be a crane sitting on the coffee table.

Padding quietly through the living room, you hold the phone up to your ear. “Are you in your room?”

“Washroom,” he grunts before hanging up.

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you carefully open the washroom door, shutting it quietly behind you. The fluorescent overhead lights are on, illuminating Sukuna leaning against the wall near the bathtub at the back of the room. His knees are bent to his chest, his elbows propped up on them, his hands burrowed in his tangled hair. The landline phone used to let you in with the buzzer is discarded on the floor to his right.

The sound of the door quietly clicking behind you catches his attention as he peers past his wrist at you. His skin is gaunt, his appearance unkempt and jaw rife with tension. He looks downright exhausted, and you can only guess how long he’s been sitting in this position alone, debating whether he should reach out at all.

You may not know it, and there’s a high likelihood that Sukuna will never tell you, but he’s been in this position before. On the floor, in a washroom that no longer feels like home with a crushing weight pressing down on him. The difference this time around is that when he calls the one number that may numb his pain, he’s not met with a voicemail.

While that voicemail may be dear to him for reasons he can’t bear to think about, the gentle reply of your voice on the other line brings relief that the voicemail never could.

His dad would be proud of him for reaching out.

No matter how upset with him you still are.

“Hey,” you softly greet him, kneeling down until you’re perched on your knees. Your breathing instructions must have helped a bit, because he’s not as bad as he sounded earlier. His chest rises and falls a bit too quickly still, his skin clammy with sweat, but he’s more present than the day outside his building.

Gingerly, you reach up to move his hands from his hair. He doesn’t protest, his jaw slightly ajar as though the air is physically seeping from his lungs.

“Keep breathing deeply,” you murmur, letting him hold one of your hands as you use the other to move his sweat-drenched hair from his forehead. “You’re burning up, give me a moment, okay?”

Running your thumb gently over the back of his hand a couple of times, you push to your feet and slip into the hall, grabbing a hand towel from the linen closet. Slipping quietly back into the washroom and shutting the door behind you, you turn on the tap, running the towel under cold water and wringing it out.

Sukuna blinks his eyes open, desperation and guilt swirling within the crimson as he watches the way you wipe his forehead. Moving the hood of his black hoodie away, you rest the towel around his shoulders, pressing it against the back of his neck.

His eyes raise to stare at the ceiling as you plop down onto your knees in front of him and shoot him a reassuring smile. “Keep breathing for me,” you encourage him, taking a hold of his hand again and rubbing soothing circles into his knuckles. “In… and out.” You continue to encourage him, keeping as calm as you can despite your own concern and uncertainty.

Your gut twists in pain at the sight of him so vulnerable, so genuinely hurt that he’s willing to ask for help. You care too much to deny him when he’s clearly in pain, even as you struggle with thoughts of the complicated relationship you have with this man. No matter how upset you are with him, you can’t bear the thought of him suffering alone.

Sukuna’s head falls forward, his eyes on his knees as his breathing finally begins evening out, the room no longer feeling claustrophobic.

Giving him a moment to catch his breath, you remain silent as you rub his knuckles. Once he seems more present, his gaze flickering around the room and taking in his surroundings, you finally speak. “What happened?”

“Had a meeting with the lawyer,” he rasps, shaking his head as he flips it back in an effort to keep his hair off his forehead.

“It didn’t go well?”

Sukuna inhales sharply, holding his breath for a moment. “Went fine. Just need to see if I can get a letter from Maya, have her sign off on my salary n’ shit.”

“That’s good,” you nod along. “What happened after that?” You push him for details, hoping he’ll get whatever’s on his mind out into the open.

He slides his hand out of yours, running it through his hair with a sigh. “The kids overheard me askin’ if I would have any more time with them if I lost.”

Your brows tie together in sympathy. “Choso…?”

Sukuna shakes his head, throwing his hand through the air in an exasperated shrug. “He shut down. I dunno how to help him, I-” he pauses, dragging his hand through his hair again. A stray strand of salmon falls down over his forehead and into his vision. He likely hasn’t had a chance to get his hair cut in a while, and it seems it’s bothering him as much as Choso’s is, though you can’t imagine Sukuna will let you put his hair up like his little brother does. “You’re so much better with them than I am.”

You blink, your lips parting at his confession. “You’re good with them, Sukuna.” Before you can continue, he interjects with a snarl.

“Keepin’ a roof over their heads isn’t being good to them!” He growls, teeth gritted in frustration. At the sight of your dejection, he backpedals quickly. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” He throws his head back in frustration, hitting his head on the wall hard enough to wince. “Shit-” He mutters, rubbing the back of his head.

“Sukuna,” you get his attention with a soft smile, pulling him from his spiraling frustration.

He fixes you with a scowl, his eyes flitting around your face. His shoulders fall as he relaxes, leaning his head against the wall gently this time. “Sorry, princess.”

“It’s okay. Just talk to me,” you encourage him, watching as he reaches out to fiddle with your fingers. Biting your lip, you will your heart to relax, grateful he can’t feel your pulse as it skyrockets from his touch.

You’re not as over him as you thought, but you suppose you knew that already.

“Cho locked himself in the brats’ room and Yuji wouldn’t stop crying. Don’t think he knew what was goin’ on.” Sukuna sighs, rubbing his free hand harshly over his face. “Cried until he fell asleep. Choso’s probably still awake, but I can’t get into his room without pickin’ the lock,” he mutters, scratching at his chest as the familiar weight of guilt and stress begin to press down on him again, his breathing growing somewhat erratic.

“Where’s Yuji asleep?” You whisper softly.

“Moved him to my room.”

God, no wonder he was struggling. “How long has this been going on?”

Sukuna’s thumb runs over your nails, focusing on the glossy finish of your manicure. “The lawyer left at six.”

You blink at him, your lips parting. “And Choso locked himself in his room right away?”

Sukuna nods, the tension in his shoulders rising again. “Couldn’t get Yuji to stop crying, couldn’t get Cho to open the door.” He scratches at his chest, stress settling deep within him once more as the room begins to close in on him. He lets his head hang, his hair falling down over his forehead once again. “I dunno how you got Cho to open up a bit, but I fucked shit up again.”

You press your lips into a thin line, comfortingly squeezing the tips of his fingers before pulling your hand from his. His eyes dart towards you, watching intently as you grab the towel from the back of his neck, heading back to the sink. Wetting the towel with more fresh, cool, water, you wring out the excess and kneel back down in front of him.

He doesn’t protest as you run the towel over his forehead, replacing it over the back of his neck. He rolls his shoulder as water rolls down his spine, but the sensation is somewhat welcome as a distraction from the tightening in his chest.

“You know,” you begin, adjusting the towel in an attempt to keep the water from running down his chest too. “You may not realize it, but you are good with them.” Sitting back on your heels, you evaluate your work before meeting his eyes, which are watching you intently. “You know their favorite foods, what they need when they’re sick, what they like to play and watch.”

“That’s surface-level shit,” he grumbles.

Reaching out softly, you let him fiddle with your fingers again. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“You might think so,” you shrug, “but I bet those things mean a lot to them. You’re encouraging Yuji’s love of sports, and Cho’s passion for cooking. You can’t tell me the gifts you got them for Christmas didn’t mean anything to them, or you.”

Sukuna blinks, glaring at the bathtub to his left like it’s personally offended him.

“Do you know how carefully Yuji colored that Sonic you drew? Or how excited they got when you played Nerf with them?”

He doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he recalls the Christmas eve spent with you and Uraume. Slowly, his hand moves to engulf your much smaller one, squeezing. Your heart is in your throat at the feeling of his thumb smoothing over your skin. There’s no world where this is good for your progress in getting over him, but it doesn’t matter, so long as he isn’t struggling on his own.

“I know you’re trying to be their parent, but that’s not what you are, Kuna.” He jerks his head towards you, his stomach fluttering as the nickname he’s grown more fond of than he’d previously realized slips so effortlessly from your lips. “I know you have the responsibility of a parent, and they realize that too, they’re smart, but they also need their brother.”

His tongue slides across his lower lip as he listens intently.

“They need the Sukuna who can turn off ‘parent mode’ and toss a basketball around with them, or beat them in MarioKart because that Sukuna can’t bear to lose to a five-year-old.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically as though you aren’t right.

“They love you, Sukuna.”

He inhales sharply, clinging to the deep breath like a lifeline. He knows his brothers care, but it’s hard to feel that it should be him taking care of them when he can’t even get his little brother to stop crying.

It stands as a cruel reminder of the question he couldn’t answer all those years ago from the social worker.

How the hell was he supposed to provide emotionally for his little brothers when he can’t even handle his own emotions? He’d had to call someone in a desperate attempt to escape the pain.

Not just anyone, but you, who he’s already feels an immense amount of guilt towards.

Sukuna leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Is that enough?” He mumbles, more as a rhetorical question than something he expects you to respond to. Yet in your infinite wisdom and kindness, you have an answer for that, too.

“You don’t have to be the only person they can turn to. It’s okay to need help, Sukuna.”

Tired pupils with dark circles weighing them down fall to his knees. He reaches up to scratch his chest with his spare hand, inhaling deeply. “I can’t just call you every time Choso’s acting off,” he mumbles, pulling his hand back to rest on his knees as he withdraws into himself at the idea of calling on the one person who doesn’t want to hear from him.

Well, one of the two. He can’t imagine Toji is his biggest fan either.

Pulling your hands back into your lap, you stare at your manicured nails, as though they might hold the answer. “Maybe not,” you agree, “but you don’t have to try to figure it out alone every time.”

He glances at you through his peripherals, dragging his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. His lip curls in disgust at the feeling.

“Why’d you come in the first place?”

“Here?” You query, tilting your head.

Something flutters in Sukuna’s stomach, threatening to eat him from the inside out, leaving a taste on his tongue that’s so sickly sweet he thinks his body is tricking him into thinking he’s about to upheave the contents of his stomach. Yet, there’s no bile at the back of his throat, this is something different entirely. And that thought makes his chest tighten again.

Clutching at his chest, he nods in response, fighting to keep his breathing even.

“Just because I haven’t forgiven you doesn’t mean I want you to go through this alone.”

Somehow, that makes this hurt even more for Sukuna. He can’t help but feel as though he’s manipulating your overwhelming kindness, although that’s not the case. You’re too sweet for him, too sweet for the world he comes from and lives in.

Clutching the edge of the bathtub, he feels his heart accelerating, his breathing following shortly behind.

Catching a glance at the way his chest is rising and falling faster, you step in to stop his panic before it gets unbearable. “Talk to me, walk me through your thoughts,” you speak gently, running your palm back and forth along the length of his forearm.

Staring at the ceiling with a lidded, exhausted gaze, he shakes his head. “Just tryin’ to catch my breath,” he croaks, unwilling to admit that he has half a mind to kick you out if it only means he won’t be fucking up the strange agreement that’s settled between you both like a rickety bridge, as though your hand isn’t already outstretched to him on one end of it.

But Sukuna’s nothing if not dense.

“I think some fresh air would do you good,” you suggest, pushing yourself up off your knees. You extend your hand, but he doesn’t take it, opting to use the leverage from pushing his hand against the edge of the tub to get to his feet. He throws the towel in the sink on the way out.

The tattooed man trudges after you as you lead the way to the balcony, peering outside at the snow covering it. Jogging to the front door, you grab your boots and coat and Sukuna’s, offering them to him as you throw your jacket on. He slips his feet into the shoes in a half-assed fashion, leaving the coat unzipped as he keeps his focus on breathing evenly.

Heading out first, you use your boots to shove some of the snow aside. Sukuna follows after you, leaning over the railing. As he does that, you grab a couple of chairs from the kitchen, placing them facing one another on the balcony, before shutting the door.

The cool air on his skin is refreshing, the bite of the faint breeze seeming to lessen the weight on his chest, just a little bit.

Tugging on his jacket sleeve, you point to the chair behind him. “Take a seat.”

Grunting, he slides down in the chair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Any better?”

He nods, staring up at the sky as he slumps back in the chair. It’s faint from the city’s light pollution, but a few stars twinkle at him in the distance. You follow suit, sliding down in the chair to rest the back of your head against it, staring up at the few visible stars. Your foot brushes against the tip of his boot, nudging it a few times as you shuffle in your chair to get comfy, zipping your coat up.

“Can you believe those are all stars?”

Sukuna clears his throat, his breathing evening the longer he spends out in the frigid night air. It’s warmed up enough over the past week that it’s bearable, though he does run warm. He hums in agreement, letting out a long, and surprisingly steady breath.

“How far away do you think that one is?” You point at the brightest one in the sky. Sukuna cranes his neck to see what you’re pointing at, serving as a great distraction from his thoughts.

His voice is still hoarse as he replies. “I think that’s Jupiter. Maybe Venus.”

You raise your head to look at him, curious. “It’s a planet?” As you watch his eyes dart around the night sky, you’re grateful to find that he seems more at ease. His features are only illuminated by the dull glow of the light from the entrance of the apartment that you’d flicked on upon arrival and whatever lights decorate the street. The dull yellow glow makes the darkened circles beneath his eyes painfully obvious, though you notice they actually seem a bit better than when you’d met him at the coffee shop last week. Maybe the new job is doing him good.

“I think so. It’s been a few years since I took Astronomy,” he shrugs in his seat, nudging your foot. “The ones that don’t flicker are planets.”

“Huh, I never knew.”

Sukuna hums, pulling his hands out of his pockets to fold them over his chest. As your eyes return to the sky, he lifts his head. You haven’t changed much in the time since he last saw you, though you don’t look as worn thin as you had been when you were helping him. He wonders if maybe your life is better with him sidelined, where you can focus on yourself.

Yet, he knows that it’s that mindset that landed him in this position, staring at a crater that separates you both where once he could reach for you freely. He’s not enough of a fool to let himself think that again. Uraume’s words still ring in the back of his mind, serving as a constant reminder that he might not know you as well as he once thought.

He remembers thinking once that you were a sun, while he was little more than a star about to burn out. Maybe he had run his course already with you, and if that was the case, he supposes that’s fine, but if a planet that produces no light can shine brighter in the night sky than the stars themselves, maybe he does stand a chance at standing alongside you again.

He’s not really sure what he means or wants by that, either. He just knows he longs for your presence. Longs for this, whatever it is. This sense of tranquility with you.

As the silence stretches on with Sukuna quietly observing you while untangling his thoughts, your eyes fall from the sky to meet his, a small smile gracing your lips. You tilt your head questioningly, a familiar feeling of warmth flooding through Sukuna. Cute.

“You didn’t deserve all the shit I said.” It comes out in a flurry, before Sukuna has a chance to mediate his own words.

You avert your eyes, your smile dissipating. You know this conversation is a long time coming, and the one in the break room was only the beginning, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I… Appreciate that,” you tread carefully. Sukuna can see your walls coming up, carefully guarding your heart where once there were none. Walls erected to guard you from him.

“I know you didn’t see me as a project, or whatever the hell else I said,” he adds, staring down at his forearms. He takes in a long breath, watching it billow out in front of him. “I shouldn’t have used your scholarship, or all that Prom Queen shit against you. You work fuckin’ hard, I was just trying to hit where it hurt.”

“Because I hurt you?”

He shrugs. “Guess so. It’s a shit excuse, though.”

You examine his expression, taking a moment to take in his words. There’s a level of maturity held within his tone that you don’t recognize, though it suits him. He’s still the same Sukuna, with serrated edges and bared teeth, ready to leap at the opportunity to jump into a fight, but he’s quick to reel himself back and approach things just a bit more level-headed.

Scratching at the stubble that dots his jaw, giving him a five o’clock shadow, he sighs. “I know I said it the other day or whatever, but I’m sorry. I was an asshole.”

You nod a bit, taking in his apology. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I was trying to fix you. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about little things, and I shouldn’t have accused you of endangering the kids. I was out of line.”

Sukuna just shrugs. “I know you meant well. Don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body.”

You crack a hint of a smile. “Well, it wasn’t very nice of me.”

Sukuna shrugs again, looking back up at the sky. “You’re fine, princess. Don’t worry about it.”

Your heart betrays you, flipping in your chest as he calls you princess again. Chewing on your lip, you stare at his sharp, stubbled-dotted chin. Disheveled beyond belief after his long and shitty day, he still looks handsome as hell. You can’t deny just how attractive he’s always been.

“What do I need to do?” Sukuna gruffs, clearing his throat as it tightens with the fear that you could shoot him down in only a couple of words. Less, if you wanted.

“What do you mean?”

“To get things to go back to normal.” His gaze shifts to a car pulling into the parking lot below the balcony.

You take pause, considering for a moment what’s good for you. The man sitting before you, though still stoic and rough around the edges, has clearly come a long way. Whether that earns him a second last chance, you’re not sure. You don’t expect things to go back to how they were right away, but forgiving him feels like a step in the right direction. Maybe that’s the final step you need to allow yourself to heal.

Even as you think that, your pounding heart betrays those thoughts.

Maybe it’s just what your longing heart wants you to think.

But if you want it so bad, can it be so wrong? Could you be thinking about things the wrong way? Maybe you don’t need to get over him to heal. Maybe he can be a part of the process.

“I don’t know,” you admit, wrestling with your own thoughts. “I can’t say for sure if things will ever be the same, but it means a lot to hear you apologize.”

He hums, shaking a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

“I…” you trail off in thought, chewing uncertainly on your lip.

“Do I need to get down on my knees and beg?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

A smile pulls at the edges of your lips. “Now that I’d love to see,” you chuckle wryly, shaking your head as you shuffle in the dining chair.

“Tough luck,” he scoffs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips for what feels like the first time in ages.

Shrugging, you tuck your hands under your thighs, staring down at the parking lot as a white rabbit darts out from snow-covered brush to erratically hop across the lot under the cover of a truck. “A girl can dream,” you mimic his lighthearted tone.

Sukuna observes you for a long moment, crimson gaze darting across each of your features. He caught your impish tone, but something in your eyes, a glaze of underlying sadness, tells him there’s a level of sincerity to your request.

At least, he thinks.

With a huff, Sukuna slides down off his chair onto his knees before you.

“Oh my god, what are you-?”

“You wanted me on my knees, or whatever,” he grumbles like it’s normal, though his tone is earnest.

A giggle bubbles in your throat that you attempt to stifle, sitting up. “I was joking, get up,” you plead.

“Does saying I’m sorry from down here make it more serious?”

“Sukuna please, oh my god, this is embarrassing-” You bite down on your lip, taking in your surroundings as though someone might see you.

“For who? I’m the one on my fuckin’ knees-” he points out with a brow raised, mild irritation crossing his frown and interrupting your rambling.

“Your knees are gonna get all wet, please get up,” you beg, unable to hold in your laughter any longer as you tug at his bicep, getting to your feet to attempt to pull him up.

Sukuna can’t help his smirk, any irritation dissipating at the sight of your laughter. It brings a sense of peace to his life that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Even in the midst of all the issues plaguing his life, you still brighten it so much that he doesn’t mind being on his knees. Even if he’s giving up some dignity to appease you.

“Kuna, cut it out!” You giggle, tugging on both of his forearms with as much strength as you can muster.

His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners at your use of his nickname, but he stays put, insistent on earning your forgiveness in any way he can. When he doesn’t budge, you cover your face, though your muffled laughter still rings out in the open winter air. “Please get up, oh my god,” you giggle, peeking through your fingers.

“Alright, alright,” he relents finally, pushing up to his feet with a grunt.

“Your knees are soaked,” you murmur, brushing his sweatpants off for him, though his knees have two darker gray patches decorating them.

“My knees will live,” he gruffs, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

You raise a hand up to your lips, stifling your giggles as you turn back towards the parking lot. Sukuna joins you, brushing the snow off the railing so that his forearms don’t suffer the same fate as his knees.

Silence settles over you as you follow suit, leaning against the railing beside him. The rabbit you’d caught sight of earlier darts out from under the vehicle it had chosen, leaping up onto the sidewalk, camouflaged in snow. The light breeze rustles your hair, blowing strands of Sukuna’s salmon hair into his eyes. He shakes his head, his locks falling out of his vision.

The city is mostly silent at this time of night in the middle of winter. There’s no one out wandering at this time, even close to the college, with the cold. The distant sounds of cars driving across packed snow and thin layers of ice serve as little more than white noise.

“I forgive you.” You murmur, penetrating the comfortable silence.

Sukuna’s head whips towards you, as though in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything, blinking down at the rabbit sitting directly below the two of you. He’s never exactly been great with words as it stands.

“’Cause I got down on my knees, huh?” He settles on a teasing reply.

“God… no,” you giggle, craning your neck to look up at him. “Please don’t do that again.”

He huffs in amusement, nudging your shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean things are back to normal,” you warn more seriously, but he’ll take what he can get. He already knows he lost your trust and he doesn’t expect to get it back in what was just a desperate plea for help to pull him from the hole of doubt he’d dug himself into. After over an hour of working himself up and struggling to breathe, he’d felt out of options.

“I can live with that,” he mumbles, the breeze cutting through to his knees as it becomes increasingly clear that there’s wet patches where he’d been kneeling. The back of his neck is fairly chilly too from the towel. “Come inside,” he grunts, turning away from the railing to slide the door open.

Slipping your boots off, you attempt to shake some of the snow off onto the balcony before carrying them to the mat at the front door. Pulling your phone out, you glance at the message previews from Uraume checking in, shooting them a quick text to let them know everything is okay.

Sukuna drags both chairs back inside and casts a glance at the two room doors that are shut in the hall before meeting you at the front entrance with his own boots.

“What are you gonna do?”

Letting out a breath, Sukuna shakes his head. “Dunno. Sleep on the couch ‘til Yuji wakes up, try to get him to stop crying.” He shrugs. “I don’t think the kid’s gonna unlock the door.”

“Do you need a hand?”

Sukuna reaches up to scratch his jaw. “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

Shoving his chest lightly, you fix him with a scowl. His head whips around to meet your gaze with equal disdain.

“The fuck was that for, brat?”

“How many times do I need to tell you to ask for help?” You groan, narrowing your eyes as you point at his chest.

Smacking your pointed finger aside with relative mercy, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t fuckin’ shove me.”

“Sukuna. Focus.”

With a half-hearted sneer, he grumbles out a “fine,” giving in with little dramatism.

But it is Sukuna, so he does have to make a bit of a show of it.

“I’ll text ya when Yuji wakes up if shit’s bad, alright?”

Nodding, you cast a glance towards the back hall. “Uraume wants to help, too. Just… ask, when you need it.”

He regards you with his usual stoic expression. “Mm,” is his only reply, a silence settling between you that doesn’t quite feel as comfortable as you’d grown accustomed to with Sukuna so long ago. It isn’t even the same comfortable silence that you’ve felt with him tonight. There’s something unspoken, something hanging in the air, settling on the tips of your tongues that remains a talking point, but before Sukuna can voice his question, you glance at your phone.

“I should call an Uber.”

He hums once more, shoving his hands in his pockets as the opportunity passes. “Drink some water.”

You tilt your head questioningly, and fuck, Sukuna has no right to find it so sweet, so… attractive?

Clearing his throat, Sukuna scowls as his surroundings become increasingly more interesting. “I can smell vodka.”

“Oh. Right, I was with Uraume and Shoko,” you explain simply, hitting a couple of buttons on your phone to call for an Uber. Satisfied, you nod to yourself. “They’re a minute away, I’m gonna head downstairs.”

Sukuna hums again, his usual guarded personality having completely returned now that he’s neither having a panic attack, nor physically begging for your forgiveness.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Probably, yeah.”

Shooting him a polite smile, you put your boots back on and turn towards the door. Only moments before it shuts does Sukuna find his voice again.

“I owe you.”

“Just say thank you, Sukuna.”

“Thanks, princess. Text me when you’re home.”

With a more genuine smile and a small wave, you head out the door, letting out a breath as you consider the weird limbo you’re in with Sukuna now. Forgiven, able to jest and connect on some level that never quite disappeared, but it’s as though there’s a thin, near-invisible barrier that still separates you. Something unspoken, hanging over your heads like a condition of sorts.

Yet you can’t quite place the uncertainty. It’s as though you’re both holding back, holding onto something that the other can’t place.

Crawling into the back seat of the Uber, you stare out the window at the passing lights, all blurring into one another as you lose yourself in thought.

You want to tell yourself you’re letting him back in as nothing more than a friend, that you’ll keep your walls up and let him in bit by bit as he earns his place within your life again, but that would disregard everything that took place tonight. Try as you might to keep him at arms’ length, he has a way of slipping through your defenses and tugging at your heart strings.

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt that this time will be better, though. Maybe it’s naive to expect that the Sukuna that you’ve seen over these past couple of weeks is here to stay, but you can’t deny that there’s been a shift.

You can only hope things stay this way, and if you’re lucky, maybe the distance between you that you can’t quite place will begin to crumble.

You can’t say for sure if it’s what you need, but your erratic heart has a funny way of telling you that it’s what you want.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; in case you missed it, my best friend did some absolutely gorgeous and adorable art for the series here! can you tell i was listening to hozier when i wrote this LMAO anyway hiiii my loves, thank you sm for reading as always <33 i really hope you enjoyed it, that last scene has been on my mind for a couple of chapters and i couldn't possibly end the chapter without it, so uh 19.2k words it was LOL i expect the next chapter to most likely be longer as well, and it may take me a bit more time going forward since i have some research to do on legal proceedings and whatnot (you know what that means 🤭) so bear with me on that, i want to make sure i do everything justice. i also just want to mention that i do really appreciate each and every like, comment, reblog, and ask, it genuinely means the world to me and i read each and every one and love chatting with y'all <33 aaaanyway i'm yapping again so i'll stop LOL but thanks for sticking with me for my fave extremely slow burn couple 🫶

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @jeonwiixard

@ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears

@tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts

@lauuriiiz @blueemochii @paradisestarfishh @erenxh @call-me-doll8811

@toulouse365 @dabieater @janrcrosssing @satsattoru @moonchhu

@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

@axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

1K notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 3 months ago

Text

I Recall Late November, Holdin' My Breath

husband!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: becoming an actress has always been your dream, and this job you've taken to be elvira lind's assistant is a step closer to doors of an industry so far has only given you meaningless extra roles, but you get more than you bargained for.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, dry humping, fingering, humilliation kink (ooc but a girl can dream for a man to be mean on bed and cute outside of it), mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, holy trio of angst + jealousy + possessiveness, ptwt cameos went on vacation for this chapter, lots of pov change, why is this so long and tortuous omg my bad if it's shitty but my current delusion/pain is pouring into my works.. if y'all don't comment ill unalive myself didn't pull an all nighter with my statistics hw and this for nothing

word count: 12,515 words

side note: inspired by a comment left in the og call it what you want and this req. finally, this became a series! y'all love this couple too much and so do i! for the record, this has been imprisoned in my drafts since jan 20; i have no shame. i reallyyyyy tried to let it out of draft asylum for his bday―THAT BEING SAID HAPPY (four days late) BIRTHDAY TO MY 50 YEAR OLD BABYGIRL―but it got too long and i'm too tired with uni and midterms coming up. my procrastinating inconsistent slow updater ass is to blame as well, my bad ++ i made an edit because i love p a normal amount

part: prev | masterlist | next

You hated parties.

Scratch that. You hated parties where you didn't know anybody.

It isn't like you were anxious or an extreme introvert, and though you valued a lot the time you spent alone, it's more in the sense you can't help but overthink in this type of events, especially given the industry you're in. And so far, that industry had only given you meaningless roles. But it was better than nothing, of course, and you were glad to at least be in Netflix's call sheet for extra roles.

Your dream, however, was very much still alive. Hence, this job you've taken: working as Elvira Lind's PA, wife of famous actor Oscar Isaac. Did that guarantee you something? No, but it was closer than you were months ago. It is also the same reason why you're stuck in this party: Oscar Isaac's birthday, which you planned. You were forced to stay, both insisting it was unfair you did all that effort and didn't get to enjoy it. You didn't mind it, really: you loved planning parties. Thought, you felt in no position to deny the couple of anything, so you agreed.

Which brings you back to now, where you lay against one of the walls of the garden, sipping your drink: away from the music, chatter and people.

Today, the last thing you need is this.

You stare at your nails, bitten to the very finger in an anxious self-hating manner. It's a cruel reminder of today's failure: the audition, rejection burning in your back like a second skin.

You're growing tired of it: the closed doors in your face, the look of pity to let you finish even if you won't get the role, the condescending tone of I'm sorry, you're not what we're looking for.

You glance back at the party, your boss obviously having a good time with her husband. Well, at least she did. Sighing and trying to stay far away to be a Debbie Downer by yourself and not ruin the mood, you empty the glass in your hand in one gulp. Hey, maybe the alcohol will make the rest of the night more tolerable. Your aunt said you were a fun drunk once; you haven't seen her since you move to LA.

Isn't all this too depressing for a birthday party?

"Fuck" you exhale out loud, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the wall.

"Rough night?"

You pay no mind to the new voice, deciding to sulk in private. So you keep your eyes close, humming as to answer: not out of wanting to engage on conversations or politeness, but because you hate silence.

"Looks like it"

More silence settles in. You refuse to open your eyes, hoping they're gone.

Despite it all, you find yourself replying. "You have no idea"

"At least there's a free bar" their voice is laced with mischief. "Very mindful of the person who organized this. And I know it wasn't Oscar, maldito tacaño" (fucking cheapskate)

Maybe it's because you shouldn't laugh, since it's your boss' husband. Or it's the way they haven't been deterred by your dry demeanor, or the fact that the voice sounds... familiar, for a reason you can't quite place.

"I did"

You open your eyes, turning to the person who decided the lonely sad looking woman on the pathetic silent corner of the garden was more interesting than the party going on behind.

"Ay, carajo!" you jump, soul practically leaving your body. You swear, after such shitty day, your head is playing games with you, and for some reason has decided to imagine your favorite actor as a coping mechanism. "Pedro Pascal?" (oh, damn)

He laughs, "Unless there's another way of calling me I'm not familiar with"

Of course he would be here. You organized the whole thing: went through the food and drinks as much as you went over the list of guests. But Elvira said that he probably wouldn't be able to make it, so of course, there was no reason to expect him nor try to put an extra effort in your look and plaster a fake smile.

Yet now he stands before you, and it's like your brain has crashed.

"Uh- You okay?"

"Definitely no" you're quick to answer, your voice sounding distant. "Now less"

"Oh!" he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, as his face flushes a pretty pink. "Is it my fault?"

He looks genuinely sorry about it, making you borderline distressed.

"Yes" Pedro raises his eyebrows, "but not how you're thinking. Yes, in the sense you're right here, right now, when you weren't supposed to. Ms. Elvira said you wouldn't make it but oh- Don't feel bad. This is my fault, for acting weird" you start rambling. "It's just, you're my favorite actor, and I we met while I'm wearing the worst dress in my closet on my worst day ever"

Pedro gives you a shy smile. "I would've never guessed"

You quirk an eyebrow, heart slamming against your chest, agitated.

"Guess what?"

He shrugs, as to mantain the mystery. "It's up to you to decide"

You look down, to your dress. You play with a loose thread as you speak.

"It's definitely not about the dress"

He laughs, but the sound is small, as if it was for you only. Like he wanted you to be the only one to hear it, like a secret of yours to keep.

"Can I tell you something?" he leans in, and the smell of clean and his cologne get in your nostrils. "I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while"

The air is knocked out of your lungs at his breathless confession. The party goes quiet, and for a second, the cold of the condensation that spills from the drink and mingles with that of the night's wind is gone. All you know is there's a warmth you've never felt before, one that is settling in your chest like it's making itself a home, like he is entering your life for it to be felt now ever since.

Everything has changed.

"Please, stop talking" he looks shocked at your harsh words for a moment, but then your face turns redder by the second. "I think I'm going to throw up and I haven't even had a full drink yet" your glass sweating as much as you now a testament to this.

"Oh-" he sheepishly looks down. "I'm sorry"

It's been a long week. You still can't believe this is happening. How could anyone in their right minds believe so?

"I don't know you"

He offers you a small smile.

"I thought you said you were a fan"

You can't choose what burns more: your face, lungs or chest. It's like he's breaking you, little by little. You're folding. And it's the unknown that terrifies you: you're not exactly a control freak, nor a cold person, but this is all too new and too soon. All he had to do was look at you, make you feel seen, and you don't know if it's years of fighting to be noticed or the way you easily believe in every word he says. He might as well just caught you the moment he first spoke, world stopping to hear his every breath and your shaky heart.

You look at him, sternly, trying from a different angle.

"You can't just say things like that"

"Why not?" he tilts his head, "last time I checked, lying isn't bad"

You gulp, hardly.

"You don't mean it" you insist.

"Why not?" he repeats. "Is it that hard for yourself to believe you're pretty?"

"It's rather hard to believe Pedro Pascal of all people rather spend his time complimenting me in a room full of pretty and famous guests"

"I suppose I like telling things the way they are. And how I see it, no matter how much you try to downplay yourself, you're still the most interesting person in this room"

Your stomach can't decide if to tie in a knot or let the butterflies fly.

"You're trying to tell me I'm pretty?"

"It's even better when you say it" he purses his lips together, satisfied. "Don't you think?"

He leans against the wall, next to your small wallflower spot.

"Pretty" he whispers into the air, his exhale condescending into the night.

"I still can't believe you'd choose to be here" he looks at you, eyebrow raised. "I mean, how interesting can your friend's wife's PA be?"

He laughs, loudly. You don't think what you just said is that funny.

"What?"

"They did said you had a bit of a character"

You scoff, pouting lightly. Pedro sees your posture relax a bit, shoulders less tense, and smiles.

"My boss talks behind my back?"

He shots you a look. "Don't you do the same?"

You place a hand on your chest. "I'm actually a honest person. If I don't like you, I'll say it to your face. Same if I do"

"And how are you liking me so far?" he asks, smirking.

Pedro knows he's playing with dangerous waters, seeing the conflict in your eyes torn between letting go or holding back, but he can't help it. Ever since the moment he went through the door and caught your lonely figure in the back, away from the noise and the livelihood of the party, he was drawn to you, intrigued by your guarded posture. Like you were bracing yourself.

"Who's that?" Pedro asked Oscar.

"Elvira's new personal assistant" he answers. "I told you about her"

"You did?"

He's surprised about that. He thinks he'd remember.

"Yeah, y/n. Rings a bell?"

Oh, that y/n. "The one who got you the costumes for your kids last Halloween?"

He thinks of the picture Oscar sent him, the words accompanying the photo carrying love and pride for his children, all dressed up. The costumes were nice, detailed, like the person behind them just knew what they were doing.

"Yeah, she did them herself. Pretty smart and useful girl; been working with us for a while. Seems part of the family by now"

He nods, distracted. Oscar gives him a knowing stare accompanied by a smirk.

"Hey, why don't you go talk to her? Está toda solita, ¿no ves?" Oscar nudges him. "Use that nice smile of yours. She's had a pretty rough day" (she's all by herself, don't you see?)

Despite his interest in you, complimenting you (more like flirting) hadn't been exactly his plan, yet as soon as he went by your side, your perfume clouded his judgment and the sight of the silhouette of your curves under your flimsy dress made him dizzy. All common sense went out the window, and by Oscar's earlier reaction, something tells him his friend expected this to happen.

"So, the rumors are true" your voice breaks his train of thoughts, "you're a heartthrob"

The tip of his ears go red. God, he loves the way your eyes lit up with fierce passion, as if accepting some kind of game he isn't aware of. That fiery crack, spark of yours was all too consuming. Pedro finds himself drawn to the fire of your spirit, not minding the burn.

He can handle the heat, anyway.

"Look how the tables have turned" you say, smirking. "Am I making you nervous?"

Maybe not that much.

But your smile, victorious grin on display, carrying the same illusion of a child on a Christmas morning, brings him down to his knees. He finds himself wanting more of it, being the one to provoke it.

"Very" he decides to reply. "But it's a good thing"

"We're good then"

"Pedro Pascal" he offers his hand. "But you know that"

"Y/n" grabbing his hand makes something settle deep in your bones. "But judging by how Elvira and Oscar look at us, I think you do too"

"Jesus" Pedro murmurs, "what are they up to?"

"Nothing good, I suppose" you look in their direction, and they both play clueless, looking away. "Don't worry, they'll pay for that"

"Oh, look at you" he teasingly touches your shoulder. Even if for brief seconds, your skin feels on fire. "Little evil thing, who would've thought?"

You barely contain a smile. "There's a lot to me you don't know"

He leans in closer to you. The lingering smell of alcohol on his breath gets under your skin. Talking about it, you need another drink, fast.

"Well, I'm interested in learning"

"Are you?" you taunt.

"Trust me. You aren't getting rid of me"

Pedro was many things: funny, charming, loyal, educated and hot. Like, offensively handsome. But he was also honest and a man of his word.

Just as told, he kept his promise to stay, committed to the whole knowing me, knowing you bit.

Months had passed and he had stayed.

You went from talking about coffee orders with way too many shots and the weather to political stances and failed auditions. Dreams and secrets. Things you'd probably never say outloud to anyone else. It had begun with loud laughs and conversations turned to hushed whispers under the palm leaves of his house. He invited you to his home: gave you a chance to enter the most kept part of his life, away from the noise and cameras, and let you settle inside, like you always belonged. Let you carve a space on his heart and mind, where you where for most of the time if you weren't sitting on his couch, two big for one person but that now felt complete, dipping under the new weight of someone else. Someone to keep.

(He told you about missing Chile and his family. You told him you had always wanted to be a mother. Spoke in Spanish sometimes like the language belonged only to your world. He shared his brief swimming career. You told him about your first kiss; bad. Said your fears, like heartbreak and the sharp solitude of being forgotten. Fame. Failure. Pedro told you to be patient, no one better to tell you so, but allowed you to break down in tears as you mumbled a What if it never happens? as he whispered back a It will, sounding so sure, your heart quieted and you allowed yourself to believe him. You always would, ever since his first promise: You aren't getting rid of me)

Oscar and Elvira, of course, had noticed. How could they not? Their most trusted and professional employee and one of their closests friends had fallen together in the slow delicious burn of the amber flame of love.

It was obvious to everyone but you. Or maybe you knew, teetering around the edges of a delicate friendship that pressed with a hurting softness on your ribs, trying to remind you it shouldn't be like this if it only meant that. Perhaps you were scared of the sharp corners that threatened your frail dancing around the real, big question:

What are we?

Maybe summer was the answer: with it's sun, salt air and sweat on shirts of flimsy material. He had already your spring and your winter. New Year's was at his house. Happy New Year, he had whispered, so close to your lips, it felt like a kiss. A silent I want you here, for all year promise behind his hushed tone, just for you to hear, no matter the fireworks and the glittery noise of music and mellow conversations of excited purposes with new chapters to be written. It was just you and him, as when you sat on the Santa Mónica Hills, white Hollywood sign below your feet, or when the poppies on that park he took you to brushed your feet with the sweet blossom of spring.

He'd taken all your cold and daises with him. The leaves growing and falling. Growing again. The smell of grass that reminded you of when you were young, running around with your brother without a care in the world. Safe. You weren't religious, but believed in a God out there who heard your prayers for Pedro to be by your side all the time.

You'd give him all your seasons. All your life.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Pedro asks, leaning to your side.

His smell, one you wore as your own, the hugs (wasn't he touchy as hell?) and fleeting lasting touches to blame, fills your nostrils. Your body stiffens at the closeness, never allowing yourself to relax at how close you were: to hearing his breath, to mapping all his face... But he always managed to amuse you, like today: his moustache was a tad bit unkempt, new greys here and there. So was his hair, yet managed to look breathtaking as the scenery below you.

"Listen, if you were going to peak this much all the trip, you could've taken the window seat" you chastise with no malice behind your soft voice. "I offered you so"

"I wanted you to have it"

There it goes. The reason you had thought about him all the flight. But again, when weren't you?

"There's no winning with you, huh?"

"Oh, please" he makes a funny face, lips in a pout. "You love to be close to me"

"As if, old man" you joke. "Whatever suits your delusional ass"

This banter makes Oscar and Elvira, sitting in the row next to you, roll their eyes.

"If we knew you'd be this annoying, we wouldn't brought you along"

Life had been crazy right now. Lots of roles and filming, especifically Pedro finishing to film The Mandalorian, a series soon to hit Disney's streaming service and one that could make him a household name. You just knew it, despite how many times he looked insecure about it. Still, he was excited, probably more than he was with the Wonder Woman sequel. Yeah, the role Oscar convinced him to take was what got him excited for the rest of the year to come.

So, before Pedro went to film a Netflix movie he didn't want to tell you about (you wondered why he seemed embarrassed to talk about it, despite committing to the role, as always) and Oscar went to fully inmerse in Dune (God, you were excited for that one), Elvira had suggested to take a break, and as a Thank you for the almost three years working for her, they took you with them. Now, Pedro was a last minute addition, him being surprised about being invited at all, but judging by the continuous stares from the couple, you think this was their plan all along.

"We're about to descend, isn't it great?" Oscar shares, holding his wife's hand. "I needed this"

"We all do" she agrees, leaning on his shoulders. He hums happily, closing his eyes as the pilot's voice announces for seatbelts to be worn.

"Should we do that too?" you whisper to Pedro, wiggling your brows.

"Oh, we should" he agrees in an exaggerated sweet tone, grabbing your hand. You're used to it, but today, more than ever, your heart beats fast. You lean to him, closing your eyes to avoid his brown eyes that seemed harder not to fall into each passing day, so inviting.

"You're not funny" you hear Oscar's voice say. "What a weird sense of humor you have, my sweet girlfriend"

Pedro clicks his tongue. "You guys are gross"

"Right, you won't be saying that when you fall in love" Elvira adds.

"You'll have to die waiting" he says, still holding your hand. "You know I don't do that"

You tense, and he must've felt so.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate the landing"

But your heart sinks like the plane over the tracks, crestfallen.

Despite the initial sadness, the blue of the sea took away the one in your heart.

Water had never seemed this alluring, so transparent you could see your feet pruning and the sand below your toes. You laughed under the sun, skin sprinkled with the salt of the sea and sweat.

"I wished the sea would swallow me away"

Outloud. Voice distant. The water isn't even at your waist, but Pedro looks at you. The couple are behind, sunbathing in their towels while music plays from their speaker.

"I would never allow that" sounding so serious. "I can't let you leave me"

You're taken back to your first night. You can't just say things like that.

"Right" you continue, "I'd do you a favor"

"The favor would be to stay. But I'd rather have it be a promise"

Promises. Funny. Why did Pedro say this things so freely, as true as a breath, when then he'd go and voice his fear for commitment and refusal for love in the next beat? Of course, you can't force nothing, nor have the right to change him. But it stings, that you no longer know what his initial promise meant. Friends. Yeah, could be that, but boy, didn't it hurt?

It isn't enough.

Your heart doesn't get the memo though, fluttering with his words.

"The promise to bother you forever?" you try to keep your tone steady.

"I can live with that if it means to keep you"

You suck in a breath.

"Look"

You kneel down, trying to avoid his face. Pedro should notice, he always does, but he's too busy staring somewhere else. Someone else. By God, this bikini you're wearing... It's making him insane. And hard. Under his swimtrucks, but you can't find out. He already feels like a creep, staring at your ass while you bend, giving him your back. Obscene images fill his mind, brain racing with filthy ideas of the position, reimagined.

He's a fucking joke.

"What?" he asks, mind elsewhere, somewhere between the tanning marks that have started to appear in your skin.

"A seashell" you hold your discovery to his face, giggling like a high schooler.

"It's cute" he murmurs, big fingers brushing past yours. He sees you gulp. "Like you"

You gulp again, this time with difficulty.

"Stop it, bobo" (dummy)

"You make it hard"

No, he made it hard by saying this things without a care in your poor heart.

You splash some water onto him, making Pedro laugh. Feisty girl, his deep voice rasps, making your cheeks flare up as your bottoms start to feel wet, and not by the shallow water. You remember then your menstrual cycle app. Fertile week, the notification said.

"If you ever say something like that again, I'll drown you"

"The compliment or the berating?" Pedro's quick to reply.

Jesus Christ.

"I'll tell Oscar and Elvira to send you home. Now"

"You wouldn't" he responds, laughing.

Your own laughter quiets down.

"That's right" with a soft, quiet acceptance. His laughter dies too at your tone, looking so deeply into your eyes, you feel dizzy. There's something you can't quite place in them. "I wouldn't"

A wind breezes by. The air has shifted. And the worst part is you both feel it.

Later that night, you joined the couple for dinner. Pedro was already there, changing his red swimming trunks for a Cuvabera shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and showed a weak peak of his soft silhoutte.

"Good you joined us"

"I wouldn't miss it" you reply to Elvira's sincere words, taking a seat next to Pedro.

What he wouldn't miss, is you. Holy fuck. Had you done this on purpose for him being a teasing ass to you earlier? No, how could you? You didn't know the effect you had on him.

The same effect that's making it so hard to ignore how your breasts are pushed up, and how it graciously adapts to your figure. He feels blood rush to his face and cock, and by Oscar's teasing snicker, he knows he's been obvious with the staring.

Nevertheless, conversation flows easily as the drinks and food. After rounds of wine and pasta from the hotel's restaurant, you feel a bit drunk. Nothing too alarming, just enough to do something stupid.

Like saying I love you.

"Are you okay?"

Despite being his usual loud self, Pedro's been spacing out here and there, and it always seems to happen when you talk.

"Yeah. 'M fine" you try reaching for him, but he stands up, abruptly so. "I just need some fresh air"

"I can come-"

"No!" his voice cracks. Fuck. Did he just yell at you? Judging by Elvira's glance, he did. God, and to your sweet offering and smile? He's going to hell. "Sorry, just better off by myself"

You flinch. Something like hurt makes its way to your face. He's hating himself more by the minute.

"Okay. Have fun"

But it's emotionless. You let him walk away, and it doesn't even take a minute of Pedro's back leaving the restaurant for the couple to gossip.

"Must be work stress"

"Sure it is, babe"

You don't like their tone, as if they knew an inside joke you aren't part of. Like you're the joke.

"I'll go after him"

You don't know what bothers you more: their silent stare or how they didn't stop you.

You find Pedro on an alleyway, propped against the wall. His features are lit by a dim glow.

"I thought you quit"

He blows some smoke. "And I thought I told you not to follow me"

You sigh, standing next to him.

"You smoke when you're nervous"

He doesn't look at you when he replies. "I don't"

You click your tongue. A beat.

"You do"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Expert On Me" he mocks, taking a drag.

"Fuck you" you retort, tired of his off-putting behavior during dinner and now. He gives you a bewildered look, making you angrier. "And don't give me that face, you're the one who's been acting weird all night. I'm just trying to be a good friend"

"If you were a good friend" he delivers the words in a way it feels like a slap to your face, "you would've leave me alone"

Pedro hardly lost his temper, yet now, his eyes burn with a barely contained rage.

"P..." you try one last time, never one to beg but finding yourself doing the impossible for him. Using that silly nickname as your last weapon.

"Go" is his last plead.

"Not until you tell me what is going on"

He loves how stubborn you can be.

He hates it.

"Go" he insists.

"No. You can't just- act like this! Shutting me out and..." you feel frustrating bubbling up your chest. "I don't know what's happening, just talk to me. Help me understand. Pedro, you can't treat me like I'm a nuissance when you have flirted with me hours-"

The words spill out before you can contain them. He lets out a cold laugh that chills your bones.

"Flirted with you?" Pedro takes another drag. "Jesus, y/n"

It's the way he said it that makes you want to vomit. Like the sole idea of it is offensive.

"Why do you say it like that?" you shove him.

His jaw tightens. Eyes red from the wine and anger. Cigarrette dangling from his lips.

"Like what?"

"Like the thought of it makes you sick, pendejo!" (Bastard)

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone!" he finally snaps, shouting. You stumble back slightly, almost falling due to your drunken senses. "See? This is why I told you to go. I say things I don't-"

"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me" you seethe. "It was your choice. To hurt me"

He hates how your voice cracks. Guilt creeps in.

"I don't want to" he runs a hand through his already messy curls. "I'm sorry"

"But you did. Why?"

Why do you hurt me when all I do is love you?

"Because I'm stupid" he leans against the wall, his regrets falling like the ash losing among the patters of the sand.

"You are" you stiffle a laugh. Without asking permission, you steal the half burnt cigarrette from his hands.

He let's you, without a word. He always has given you everything.

"We need to stop dragging this" you let out, flat. Decisive, as you stomp the cigarrette in the ground.

His heart beats so loud, it's the only sound on his ears.

"What's this?" voice barely above a whisper.

This means all those times he'd lean in too close, suffocating, because he'd always knock the air out of your lungs. When he'd hold your hand for too long, mind wandering to places it shouldn't. How your toothbrush stayed at his place, and he didn't tell you to take it back. How you changed the way the pillows on his bed where lined up, because it was comfier, and he never changed it to the way it was. You had changed his life in so many little and meaningful ways. He just couldn't imagine a life before you.

Without you.

"You know what this is" your voice is calm, accepting. "But you can call it what you want"

The moon shines above. The water crashes softly on the shore. The air feels humid and hot, but not smothering. Not anymore.

"I'm scared" is all he says. "Ever since one morning, I woke up feeling different. I just... I wanted you to be there. That your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes"

You always know what to say. Words seem to bloom out of you. Now they're stuck in your throat, choking you up like thorns.

"I think I've known for a long time, but you know... It's hard to accept something familiar yet foreign. Old but new"

You gulp. Your heart races.

"Pedro" your own voice feels foreign to you. "You don't have to-"

This was an apology. A search for answers. This is it. It's too much to take. You'd never guess you'd hear him utter any words that spoke about the nature of your relationship, made it clear, gave it a name, less to be under the pale moonlight.

"I'm not ready, but I want to. For you. Us"

His lips aren't as close as they have been other times, yet now, it feels it can end with a kiss.

"I can wait" you reply softly, cupping his face. Your fingers grace his two day stubble, focused on the small heart resembling patch where no hair grows. "For you, anything"

You'll kiss. Finally.

But then―

A ping. Small sound. You recognize it as the one you've designated for emails.

"What's that?"

You take out your phone, seeing the mail app icon badge on your notifications. With shaky fingers you unlock it, heart trembling. Pedro places his hand on your shoulder, as to ground you. Doesn't he know you well?

It's from your agent, the one Elvira had recommended you.

You suck in a breath. Casting call, reads the subject line.

"Oh. My. God" you cover your mouth with your hand. "P-Pedro! Fuck, look!"

He has always loved your victory face. It's the best view, even with the sea in front of him.

"I got the role" you whisper. Some tears of happiness show in your eyes.

"I knew you would"

"I-I got it" you jump in excitement, a scream lost in the night. "I got it, I got it, I got it!"

This time louder. Happier. More excited. He just watches mesmerized every little jump you do and how joy seems to ooze out of your body, the energy contagious. He finds himself smiling at you, something warm as pride settling on his chest.

"I would've personally hunt them if you got rejected"

You stop your celebration, looking at him between playful and breathless.

"Good thing they didn't"

You get close again. He doesn't know when, just that now he can see the acne scars on your face.

"Because they know what's good" he replies, tucking a loose strand behind your ear with a gentleness never known before.

You can't help but smile, your nose brushing with his.

"Don't we all?"

There's a kiss. Strong. Full of yearn, like the one on movies. On songs. This is what they want to write and sing about; try to put the feeling into words. He bits your lower lip and your tongue slides into his mouth, eager. His hands find their way to your hips, tight as a promise, pulling you even closer.

"God. You taste so good. So sweet" Pedro mumbles. Drunk. Wine or you, he doesn't care. It all makes him feel warm and fuzzy. "Need more"

With a sudden burst of movement, Pedro spins you around, pushing you up against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His eyes are dark and breathing ragged, as if he's lost control.

Your heart jumps in your throat.

"W-what are you doing?"

His other hand slides down the curve of your side, over the flare of your hip, to grip your ass, pulling your hips flush against his own as he grounds the thick ridge of his erection against your core.

His voice drops.

"Don't be surprised, baby. As if you haven't thought about it"

He was right but also wrong. When you came looking for him, this was the last outcome in your mind.

Other nights, alone in your bedroom, however...

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. Pleading. "You know they could come looking for us any minute by now"

"Let them" he whispers, heavy breaths out of his mouth, mingling with your own. "Don't you want to properly celebrate, baby? Don't act like you don't want it. What if they walked in right now and saw their assistant grinding on their friend? Dripping all over my pants like the dirty slut you are?"

He whines as you grind your hips down on him.

"Then we better put on a show, don't you think?"

The khaki does a very poor job of hiding the wet patch already forming in the fabric over his tip, and if you had more time, you'd probably ask to suck him off; that's how equally horny and grateful you are now.

"Dirty girl"

So damn hot, your arousal pools into your now wet and sticky panties. Shout out to the dress: you don't think you could've handled the pulse of your aching cunt inside jeans.

"M'sorry for not being able to, you know-" he wiggles his eyebrows, smile soon strained by gritted teeth. "Wish I could just fuck you, here and now"

"Well, you can always come to my room tonight" and pull out the spare keycard the hotel gave you, taunting him with it like a hungry dog with a bone.

He gives you a hopeful look.

"You bet I'll be there" and bites it away from your grasp.

It's so sexy, but he's soon dropping it somewhere, falling with a soft click to the sand, because he's kissing you again, whole mouth devouring yours. Pedro makes little noises, all too strained and eager, groaning as his head falls back, your damp panties pressed intimately against the cloth of his shorts.

Pedro is fucking flying. Borderline ascending. All he knows is his cock throbbs hard as your clothed pussy grinds down on his lap while you rock your hips against his.

"Fuck-" he curses, "shouldn't wore such a small little frail dress while parading around me, baby. Es una puta tortura" (it's a fucking torture)

He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to grind up against you. His large hands slid up your sides, skimming over the side of your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Pedro hums in satisfaction. Along blooms something akin to pride in your chest.

"You like it?"

"More than I should" he admits, cheeks flaring up.

"So that's why you were distracted" you laugh at him, playfully swatting his chest. "Couldn't handle the y/n charm?"

"Shut up" he mumbles, embarrased.

"Make me"

He rests his head down in your collarbones, stubble making light tickles as it grazes against your flushed skin, down in the crook of your neck, hiding his face there. Pedro breathes you in, musk mixed with sweat and the fading notes of your floral perfume, then growls.

"I don't know how I'll stop myself from not having you, baby. You've fucked me up, I swear" you moan at the intensity of each word that spills from his mouth, "might not care if Oscar and Elvira walk in now-"

"Pedro!" you yelp as his hips rolling to meet yours. A pink embarrassement washes over your face, not only at the thought but also at how you're not entirely displeased. "D-don't say that"

"Oh, please. Will you tell me you don't like the idea? Should've thought about it first, then, naughty girl" he rasps, voice a low, desperate rumble. "Don't you feel what you do to me? How hard I am for you?"

With each word, a new thrust of his hips, khaki shorts against your panties rubbing deliciously. He could feel all of your heat even through the layers separating you.

Pedro groans softly, hips rolling urgently against yours as he pinned you harder to the wall with his body, his soft planes molding with your own.

What a vacation.

(Dry humping with Pedro Pascal on a hotel room during a getaway with your boss, who happened to be Elvira Lind, wife of Oscar Isaac? After being handed a role you fought hard for? Never ever even dreamed of it)

"You want to come on my cock like this?" Pedro purrs in your ear. "Want me to dry hump this little cunt until you're coming?"

The thick bulge of his erection rubs right over your clothed slit. He feels your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps. One of those dies in your throat as you feel his fingers dipping underneath to touch your slick folds.

"Jesus, baby. You're soaked" he speaks as his fingers part your lips, delving deeper to stroke over your swollen clit. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

He circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger, feeling your hips buck and writhe against his touch. He can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approaches.

"Let me reward you, then, for bein' such a good girl" voice a low rasp in your ear. "My future movie star"

Pedro rubs your clit harder, fingers pumping in and out as he ground his cock against you, chasing his own desperate pleasure. He too was so close, balls tight, cock throbbing and leak on his pants.

"Fuck, Y/n... come on, baby. Come for me"

He feels your body stiffen and then fall against him as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans long and low as he feels your slick walls pulsing and fluttering around his rough digits.

It's not long before he comes, hard, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself in his pants, seeping through the cotton and staining the fabric.

Now it's his turn to slump against you, pinning you to the wall with his larger frame as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers still their movements, pulling them out of your soaked heat as he tries to even his breathing.

He nuzzles into your hair, wearing a lazy smile you can't see.

"That's my good girl. Came so pretty, all for me" Pedro praises. "Made a complete mess of yourself, didn't you? Even when you knew they could come looking for us, but that didn't stop you at all, dirty baby"

You chuckle, readjusting yourself.

"Time to head back, dirty boy"

"Boo, you're boring" he jokes. "But whatever my girl wants"

Pedro leans to kiss your hand, softly. You giggle.

"I like my men obedient"

"And I'm into submission" he winks, "so we're even"

Oscar and Elvira don't ask about your thirty minute absence, yet by their unspoken married couple secret language, it's like they know or at least guess what happened. And your shared glances and smiles give it away, anyway.

"I'm heading to my room" you announce after dessert, brushing your fingers with Pedro's. A small reminder.

"It's barely ten" Oscar replies with a strange tone.

"Tonight was fun but I'm tired" you offer a rather lazy excuse. "Goodnight"

The copy of your key burns in his pocket. He abruptly stands up, not even five minutes after. He is as obvious as impatient.

"Wow, slow down buddy" Oscar grabs his arm, forcing him to sit down again. His cock twitches, as pissed as he is. "Easy. There's no rush, is it? Or do you have somewhere else to be?"

He gulps down.

"Oh, look at them. Didn't I tell you so?" Elvira laughs.

"I thought so too!" Oscar argues.

The woman just gives him a glare. "Yet who came up with it first?"

"Fine, wife wins this round" he slumps on his chair. Then looks at Pedro, pointing her. "You can't win with this one"

She ignores him, leaning forward, elbows propped in the table.

"So, did you two-"

Pedro's cheeks burn. "I'm not gonna share that-"

"-Talk" she finishes, "but now I'm curious to know what you aren't meant to share"

"Secundo eso" Oscar chimes in. (I second that)

"I need to go, really" he insists, thinking of you. On your bathroom, propping yourself in the mirror, starring and smiling too much at your reflection.

"I get it, time's precious" his friend coincides. "You aren't getting any younger dude"

This is his banter with Oscar, all playful no damage meant. But his stomach sinks.

In a way, he's right, and some of the doubts that held him back come crawling and settling on his head. They whisper until their words cut deep and find home in the darkest corners of his mind, feeding from the shadows.

A young couple passes by him. He hadn't even registered he'd stood up until the perfume of the woman, fruity, wafts into his circle. Until the man's voice and laughter is clear, full of life and less burden of the years passed by. They look so good together, and then she leans in to whisper to him, looking at Pedro. The man turns around, smiling but then looking at her, lastly at the exit doors. And they're gone. Maybe they recognized him, but right now, it feels like the universe has sent him a message.

A cruel unwarranted blow of reality.

(Aching joints meeting your brand new. The coloring of his hair that hadn't started in yours. The rough of his skin against the soft of your own. The wrinkles you had of laughter and expression opposed to those he simply had because of time. His soft planes compared to your rigid body. The size difference. The age gap. That was his reality and it fucking sucked)

His phone chimes in on cue.

Thank you for tonight. That was amazing

Pedro smiles, sadly so, as he types an answer.

It was

In past. Fitting for an ending. A goodbye.

The key burns still. But he doesn't take it out, not even when the shorts drop somewhere on the pile of clothes on his room's couch. He just falls in bed, burying his face into the pillow until the pushing force of guilt and feelings lull him to sleep.

On the other side of the hotel, moon shines it's light into an empty room, waiting bed cold with deception, many questions asked to the silence, not sure if you want the answers.

You should always trust your intuition.

It didn't fail you when you decided to leave your country behind, despite the failure, homesickness and loneliness gnawing at your heartstrings season to season.

Now? You were about to star in one of Netflix's original romcoms, and while to others it may seem small, to you, this leap in your career from background roles to lead meant everything.

It also didn't fail you when it came to Pedro. Whom you caught his first stare across the room, holding it dearly to your heart like the night you met. The age gap, different stages in life, work... all of it blurred to the sound of his low laugh and voice.

I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while.

You loved being right. You hated not being proved wrong now.

For the rest of the vacation, is like Pedro did a whole switch: he made it his mission to act like nothing happened, like you hadn't happened.

Maybe, the thrill or vacation release was what he wanted, and the hoping was only on your side. The deep connection you'd nurtured for months was gone in seconds, taken away from you before you even learned what loving was.

He was commited, you have to give him that. Even on the plane, in such reduced space, he managed to remain quiet, not even batting an eye at Oscar and Elvira's questioning stares. They were probably as confused as you.

It all stayed back in the island: the sound of waves, sand in your feet and the hot sun of stolen stares and whispers lost in the humid night. The hard of the wall pressed against your back. The moonlight over the sea as he said Us. And how he tasted, like the wine and cheese he glazed his pasta with. In every cup and serving, he will be now, not like you wanted but like a ghost. Haunting.

It was over.

So were your days working for Elvira, who had become sort of a mother figure to you, especially after being away from yours. In this new stage of life, being an assistant just didn't fit into your schedule anymore, and as grateful as you were to have met them―what the family did for you―, it was time to go.

This meant you'd still keep in touch, though. Still, the chances of seeing Pedro again were low, and you have yet to decide if that was good or bad, because what made you feel giddy had turned to dread.

Despite it all, you forced yourself to remain positive. Shooting for your role was about to begin and you weren't going to let a man ruin it. You hadn't let this things hurt before, why should they now?

Pedro was different.

If for fleeting time had your paths converged, you're aware you'll remember those weeks for the rest of your life. You know it by the way your digits twitch with need, his number ingrained into your mind due to the hours spent thinking about it. You called your parents all the time, as usual yet felt guilty because now, Pedro was the first person on your mind.

He was the one you wanted to speak. Talk about your day on set. For him to go through your lines with you, like he had done before your audition. Take this, and he gave you one of his hoodies that day, the Carrie one. I'll be there, Pedro said. Now you won't feel alone. You wish you kept it, just to remember his smell, gone weeks ago of your house, last reminder he once lived in here like it was his real home.

You hated driving across his house, not daring to step a foot inside. How leaves turned from green to yellow, the orange spicy cinnamon air of November's autumn welcoming your still broken heart. How the premiere for his series was around the corner, days away, and you kept staring at the phone for too long. To congratulate him. Ask how he's been. If he's nervous. If you'll watch the first episode together.

"Hey, y/n" you raise your head from your phone, fingers hovering over his contact, yet again. You turn it off, embarrased. "Got any plans for later?"

It's your co-star, Jordan Fisher. You both share a passion for dancing, something you do a lot in this movie, Work It. It had been fun so far, and you've met the two leads, him and Sabrina Carpenter, spending much more time with the latter as you play her bestfriend. While not being the main role, you would treasure this experience forever.

"Um, I don't think so" you answer, smiling. "Why?"

"I was going to grab some drinks in this café nearby. Want to come?"

You look at your phone, then at him. You tell yourself this is okay, even if a part of you is screaming in betrayal.

No, you deserve to be happy. To go out and not think about Pedro at all. Enough moping around when no one is looking. Enough of forbidding yourself from moving on, holding onto heartache like it's a crown or a badge to wear with honor.

"Sure" you stand up, throwing your phone inside your bag. For the first time, you truly smile and don't think about Pedro and the summer sorrow. "A coffee right now sounds perfect"

Pedro has been miserable.

Ever since you came back from your trip, the distance got even bigger. Not louder, quieter: long gone the loud laughter and endless conversations. You didn't question him, just gave him those eyes full of grief, pain and confusion he hated. He avoided your stare, knowing he would cave in the moment he gazed back. So you respected his silence and distance, helped the breach grow bigger. Pedro doesn't know what hurts the most: that you stopped trying because you respected his boundaries that much, without a question, or that you had given up on him that easily.

He's currently sat on his living room, some movie playing in the background as he scrolls through his phone. He never thought he'd be one of those people, but once the bad habit started, he couldn't quit it. You'd chastise him: Look at you, trying to fit in with the youngsters and our bad etiquette. Your voice was light, teasing, but now he's reimagining it with a cruel light to it, laced with mockery. Not joking with him. At him.

His phone chimes in. It's a text from Oscar.

Pedro. Have you seen this?

Three dots. Erased. Then again. Finally, he gives up and just sends a link.

Jordan Fisher And his Co-Star, Y/n L/n, More Than Friends?

He turns off the phone, unable to see more. His breathing turns frantic, lungs burning with each breath he takes.

Pedro turns it on again, like he wants to punish himself in a way. His fingers presses over the blue text, the article showing up in no time on his screen. If the title hurt him enough, the picture below kills him.

That smile he misses, again seen through a screen, as the one's he's captured and keeps on his phone, seeing them when it's late at night and the pain of your absence becomes unbearable. But he's not the reason why you smile. It's him: young and handsome, coffee in hand with the same logo as yours.

Did he know you preferred brown sugar just because you liked the color? It's my favorite color, while looking at his eyes. Does Jordan know you always buy extra whipped cream when you order it cold? How does he know what to say to make you laugh the way only he knew: eyes crinkled, corners wrinkled and that loud sound that lit up a room? It was his, in a way, a trophy as important as any award the industry could give him. But now he's staring at it through an article, a young man by your side.

You look good. Beautiful. A dark part of him wishes you weren't doing well, that it's just a facade, like him. That deep down, you can't sleep at night thinking of him, and when you close your eyes, he's the last thing you think of and the one you dream of.

He wants you to mourn this fight that went down with cold acceptance. For you to feel the same tug at your heartstrings when you look around you, because for him, you're everywhere: in every corner of his house and life, haunted by the brushstrokes your colors painted on his life. But now the paint has dried, cracked, and he's selfishly wishing you haven't moved on. That you think of him as much as he thinks of the sand, your moans and your sweet taste. Of being so close to paradise and letting you go.

That you're hurting just means it mattered to you, yet now, with the smile mocking him on his face, he thinks you never cared.

Worst part is he deserves it. He was the one who pushed you away.

His fingers hover over his phone. No, it's not the right time. It never feels like it is, regret washing away with cowardice his chances. He's dialing other number. It takes a while for the line to pick up.

"I was waiting for your call"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "Very funny"

Oscar scoffs. "I wasn't trying to be"

"Why'd send me that?" he's asking, knot on his stomach.

"Why do you think?" voice stern, acompanied by a matter-of-fact tone. "Usa la cabeza" (use your head)

"To torture me?"

He only laughs. "So you can do something about it"

And the only thing he did was grab the closest bottle and drink until the tears of his amber eyes melted within the mirroring liquid, world reduced to a quiet blur of ringing ears and broken heart on his lonely bed, missing your smell and how it dipped under your shared weight.

Grief turned to anger fast. A fury that went in burning circles of regret and helplessness.

How could you?

Why hadn't you fight more for...

How could he even call you both?

(Call it what you want, you said)

No. He had no right being mad.

But, was he that easy to forget?

Anger makes his face hot with embarrassement and rage. His fists turn white, curling and uncurling. His hair is a mess and he knows every breath he takes now reeks of whiskey. What he doesn't know is how he ends up in front of your house after months of not being able to even call you on the phone, same white knucles now relaxed into a bright pink that matches with the drunken blush of his face, falling into the peaceful familiarity of coming home, all pain gone for a fleeting moment as soon as he senses the faint smell of your plants in the porch. Daises are my favorite, the entrance to your house filled with them. He gave you one for your birthday last year.

"Pedro?"

Had he already knocked your door? He stares at his trecherous hand. Pedro doesn't even know what to say, his name called by you sinking into his chest.

Despite his slurred senses, he can see you: your soft hair, still damp from the shower. The roses and milk aroma on your skin he so dearly missed. The way the loose t-shirt hangs from your body, paired with your Cherry Blossom socks with Van Gogh's painting on their pattern. Your bare legs make him dizzy, as if the alcohol had not done enough damage to his balance already.

"Pedro" you repeat, "what are you doing here?"

Good question. He doesn't even know the answer.

(Or maybe he does, but damn, isn't he a fucking coward?)

"Are you with him?"

"What?"

"That guy" he tries explaining, his own voice sounding distant to himself. "Are you dating?"

You laugh, coldly. He takes a step back, like you've landed a blow across his face.

"What makes you think you have the right to show up at my door after months of ignoring me to ask that?" you lean on the doorframe, dismissive, but he feels you're blocking the entrance. Blocking him out of your life. "It's none of your bussiness"

"Y-you can't be with him"

Weak. Like a fucking beggar.

"I beg your pardon? Jesus, the nerve that you have-" you throw your hands in the air, a thing you do when you lose your temper, which is frequent to happen. As calculating and driven you were, you weren't a patient woman. "Did you think it was a good idea to come by and tell me what to do? On top of all that, drunk? Fuck, you're a mess"

His shoulders slump down with the weight of shame, running a hand through his messy hair, distressed. He looks up again and examines your features.

They're the same, and he doesn't know why he's relieved, as if you were to change in months. But to be loved is to be changed, and God knows he was scared of finding another version of you behind the door, one without free hair and floral scent: one that didn't belong to him anymore.

"You didn't even call for my birthday" he looks up to you, but you look at the floor, voice breaking. "I knew that's when it was over. For real"

"Y/n-"

God, you missed the way his voice would call you. But the hurt is too much to bear, months of piled up sadness forming a storm: the one you've always been, never a calm sea like the one in front of you when you kissed, but always roaring, each word aiming to hit like thunder.

You had spent so many hours, shrinking in fear under the force of pain, body trying to cry―to release, anything―and live through just another empty night.

He, the reason of your ache, now standing before you, looking as miserable as you feel.

"You need to go"

Final. No room for more to be said. He just hates how determined you are sometimes.

You're closing your door. Shutting him out. He can see the pain on your face, let's himself believe there's a chance as he tries to erase feeling so dumb for succumbing to harmless teasing words of his friend―mixing with previous fears, and the image of you, holding hands with another. Kissing another who gets to taste the flavor of those strawberries you ate so frequently and that of your gloss. To be whole with someone who isn't him.

But it's his fault.

His, his, only his.

He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. Even if love isn't natural for the likes of you and him, he knows it's yours and his.

It can't be over. Can't. He doesn't know nanything like you. Has got nowhere else to go.

"I love you" he tries, desperate.

Your eyes go wide, with surprise, then sadness and finally rage, one that's quiet, simmering and scratching the surface to let wrath go loose.

"You can't love me"

He might as well have already lost you.

"What you did to me" The silence. The betrayal. Closing off. Throwing away in the blink of an eye. Asking why's to a rusted dead line. "Not even a friend would do" your hand grabs the doorknob with ending resolution, but it shakes. With vitriol, tears or uncertainity, he doesn't know. "So don't talk about love like you mean it. You can't just say things like that"

The soft waft of alcohol in your breath. Petricor mixing with the smell of freshly cut grass. Your shy smile and light blush despite the flame of ambition in your eyes. Your words take him back. To the night you met. He would go back and tell himself not to be stupid, not to fuck the best thing on his life.

"Please" like it pains you to say it, "stand up. Don't make this harder"

He's on his knees, begging. For what? It's over. He not even prayed but is willing to sacrilege vows he hadn't taken to keep your love.

"I'm sorry" he buries his face in your thighs. Feels the humid of his tears running and the warmth of your skin combing through his hair. "I'm an idiot"

You chuckle weakly. "I know"

"One" Pedro holds tighter, wretched. "Just one chance"

"P..."

You feel his grip loosen.

"Don't" choked up, "don't say it like a goodbye"

You kneel down to his level, tilting his head with gentle fingers by his chin as he refuses to meet you in the eye.

"At least now you know how it feels" and brush a stray tear away.

"I love you" he repeats. "I'm sorry I didn't know how to deal with it"

You let him continue, hand still on his face, stubble rough, prickling your skin.

"When I found out... This is gonna sound very corny, but that one phrase about not knowing what you've got until you lose it? It's fucking real, baby" he laughs, humorlessly. "The moment I saw those images, all I could think about was our kiss and how I'd never get to kiss you again. How you were there for me, had me like no one before. How we talked for hours, and you listened, bringing things we said sometimes, like trinkets on a box or charms of a necklace. Tiny things and moments that belonged to us. And to think you'd share that connection, that- silence, that only comes when two people understand eachother... It fucking ruined me. I forgot about my fears, our age gap-" he cuts himself off, self-conscious. "All I could think about was saying those three words I've felt since we first spoke on Oscar's garden, but was to afraid to say. Even know. You have no idea how crazy my heart is beating right now" he breaths in, deeply. "I'm sorry for loving you and having no idea how to properly do so"

It takes a while for you to realize he's now cleaning your tears. That you've stayed silent for too long.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve someone better. Someone who isn't too old. One you waste your youth with. Like him" he can't even bring himself to say his name. "You looked so good together. Fitting. No one would say anything, no one would disgrace your name. But I'm selfish, I know. Didn't wanna see you with him. At all. Almost broke my phone screen"

Each word punctuated with a green colored hurt. And that, even in all this blues, makes you feel flustered.

"Pedro" you softly call him. "Look at me"

"I can't-" he whispers, browns elusive. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you. I wanted you to be as miserable as me, but now that I see it to be true, I hate myself"

"Were you jealous?"

He can't deny it. "Fucking seething"

You laugh. God, he longed for it. Prays for it all to be back to how it used to.

"Happy birthday"

You laugh. "What?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Jordan?" Pedro nods. "We just met. Shooting isn't over yet"

"Well, happy birthday"

"It was two months ago" you counter.

"Only I get to wish you so" face closer to yours now, whispered words ghosting over your nose.

"Silly" you smile, sheepishly. "Are you the birthday police? You can't decide who gets to congratulate someone on their special day, you little jealous freak"

"But I get to decide this"

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his passion and desperation into it. The unsaid yearning and ache on his tongue. It delves deep, claiming your mouth as it tangles with yours in a dance of hunger and need.

Like a couple of young highschoolers on their mother's porch, breeze flowing by their little town. It smells as home. It's simple. It's real. It's extraordinary. It's just what you wanted.

Love.

"I missed you"

You feel a surge of love and lust at his breathless confession.

"I missed you too"

With rushed steps he takes you to your bed. Your room is still the same. Your picture stands on your nighstand.

"I'm surprised you didn't tear it"

His hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart.

"I'm surprised you think I would"

Clothes go off with the desperation of two people who have circled around eachother for too long. Your bed feels full, unlike the one of the hotel, where you waited until your tears dried in the pillow.

"Well, you're full of surprises" he adds, voice strained.

Pedro settles himself between your thight, the hard, thick length of him nestling against your slick, heated flesh, groaning into your lips at the feel of you. Warm, soft... Ready for him.

His lips mark a trail down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone. He licks and nips his way down to your breasts, taking one rosy peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud.

"Pero sí fui un pendejo" growled against the skin in the middle of your breasts. "Forbid myself of tasting you when you taste so fucking good. Could devour you for hours, baby, and never get enough" (i was such an asshole)

"Please, P. Just quit the fucking talking and make me yours"

A surge of emotion and desire wash over him. He holds your stare, seeing the longing and desperation on your face. This unbridled want, he felt it too.

"Shit, baby" he breathes, voice rough and thick with emotion. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this. To feel you with me, next to me and under me"

You allow yourself to believe in him. In his words and touches, cracking a fire in their wake.

"Then do"

To show just how much he means it, he forces your mouths into a fierce kiss. Pedro pours every ounce of his love, his need, his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, claiming you. Consuming you. Making you his.

All you've wanted.

"For the record, Jordan and I are just friends"

He reaches down to grip himself, lining the thick, hard length of his cock up with your entrance.

Pedro grunts, feeling the promise of warm tight walls taking his dick.

"I don't care"

He rubs the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

"You're not even looking at me" you tease. "He's getting married next year, by the way"

He groans into your mouth at the feel of you, so hot and ready for him.

"I don't care" he repeats.

"Said I could come to the wedding if I wanted to"

Right after the last word you speak, with one powerful thrust of his hips, he buries himself inside you. A broken cry comes out of your mouth, desire coursing through your veins like the most powerful and addictive drug there is ever to exist, only rivaled by him: he, who after years of being his fan, months of friendship, a summer of love and some other months of radio silence filled with unspoken terrifying truths, is finally yours.

"With how much you bring it up, I'd think you're in love with him"

"And by how much you refuse to listen to my words, even as you're buried inside me, I'd think you're jealous"

He hilted himself fully, cock throbbing as it stretches to fill you completely.

"Quit sayin' that, when you know it's the other way around" a broken wail leaves your lips at his girth inside of you, your folds trying to adjust to his size. "Got all giddy with him, at his dumb stories and jokes. But does he know how you like you coffee? No, but I bet you fluttered your eyelashes and laughed like a fucking attention starved brat when he handed you your order. Bet he's a whole gentleman who payed for your order. Probably offered you a ride home, but can't play any of your favorite songs. The ones I know" he throws his head back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat at the exquisite feel of your tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Yet the funniest part is he doesn't know you did all of this for me"

"P-Pedro" you plead, reduced to a moaning mess.

"Tell me you didn't, but we both know how the answer goes" he grabs you by your chin. "Tell me that you were desperate to get a reaction out of me. That you wanted all of my attention. That it's me who you really wanted and not that fucker. Say you did all that little flirty whoring show to make me angry, because guess what? It worked, you desperate slut"

You should be humiliated, but instead, your treacherous brain makes your mouth whine.

"Dirty baby" he whistles, amused. "You're into that? Like me to call out your bullshit, huh? You're a real bad girl"

"I'd call myself resourceful" your voice is strained, "a girl can only do so much for to get her supposed bestfriend who dry humped her last summer to talk to her again"

He laughs, a sound that makes you nostalgic.

"And I take full responsability for that"

"Why don't you fix it the best way you know?"

"Can I get a clue?"

"Shut your mouth and start moving"

He's so compliant is hard to watch and not moan just by his sheer obedience. Surrendering himself to you and your alluring voice clouded with lust. Pedro starts to move, his hips rolling and rocking against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your silky walls as he slid in and out of your depths.

"Fuck, y/n" he pants, voice ragged. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect, so right. Like you were made just for me"

He leans down to nuzzle into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I love you, y/n" he murmurs the three words again, tone low and intimate.

You tangle your fingers on his hair, pulling him closer for a kiss.

"I love you"

Feels good to put it out there, but maybe he's more excited than you are, given by the goofy grin that takes over his features, eyes shining like the stars on the starry night outside.

His heart soars at your words, and Pedro can't help but kiss you with all the passion and commitment burning inside him, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the press of his lips against yours.

"Three words and you've made me the happiest man on earth, baby"

He thrusts into you harder, driven by the overwhelming feelings on his chest. He wants to mark you, claim you.

"That's it, you naughty little girl. Getting yourself all worked up after your little devilish plan" he grunts. "Gonna make you mine now and fuck you until you can't walk. Until you become a mess. So dumb you can't speak anything but my name"

His hips snap against yours with each powerful surge of his cock, the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the bedroom.

"Mierda, you'd should be so fucking embarrassed, shouldn't you? Ashamed of opening your legs for a man who could be your father"

He can feel his release building, the hot, tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his stomach. You pull him closer, arms around his neck, pulling him off his thoughts.

"I'm not ashamed" you purr in his ear. "In fact, I think it's fucking hot"

"Oh, yeah? Dirty girl likes old men?" he grits his teeth, fighting it off, determined to hold back until you cum first. "Loves to be stuffed up nicely by men old enough to be your daddy? Quit that moaning or I might just give you what you ask"

You whine, receptive to his words.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers like a dirty little girl. I want to see your pretty face and hear your pretty noises. Need to prove if they're better than I imagine as you clench yourself on my cock"

Pedro lets out a roar of triumph as he feels your pussy spasm around his cock, your scream of ecstasy pushing him over the edge. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your warm cunt, cock pulsing and throbbing as he erupted.

"Take it, baby. Take every last drop of my cum like the hungry whore you are. Let me fill this hungry little pussy like you deserve"

He grunts and shudders as spurt after spurt of his hot, thick seed paint your walls.

"Now I get to show him and any other fucker who you really belong to"

He collapses against you after emptying himself, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to twitch and pulse inside you. Pedro peppers your face with kisses, restless hands roaming over your curves, touching and caressing every inch of you with desire.

"Baby, listen"

His voice is soft with scary twinges laced within as he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so that you were draped across his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, the silent vow to never letting you go on his strong grip.

"I know I keep making the same mistakes every time" he sighs, his hand stroking your hair. "Yet, it's worth it. The fame, my name, the press... It all reduces to nothing. Because when I look at you, I know at least I did one thing right"

He tilts your chin up, his eyes burning into yours with fierce intensity.

"Then run away with me" you say softly. "Where no one knows who we are"

"We can't" he laughs. "But I'd love to. For you to be mine, forever and always"

"To be with you, I would do anything" you lay on his chest, humming with approval. "I mean it"

"Well" he grabs your hand, "we can't exactly run away, but I have a close idea to it"

"I'm all ears"

He looks deep into your eyes, afraid of his own words.

"We can talk about it more later on but, how about keeping this matter... private?" your body gets goosebumps. "Just you and me. Some friends and our family. Teams too. But it'll be our little secret"

It's the start of something. That something that started on Oscar's birthday when he first called out your name. It was all about falling since then, never quite landing, not knowing what to say. Hiding behind silence the loud thoughts you wanted to shout, words you both couldn't get out, ones to be proud of.

Maybe one day you'd get to do so.

"Something to keep" you add as your way to agree. A promise, to follow him everywhere. To bring him home when he needed. To build something out of what you both feared: with late dinners, kitchen dancing, shared clothes, line reading, fleeting touches, long showers and deep kisses.

You lay again your head on his chest, content and at ease, feeling it go up and down, his heartbeat tranquil and your body soft against his rising and falling tummy. It feels right, like where you should be. Forever and always.

"Like you"

"No, Pedro" you whisper, lazily kissing him as sleep starts to lull you in to the best night you've had in months. "Like us"

It's only getting started.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

553 notes · View notes

grimmsbride · 7 months ago

Text

KINGDOM HEARTS [ daisuke / reader ]

sneaking contraband on the tulpar was totally worth it, especially when you got to share it with the person you’ve been pining for.

tags / pre-crash | reader & daisuke are the same age & she is also swansea’s intern (original i know). | not connected to the past daisuke fics | heavy mentions of weed but more specifically weed pens. i know it’s not accurate to the timeline nor the job, but if you’re looking for complete accuracy in a smutfic i don’t know what to tell you | weed sex | sloppy oral sex | fingering | daisuke is heavily ooc. this is done purposely given he’s literally smoking. if that’s an issue i’m sorry | soft-dom daisuke | hes very mouthy & kind of desperate | mutual pining | coworkers to more?.. | unrealistic descriptions of weed & sex | etc

notes / given it was mentioned daisuke liked to party back home (and also drink) i thought him smoking was right up his alley. also i feel like with weed or alcohol he definitely isn’t as insecure? idk how to word it but yeah that was my thought process. as always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes

You never thought you would be ontop of a freighter, dedicating time to listening to some old man drone about machinery whilst in the middle of space. But alas, here you were; inside a ship known as the Tulpar, under the watchful gaze of Pony Express. You should be thankful, not everyone has the same opportunities as you. Back home, you could name quite a few people that would kill for your position.

You couldn’t resist your reluctance, though. Leaving everything behind for several months was more stressful than people believed. A constant routine, consistently having to be proper given this wasn’t home— it was work. Not having your usual comforts of tv, the outside, hell even your vibrator.

At least you remembered the most important thing of all— your weed pen.

It wasn’t a hard task, as you were given the most natural hiding place above the waist; and you were able to sneak extra cartridges between your clothes. A full-proof plan, really. The only issue was finding places to smoke it.

You couldn’t always hole up in your room, duties called after all. So usually you took a few hits in the bathroom, using the excuse of steam to mask the smoke. Or other times you would take a quick hit when the living room was free; the blown up screen a perfect trance for your little high.

No one seemed the wiser, not even your fellow intern; Daisuke, someone you’ve grown to enjoy being around. Despite being the same age you simply weren’t so sure he would be into that type of thing. He looked far too.. innocent. Surely an annoying term to use for a grown man, but still— what else could you say?

Like any other day it was packed with chores, tasks stacking on-top of each other with no end in sight. You tried to be as friendly as possible, but with your secret craving and exhaustion playing at the back of your mind you were sure you came off a little snappy at times.

You would apologize later, possibly blaming it on the stuffy feeling of the ship or worse — your period.

Either way, much to your pleasure, the day had ended; leaving you in the comfort of your bedroom. Sitting on-top of the plush sheets you leaned over to sift through your nightstand, fingers soon coming into contact with a slender, metallic piece. You rose, bringing your pen with you and looking at the contraption with such love.

Your last piece of sanity. As dramatic as it seemed.

Routinely you brought the mouthpiece to your lips, forming around it and taking a slow hit whilst your thumb pressed against the button. Pulling it away, you allowed the smoke to sit— eyes closing to really take it in.

So focused on your relaxation you hadn’t even realized footsteps were approaching your bedroom until it was too late.

“Hey [Name] you wanna play this board game? Anya do—“ The door was opening before you could even respond, causing panic to rush towards your chest. In the midst you began to cough, throat straining as ugly wails escaped; struggling to catch your breath.

Through a blurry gaze, your eyes landed on the culprit of your chaos; spotting Daisuke glancing at you oddly for a moment.

“Are you uh… Do I smell weed?”

“No!”

You managed to let out, followed by wet gasps. Very, very convincing. Your attention turned to the water bottle on-top of your nightstand, snatching it quickly and taking a swig. The cool liquid soothed your throat just a bit, allowing you to relax from the attack.

Slowly you calmed down, taking a deep breath and releasing; all under the gaze of Daisuke, who sported a small grin.

“I know what weed smells like [Name]. And how weed coughs sound.”

You slowly set your water bottle back down, eyes taking the other in with a harsh squint. For a moment the two of you stared at each other silently before you sucked your teeth, letting out a whisper-yell of close the door!

Daisuke was quick to listen, shutting the door closed and crossing your bedroom in record time. He found a spot on the edge of your bed, watching in awe as you pulled a thin device from underneath your sheets. He giggled gently, as if already riding the cloud; leaning his head onto his shoulder.

“How did you even sneak that in?”

“I have my ways Daisuke.” You winked, attention turning to your beloved weed pen. It was a simple white color with a pink rim around the actual button. Small but deadly, given the amount that was inside the device. Plus it didn’t help you had switched cartridges recently.

Your focus then turned to the man, “Wanna hit?”

Daisuke’s eyebrows rose, a nervous laugh escaping him before nodding.

“Hell yeah.”

He leaned over, grasping the pen from your fingers delicately and glancing at it. The intern spun it between his fingers for a moment, gaze turning back to you the moment you spoke;

“You know how to take it, right? Don’t waste my weed.”

“Watch..,” Daisuke brought the piece up to his mouth, lips wrapping around it gently as his thumb pressed against the circular button. With ease he was breathing it in, pulling the pen back— holding the smoke for a moment, before releasing it.

“..— See? I know what I’m doing.”

He certainly does.. You thought to yourself, suddenly growing a bit hot. You sat up, legs crossing as you reached for your pen.

“I’m impressed, didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Daisuke shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he laid across your bed. His elbow dug into the plush mattress, a soft cheek resting to his palm.

“I only did it recreationally, at parties and stuff.”

You hummed in response, slightly entertained by the reveal of such information. Daisuke had subtly mentioned before his activities but you didn’t always believe him. He just didn’t seem like the type. More like a little fawn desperate to gain the approval of his superior, not some party animal. But, looks were deceiving after all.

Especially when said fawn was hitting your pen way better than you did.

You pressed your lips to the pen, tapping it there for a moment before a question crept from your throat;

“You know any tricks?”

Daisuke pursed his lips a bit, slowly shaking his head. You were quick to smile, bringing your finger up.

“I know this one, watch.”

With that you were taking a hit, bringing the pen down to your lap. Daisuke focused on you, watching intently as you.. mouthed? He hadn’t a clue what you were attempting to do, nor was he sure you did either— given you suddenly pushed the smoke from your mouth, quick coughs escaping you.

The man was quick to laugh, grinning ear to ear as a flush of red spread across tanned skin. You struggled for breath, little tears threatening to spill as you held your finger back up.

“I got it, I got it!”

You were desperate to show off, even if it risked getting far too high. You lifted the pen back up, taking another strong hit before dropping it back to your lap. You started off strong, breathing the smoke in— struggling not to giggle when you heard Daisuke small sounds of encouragement.

Yet as strong as you started you failed all the same, doubling over to cough into your blankets; cheeks hot the moment you noticed Daisuke practically falling off your bed with laughter.

“How were you worried about me wasting it?”

“Shut up!” You huffed, though snorting. You could nearly curse yourself for not sharing your little secret sooner. As much as smoking was a delight, it was even better doing it with someone else. Especially someone as fun as Daisuke.

You slowly rose from your position, taking deep breaths to relax as you glanced at the man who was currently doing the same.

“Okay, so.. I don’t know a trick.”

Daisuke gave a really? expression, quickly raising his hands when you tossed a pillow in his direction. Pulling the plush item down to his lap with a playful huff, the man watched as you lifted the pen again.

“But.. I do know this one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

You gave a playful smile, “Shotgunning. You know, passing smoke back and forth.”

His shoulders seemed to straighten, sitting up tall and laying his hands onto the pillow in his lap. An unreadable expression crossed his features, hands crossing to allow his fingers to glide across his silver rings.

“I know what that is.”

Your eyebrow rose, though silently taking in the information. Whether a buzz of jealousy or excitement trickled down your spine, you will never known; as it was quickly washed away with warmth. One such sensation that collected at the pit of your stomach the moment Daisuke reached over for the pen.

“It’ll be better if I do it first.”

The man softly explained, to your puzzled expression. You slowly nodded in turn, watching as he brought the pen to his mouth. A single moment passed before he even took a hit, maybe allowing you time to back out. But you didn’t, watching intently as the man sucked in the smoke— eyes flicking to you with slightly puffed cheeks.

That was your cue. You shuffled from your spot at the head of your bed, coming close enough that your knees were practically touching. You pressed down on the bed to steady yourself, lips parting carefully. Daisuke drew closer, just a breaths away, yet lips not touching. His eyes glanced from your own to your lips, a soft grumble of disapproval rolling at the back of his throat.

Before you could think you felt his fingers tracing your chin, a thumb pressing against the space.

“Like this..” He said rather tight lipped, widening your mouth carefully. Once satisfied Daisuke blew the smoke from his mouth to your own, watching as the white cloud rolled in flowing tendrils, filling your senses the moment it made contact.

You sucked it in, shivering at the sensation and rather heated exchange. You’ve always imagined shotgunning to be rather.. intimate. You were sharing smoke with someone, after all. But, intimate just didn’t seem like a fitting word. At all. This was something beyond it, completely.

As the moment the smoke was touching your tongue, it was as if you could spot Daisuke’s thoughts sprawled across his forehead. Never mind the way those pretty, almond— slowly reddening eyes took you in far too intently.

You backed away a little, releasing a heavy breath straight from your chest. You glanced down before allowing your gaze to land upon the other intern, spotting his eyes already fixated upon you.

“You wanna go again?”

You tried not to nod so excitedly, but with the smoke clouding your focus and the absolute want running through your body— you were sure you looked like an idiotic bobble head. Daisuke either was too high to notice or decided against it anyway, as he was passing your pen back in record time, sitting up and watching.

You took the pen, mirroring his previous movements. Allowing the pen to fall in your lap after, you leaned a bit closer— just as Daisuke did the same. Only this time it was far too close. Your lips briefly touched, only for a moment almost unrecognizable. Yet, you both knew the other felt it.

You decided to ignore it. It meant nothing, right? Simply an accident bound to happen.

You parted your lips, a soft sound escaping as you blew the smoke into his mouth, watching Daisuke consume it eagerly. Sucking up each puffy white cloud under your watchful gaze, he allowed it to dance upon his tongue for a moment before blowing it right back into your mouth.

Just as he closed the distance between the two of you.

You groaned softly, eyes pinched closed as the high of the weed and his lips ran through your entire body. You felt it all the way from your head, to your toes; nerves on fire, as if ready to burst. You were quick to grab him, needing an anchor as the bold kiss quickly muddled your brain. Your fingers curled into his half-dyed hair, twirling soft tresses between the digits and tugging.

Daisuke whimpered right into your mouth, a sound that caused your legs to squeeze and eyebrows to furrow. You felt him moving for a moment before his hands were tracing your body; one finding your waist while the other gently grasped the back of your neck. There, with a tiny push, the man deepened the kiss— tugging you even closer by the waist.

Your arms stretched out, linking around his neck and meeting his eagerness wholeheartedly. You were pleasantly surprised by the sudden 180 of his personality. You especially didn’t take such a clueless, seemingly naive man to be such a good kisser.

But here you were, under his mercy— barely able to keep up with the sloppy lip locking. And with each squeeze of your waist, your mind was spiraling further and further. Again, you could only curse yourself for withholding the weed for this long.

“Wa..wanna touch you..” The words were pushed against your lips so messily you nearly hadn’t heard. Except, they fell from Daisuke’s mouth again; only this time not as muffled given he was pulling away from your lips. His forehead pressed against your own, alternating squeezes on your neck and waist, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall.

“You wanna touch me?”

“So..so bad. I have for a while.” The words came out in drawl as if he was drunk rather than high, red eyes lifting from your lap to your own. “Please, let me?”

He was so desperate, Daisuke’s usual personality peeking through his high facade. The only thing missing was his hands clasped together and whimpers. It was a sight you enjoyed, devouring it greedily with your eyes.

Instead of speaking you slammed your lips back to his own, hands reaching to find his wrists. Once doing so you made his hands drag from your shoulders, down your tummy, hips, and thighs— back and forth, back and forth.. teasing him. It seemed to work as the kiss got even more desperate, his fingers twitching under your hold.

And the moment you released his wrists, Daisuke was all over you— only this time he had full control. The man made quick work of fitting his fingers underneath the shirt you wore, warm digits spanning across your soft stomach. They then rose, flinching the moment they came into contact with your naked breasts— yet eagerly grasping them; cold silver rings digging into your hot flesh.

You sighed into his mouth, grasping his arms and slowly lowering yourself onto your back, pulling him on-top of you. Little sparks of pleasure danced down your spine as he squeezed your breasts, pushing up your shirt to reveal your chest to the muddy air.

The two of you parted, a sticky string connecting your bottom lips together— which broke the moment his head lowered, lips finding a breast. A sloppy kiss was stamped right against your nipple, the swollen bud soon being enveloped by his warm mouth. You stifled a sweet moan, hands finding its place back in his hair, tugging as his tongue swept and circled your areola.

You felt spit trickle at the corner of his mouth from all the attention, sucks only becoming more ferocious as time passed. Caught up in the pleasure you hadn’t realized a hand was descending down your body, not until two fingers were tugging your pants enough that his hand fit through.

Daisuke’s fingers spread across your clothed cunt, finding the edge of your panties and tugging it to the side. There, he was free to spread you, revealing your sopping bud to his finger. He dragged his digit up and down for a moment before running little circles onto your clit.

“Dai..daisuke..—“ You whined softly, nails dragging against his scalp as your thighs twitched. “T—take my pants off, please!”

The man smiled right against your chest, though obliged and with your help, pushed your pants and underwear off your body and down to the bottom of the bed. Now free your legs were spreading easily, hissing as his thumb dragged across your clit whilst another digit circled your wet hole.

Daisuke lifted from your chest, watching with reddened eyes as his finger sunk in all the way to the knuckle. Your walls were warm, enveloping and sucking him in greedily. With each breath you were squeezing, making it just a bit hard for him to move. But, Daisuke didn’t plan to give up now, seeing as — with some effort — he was curling the finger, eyes flicking to your face the moment the prettiest moan fell from your lips.

“That felt good..?” The words fell out as a question more to himself rather than you and instead of waiting, the man repeated his action; only this time a little more confident. And once he received the reaction he was looking for — another breathy moan — Daisuke was more than happy to continue.

Your gasps quickly mixed in with the sounds of your wetness, spongy sounds that echoed with each push of his finger. Curling and fingering, you groaned the moment another digit crept, scissoring inside you. Your thighs were closing at this point, getting overwhelmed with pleasure. You’ve touched yourself while high and as fun as it was, this experience was completely different.

You were sensitive, every sensation on hundred with no chance of coming down. Daisuke’s only been playing with you for a moment and already you felt that familiar band deep in your stomach.

In the midst of your pleasure you hadn’t even realized your thighs were nearly shut until Daisuke quickly slid his free hand to your thigh, pushing and spreading you open.

“I wanna see.”

He said far too calmly, eyes flicking from your face and back to your pretty cunt. Daisuke couldn’t helped but be entranced, watching his fingers disappear and reappear, coated in your arousal. The man swore under his breath, nails dragging against your thigh. He wondered if.. you would let him get a taste? The thought alone nearly made him come in his pants, eating you out just seemed like the second best thing to sharing that weed with you.

Without thinking Daisuke’s face was lowering to your cunt, mouth parted as bated breath fanned against your slick slit. With no warning his tongue was stretching, licking at your bud— quickly glancing at your face for a reaction. He was pleased to see your glossy red eyes and swollen lips open as a pretty gasp escaped your throat. Your fingers tugged at his hair so desperately, back arching as the man’s tongue swiped against you once again— only dragging the thick muscle, allowing you to feel its entire length.

“Please, please..!” You hadn’t a clue why you were pleading, but it seemed Daisuke did— given he repeated that action once more, circling the tip of his tongue along your clit. Little tears threatened to spill from your eyes, hips lifting and grinding into his face; which only resulted in an encouraging squeeze on your thigh.

Moments of this intense pleasure passed before you were practically sitting up, struggling to stifle the harsh moan that escaped you. With a squeeze around his fingers you were coming undone, coating his face with your mess. Daisuke was far too happy to lap you up, cleaning you throughly and refusing to waste a single drop.

Eventually you had to push at his forehead to get him away, groaning as the sensitivity playing at your aching cunt. Reluctantly the man pulled away, pulling his fingers from within you and rubbing his hand across your thigh— soothing you.

“Hopefully you didn’t wake the others.” Daisuke hummed with a small grin, chuckling at the frown you sent his way. He moved to hover above you, leaning onto his forearm and planting a wet kiss to your lips. You mewled from your own taste; hands trailing to tickle the back of his neck.

“We should have done this a long time ago..”

You murmured softly, hearing his own grumble of approval. The kiss continued until you pulled away, hands trekking down to cover his cheeks.

“Daisuke.. as much as I want to continue.. I’m really, really hungry.”

Taking your words in for a moment, the man couldn’t help but release a short laugh, patting the side of your thigh as he sat up from his hovering.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

With that promise, Daisuke was adjusting his clothes before waltzing towards your bedroom door, opening and exiting — probably off to snatch something from the Tulpar’s kitchen.

You certainly hopped no one was awake to notice his red eyes and extremely wet face.

#black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black tumblr #black!reader #chubby reader #poc writer #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke mw #black reader #daisuke x reader smut #daisuke x reader #daisuke x y/n #daisuke x you #daisuke x female reader #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing daisuke x reader #mouthwashing daisuke x reader smut

437 notes · View notes