#quick fixes for swollen face

[gugelin]

How to De-Bloat a Puffy Face: Ultimate Guide

Feeling like your face looks swollen or puffy? You’re not alone. While it’s rarely serious, facial bloating can impact your confidence—especially when the puffiness feels internal. Thick concealers and pricey moisturizers might mask the issue temporarily, but they won’t solve it. Mild facial swelling is often caused by short-term factors like salty foods, alcohol, or lack of sleep. Thankfully,…

[tonycries]

Give Me Tough Love

Synopsis. What happens when your boyfriend just so happens to be mad at you? Well, your poor pússy might just know the answer.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Geto x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, brat-taming, angry séx, oral (male + female receiving), víbrators (Nanami’s), manhandling, unprotected, spanking (Sukuna’s), thigh-riding, intercrural, mentions of Higuruma and Shiu, cúmplay, bunch of heinous stuff idek, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.2k

A/N. Smh I’m sick, try not to catch my virtual cold.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Dirty mouth? He’ll fix it.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he spits, Toji’s hand tightening around your throat, pathetic little gurgles going straight to his cock. “Because I know you aren’t talking back to me like a lil’ slut unless you want to be treated like one.”

“T-Toji m’sorry- mpfh-” Greedily taking in the way your your mouth drops into a soft little oh! as he grazes his fat tip across your lips, glossing your lips so fucking filthily with his precum, all pretty and dripping down to your chin. Hot and angry, and at perfect eye-level for you.

 Hand moving up to pry your swollen mouth open, “You’re only sorry cuz yer gonna get what you’ve been askin’ for, doll.” 

You’d been extra mouthy with him today, all sass and snipey comments like you just wanted this to happen. And it only took one offhand remark about how Shiu probably lasts longer in bed before Toji’s pushing you onto your knees, hand at your throat, breath hot against your ear. And, well, that smart mouth can do nothing but beg for mercy now.

Toji scoffs, snapping you out of your daze, “Nothin’ to say now, huh?” edging his hips closer “Open wide f’me now, yeah- jus’ like that- m’gonna clean out this dirty lil’ mouth of yours. Hngh-”

And with that Toji’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A raw little grunt leaving the back of his throat as your lips stretch so sinfully around his thick cock, and if he angled his head just right he could see the way your throat was bulging and full of him. “Shit, doll. Look at you struggling to take me.”

And Toji’s so mean - not even easing you into it before he’s thrusting in harsh, quick little strokes into your heavenly mouth. “Hah- Hard to take me all?” he taunts, loving the way you’re choking and gagging all around him. 

Pulling you down on his swollen cock till your nose is pressed against those tufts of black hair at his base. So wet with precum and spit. “Shouldn’t be, no? Ngh- A lil’ slut with such a fucking filthy mouth like you should take me s’easily.”

All he gets in response is a low, wet moan, muffled around his cock. One that goes straight to his twitching balls. Smacking your chin with each thrust, so hard he’s sure it hurts. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, chuckling, “Heh, forgot you can’t speak with m’dick lodged in your throat, huh?”

And oh Toji almost considers going easy on you at the messy state of your mascara, and the way you bat your lashes tearily up at him. It’s only when you flick your tongue so sluttily underneath his sensitive tip in a way you knew would drive him wild that all thoughts of that go out the window. “So you like this, huh?”

Voice so low and dangerous it makes your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? You don’t even know because Toji has his hand wrapped around your throat again, hip stuttering filthily. 

And then it’s like something snaps because Toji’s ruining your pretty face. Abs flexing as he drags your head up and down up and down up and- like some toy. God, he thinks, it’s fucking hard to look at you too - so sloppy with the way precum and spit was dribbling down the corner of your mouth, his dick bulging in and out of your throat. In and out in and out in and- 

“Might let out a few tears, but I know that slutty lil’ cunt of yours has never been wetter.”

Reaching blindly to feel for his phone, he punches in that familiar contact. Cock twitching inside your plushy mouth at the way your eyes widen in surprise. Sputtering around his dick - but you can’t run away, because Toji has a hand firm on your head, pushing you down. Still fucking your pretty lil’ mouth while the line rings once. Twice. 

“Don’t act so suprised, doll. All Shiu and I are gonna do is fuck some manners into you.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Karma’s a bitch

“Mhm, yes, Higuruma. I’ve told the supervisor to email me the documents. Oh? In the background?” 

His darkened eyes sweep your figure - wrists tied, soaking through your panties, swollen lips falling into a little oh! at the bullet vibrator buzzing maddeningly in your dripping cunt. All controlled by the man himself, watching you like a hawk from the corner of the bedroom. “Must be the wind.” 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

“Kento- please, wan’ cum. Ngh-” you whine pathetically. But it all falls on deaf ears, because Nanami only manspreads further on the armchair, a long finger unhurriedly coming up to signal you to be quiet as he continues on his business call. 

Intensity setting 1.

Oh you could just cry. How did you even get here? 

All you did was send him a few photos in his favorite lingerie while he was at work - who knew that Nanami would end up clocking early, coming straight home to absolutely fucking ruin you for that little stunt that had him sporting a rock-hard boner all through an important meeting. 

“A voice? Ah, yes.” and that snaps you out of your little reverie. You blink at the flash of amusement in Nanami’s eyes as he continues the call. “Yes, a little fight as all couples have. Y’know how it is.”

Intensity setting 2.

You jolt at the stimulation, body jerking up for some - any - friction. “Kento~” you choke, tears clinging to your eyes now. 

But oh where Nanami was usually gentle touches and sweet, sweet love - he was so fucking mean now. Licking his lips at the slick dribbling down your legs so sloppilly, spreading in such an obscene pool on the sheets below. Frustrated tears cling to your lashes - you just wanted to fucking cum. 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say she’s mad at me.”

Intensity setting 3.

No, you were fucking losing your mind. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt- Blinking tearily at Nanami as his thumb draws quick, relentless little circles on the intensity. The vibrator throbbing against your walls in time with your quivering walls, just grazing that one spot. But purposefully avoiding it so that he could see you fall apart and all desperate. 

He sighs, “I know, I have to make it up to her, right?”

Intensity setting 4.

“You have any ideas, Higuruma? Flowers?” 

“Hngh- Kento- Please, wan’ your cock.” Gritting your teeth so that you won’t just scream or outright demand that Nanami ends the call and makes you cum right now, you settling for low, needy little whimpers of his name. Whiney in just the way you knew he liked. And by the looks of the painfully hard cock straining against his trousers, you knew it was working. 

“Or, chocolates?” 

Maybe it was working too well because Nanami’s amping up his abuse on your cunt. Devouring the way you’re reacting so sensitively to the way he was turning the vibrations up and down. Swollen cock twitching at the wet gasps leaving your mouth, thighs twitching and squeezing together so sluttily to get yourself off. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” you blink away the tears in your eyes to risk a glimpse at the man currently driving you wild. Irritation spiking at the way he was huffing out a laugh, “I could just make her cum hard enough to see stars. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Intensity setting 5.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise - violent and fast. The last thing you see is the cruel little smirk curling Nanami’s lips before he’s setting the phone down with a quick goodbye. And then it’s all stars behind your eyelids as you finally cum, not even caring if whoever’s on the phone hears the strangled yelp of “Ah! Kento, m’cumming m’- hah-”

And it’s all you can do to ride your high out on the vibrations still stimulating your sore cunt. So sensitive and maddening that you almost miss the metallic clinking of a belt.

Ringing in the heady air, the complete opposite of the voice to suddenly very close against your ear, low and hoarse with desire, “Now, think it’s time for me to make it up to you. Hm, sweetheart?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Work for it!

“Get off on m’thigh, or you’re not getting off at all.”

Geto’s had enough of the cold shoulder today before he decides you’re getting one too - even when you’re needy and sat so prettily on his lap. It was only fair, right? Which is why he swats away the hand reaching for his aching cock, angry and throbbing in his fist. Twitching in his hand at the adorable little pout playing on your lips, “Nuh uh, bad girls don’t get what they ask for.”

“But Sugu~” you whine, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. “Already said I was sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it for that attitude you were givin’ me earlier, gorgeous.” he cuts you off, leaning back comfortably on the chair. Smirk only widening at the way your eyes were so deliriously locked on the way his fist starts moving in slow, languid little strokes up and down his swollen cock. “Now, y’gonna fuck that pretty lil’ cunt on my thigh or just watch? S’fine f’me either way.”

You huff at the way he was being so mean - letting a beat of silent staredown pass. One. Two. Cunt so achingly wet and dripping all over where you straddled Geto’s muscular thigh.

“Fine.”

You feel so dirty dragging your pussy all over his thigh like some bitch in heat. Your clit pressing down on his skin hard. “Sugu!” you yelp, hands reaching up to play with your sensitive nipples, still rocking your hips sloppily. 

Fuck does he love your little show - and you can see it too. Catching the way his balls squeeze painfully, brows furrowing and locked on the way your folds were spread apart so sluttily. 

“All that talk but look at y’now.” he hums. And Geto knows he’s supposed to be punishing you, but he can’t stop the way he starts bouncing his leg to meet your grinds. “What’ve ya gotta say for yourself now, my lil’ slut?” 

“M’sorry!” you whine, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself as he fucks you on his thigh. So hot and messy. His skin glistening in the dim light with all your sweet sweet juices, trailing down to the cushion below and pooling at his heavy balls. And Geto was such a fucking picture - hair falling over his shoulders, bottom lip bitten, cock so long and mouthwateringly hard, flushed your favorite shade of pink at the tip.

Only bouncing his leg faster at your cute lil’ whines, like he was turning you into his slut - hit stupid lil’ slut. And all you can sputter out are strained little “M’sorry m’sorry jus’ lemme touch you. Wanna touch you-”

He cuts you off with a desperate, desperate kiss. A permission. A surrender. And you taste the sin and the satisfied little grin on his lips as you reach for his heavy cock. Drinking in the low hiss at the back of Geto’s throat as you start stroking him in quick, desperate tugs. 

And he lets you. 

Hips bucking to chase the feeling of your soft hand wrapped so deliciously around his throbbing cock. Faster. Your nails delicately tracing the pulsing veins along the side, swirling under his slit because shit you might act like it’s a punishment but you’ve never been wetter. “Fuck this hand was made f’me, you were made f’me.”

Previous anger forgotten - perhaps in some miraculous act of mercy - Geto couldn’t even care less if it was all sloppy, mindless little tugs and grinds, high off of your desperation. In fact, Geto wasn’t any better with the way he was snaking a hand down to draw steady, lazy little circles on your swollen lips.

Whispering against your lips, “Make us cum within the next five seconds or you’re going back to getting off on my thigh and nothing else.” Oh. Not an act of mercy.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Evil twin

“Sorry-” he’s murmuring into your neck, lifting your leg just a little bit higher to slide his cock messily between your swollen folds. “Ngh- sorry, baby. Fuck.”

Choso can’t even remember why he’s pissed off - or that useless little argument that led to this - but when Choso’s angry, it’s like he flips a switch. Such a silent tease where he’s usually all lingering kisses and everything you could ever want. 

Which is why he’s got you splayed out on your side, angry, red tip kissing your entrance in a way that was so filthy. 

“Cho, jus’ gimme your cock.” You arch your back, rubbing so deliciously against his abs, flexing with the strain to not just plunge into your pretty lil’ cunt right now. “Jus’ want you inside me. Please?” And shit Choso must be really pissed off because he doesn’t waver even at the way you bat your lashes at him, instead resorting to leaning down and kissing that adorable pout off your lips. 

He bites down on your bottom lip, tugging ever-so-slightly as he starts sliding his cock inbetween your pretty thighs. Creating such a sticky mess as he moves in slow, shallow little thrusts - Choso was always so sloppy. And such a fucking tease as he angles his hips to just graze your swollen clit.

You gasp into his open mouth, mewling out a strained lil’ “Ah! W-wait what’re you doi-”

“Fucking getting myself off, what does it look like doll?”

Fuck, he was really mad. But that doesn’t stop you from craning your neck to glare at him - eyes traitorously drinking in his flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, stray strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead while he meets your gaze head-on. Unwavering. 

“Bit rude to get off by yourself, huh?” you scoff, raising a brow at the slow smirk curling his lips. 

“You’d know a lot about being rude, huh?”

You don’t even have the time to react to his sheer audacity because Choso’s snaking down a hand to toy with your swollen clit. Still rocking his hips between your thighs. Loving the way all you can do is buck into his touch and whine so prettily as he rolls the sensitive bud between two long fingers. “But since I’m so fuckin’ nice, you better thank me, baby.”

“Y’like this?” he hums hoarsely, playing with your needy clit. Index circling your hole, just barely dipping in before he’s swiftly moving back to rub delicate patterns on the bud. “Could’ve gotten more if you hadn’t run that pretty lil’ mouth earlier.” 

“B-but I want more.” you’re babbling deliriously, trying to meet his relentless little rhythm on your cunt. Just wishing that he would fuck you like you wanted him to. But no - not yet.

“More? You think you deserve more?”

“Yes!” and it sounds like a sob that goes straight to his cock. “Wan’ more please. Was wrong- ah- I was wrong-”

Choso isn’t even sure if you remember what you two were fighting about, but that doesn’t stop him from having such fun bullying you - high off the power and the way your cunt tries to clench around his fingers. And especially your little surrender. 

“Exactly what I was waitin’ for.”

It’s like something snapped because Choso’s bullying his fingers in between your folds, curling deftly against that one gummy spot he knows will have you letting out such cute lil’ whines. Hitting that spot over and over as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt. Letting you soak him in all your sweet juices.

And you’re so sensitive and needy that all that spills from your lips are mewls of, “Oh- hngh- Choso Choso- yes, jus’ like that. Faster.”

Maybe for the first time tonight, Choso listens. Movements getting so sloppy and frantic as he chases your high. And occasionally you get such a delicious taste of his throbbing cock as his hips get erratic, fucking himself on your thighs.

You cum with a strangled gasp of Choso’s name, hips bucking wildly. White-hot pleasure running down your spine, and your blood roaring in your ears. It’s all you can do to milk his fingers the way you would with his cock as you ride out your high. 

But luckily for you, you feel his weeping tip nudging your quivering hole. So heavy, precum mixing with your slick in such a sinful combination.  Breath hot against your ear as he whispers a quiet little, “Actually, m’really fucking not sorry.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Plaything!

“Fuckin’” he kisses his teeth, hand raising up, up, up - coming down swiftly- Smack! “Brat.”

“Oh- Hngh p-please.” you gasp, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Nails digging into his shoulders for some - any - mercy from where you’re sat prettily on his lap, throbbing cock stuffed in your cunt. Hard and aching. Yet still unmoving. 

Thumb drawing lazy little circles on your clit, fast enough to have your thighs quivering on his lap, but slow enough to not give you exactly what you want - he’s been teasing you for hours now.

“P-pleeease.” he mocks, voice so dramatically whiny, swatting your ass again. Sukuna doesn’t even know why he’s fucking pissed off, he just likes seeing you all teary and letting out such cute lil’ whines, trying to eagerly to please him. Is he being a bully? Yeah. Does it make it cock so painfully hard watching you try to grind your pretty pussy down on his cock? Fuck yeah.

Which is why he watches you desperately try to fuck yourself on his cock, and oh how he loves taking in this heavenly sight. Your cunt spread so shamefully, sloppy and wet enough that you’re dripping all over him.  

His messy girl. It almost makes him want to play nice.

Smack! And that has you keening, pressing your sensitive tits harder against his front. “What do you want, brat?”

Your breath hitches, words shaky, “Want your cock, ‘Kuna-”

But the only response you get is a huffed out dark chuckle. Strong arms spreading your legs even further as Sukuna leans leisurely against the headboard. He scoffs, loving the way you were always the cutest when he played mean. “You already have it in your pretty lil’ cunt, want more could you want?”

“W-wan’ you to fuck me,” a hand trailing down to massage his heavy balls, moving your hips in slutty circles to meet his, milking him inside you. “Wan’ you to fill me up with your cum till m’dumb. Till everyone’s gonna know- Ah- ple-”

Oh how he loved all your dirty little tricks. “Hm, ya really were desperate for my cock, huh?” he grits out, jaw clenched and eyes locked on the way your dripping cunt was swallowing him up so deliciously. Like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Ya really that cock-hungry, brat?”

Smack! Speeding up his movements on your clit, your pathetic little sob rings in Sukuna’s ears and goes all the way down to his twitching dick. Massaging your plushy walls just right.

That makes you mewl and buck wildly, slurring out, “Yes! Wan’ed so bad. Wanted to be split a-apart hngh- on yer cock n’ filled to the brim.” 

Fuck, Sukuna bites his lower lip, do you even have any idea what you’re saying?

He doubts it - and he doesn’t give a fuck because before you know it, your hands are pinned behind your back, and Sukuna’s fucking up into you in one, harsh thrust. 

“Said you wan’ my cock, n’ you’re gonna get it brat.”

Messy and desperate as you’re being split apart by his massive cock, starting to ram into you with wreckless abandon. And you can do nothing but take it because Sukuna’s holding you still, arching you impossibly deeper into him.

“Kuna- mm ngh-”

“So cockdrunk that you can’t even speak, huh?” he’s high off of the way your words are a strangled mess. Such a pity you couldn’t do anything else either - with the way he was holding you still. Like some fucktoy from the depths of his treasury. Grip bruising on your arms, only being able to let out such pathetic lil’ ah! ah! ah! against his ear each time his cock hits your bruised cervix. 

“This what my little slut wanted?” His hips are erratic now, fucking any and every thought out of your mind. Hungry gaze appreciatively taking in the way your head was lolling against his shoulder, so cock-drunk and delirious already. “Now, don’t act so fucked out, brat. We’re only getting started.”

Well, he didn’t say he was going to be nice. Now, did he?

♡ GOJO SATORU - Candy for a bad day

“Had a bad day.” It’s all that announces Gojo’s arrival. 

Startled, you whirl his head to catch that an uncharacteristic little sigh, he’s pulling his blindfold down haphazardly, raising his eyes to meet yours and oh-

Fuck, you weren’t going to make it out alive.

And Gojo wasn’t sure whether he would either with the way he was immediately slamming the front door shut, lips searing on yours as he shoves you against the adjacent wall with a soft thud! 

“S-Satoru, what the fuck?” you sputter, head spinning because he was here and then kneeling in front of you so fast you think he might’ve teleported there. Hand groping every inch of you he could reach, thumbing over your hardened nipples. Drawing little circles on your hips as he looks at you through heavy, half-lidded eyes.

You try to talk back some semblance of sanity into him, “Satoru, what happ-”

“Shut up. Those annoying old fuckers always fuckin’ piss me off. Dunno why you fuckin’ made me attend that meeting.” 

Oh. That’s what happened. 

Heaving in a shaky gasp, you let him all but rip off your skirt. Flinging them to God-knows-where with the audacity of a man that would buy you ten new ones to replace it. Gojo’s mouth falls into a soft little oh! at the heavenly sight of your already-soaked panties.  

“Swear m’gonna purple hollow them all one day.” he murmurs into your pretty pussy, tongue darting out to draw lazy patterns along your slit. “Gonna have ‘em begging for their lives.”

Words muffled around the flimsy fabric - ones he rips clean off your hips with one hand. Not even letting you flinch at the cool air before Gojo’s pooling your sweet juices on his fingertips. Staring right in your eyes while he pops them into your mouth, sucking them clean and glistening with saliva in the dim light. 

“Oh.” Eyes rolling to the back of his at the taste of your sweet lil’ cunt. “You always taste s’fucking perfect f’me. Can’t believe you’ve been fucking holdin’ out on me.”

And maybe Gojo loses his patience - maybe his sanity - because one taste, and he’s hooked. Diving face-first into your clothed cunt, breathing in your scent so fucking lewdly.

“F-fuck, Toru-” you whisper breathlessly, gripping those soft white locks for some stability. The only reply you get is Gojo licking long, languid stripes up your swollen folds. Your slick glossing his ruby lips, trailing down his chin. “It feels s’good.”

And he’s so uncharacteristically messy - making out with your sloppy pussy like it’s his last meal. All pure desperation, lips puckering so prettily around your swollen clit as he sucks on it harshly. Rolling his tongue over and over and-

“Hate that you made me go. They drive me crazy, y’know.” he slurs lowly into your sensitive cunt. Vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running up your spine. “Makes me wanna wish I could stay home with you, eating this cute lil’ cunt out all day.” 

“Wha- what nonsense, Toru.”

“Your cunt is addictive, pretty.”

You barely even notice the way that he’s the one holding you up, throwing a leg over his shoulder, looping and arm around your waist to pull you deeper onto this tongue. Close. So close. “Hngh- Toru-”

“Close?” he murmurs, muffled. “Can feel y’clenching around m’tongue, y’know. How am I supposed to tonguefuck my pretty girl if she’s sucking the soul outta me?”

He was such a little tease. Becoming as frantic and sloppy as you - dripping all over the hardwood floor with a maddening tap! tap! tap!

And despite the way he was devouring you - licking all over your pussy, tongue dipping in and out of your slutty hole - Gojo still finds it in himself to run his mouth. Babbling about how he’s gonna destroy the elders all while you’re in shambles above him. 

“Hah- Toru, shit I’m close. M’gonna-”

“Give it to me, my girl. Wanna taste y’on my tongue.”

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes and Gojo’s tongue fucking you through your high as you grind down on his pretty face. Dragging your dripping cunt all over till it’s so messy that it makes your cheeks burn. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind - of course, he doesn’t. In fact, his glossy lips only turn up into a slow, sly smirk as he stands up slowly from the ground.

“C’mon, gotta punish you proper now, princess.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[alexiroflife]

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

[athenalvss]

Hiii how are you? Hope your night is going well! I was wondering if I could request Bruce Wayne with a clumsy reader that sprained their ankle at the manor? (I definitely didn’t just sprain my ankle from transitioning from sitting on the floor to standing the wrong way on my leg and then ultimately losing my balance resulting in my notorious sprain. definitely not.) could I possibly request it to be nolanverse/ bale Bruce Wayne? Thank you!!

ON PURPOSE? ( bruce wayne! )

summary: Bruce's wife has a little problem that is more common than everyone thinks, your ankles have taken more hits than Batman on patrol.

pairing: Bale! Bruce wayne x fem!reader

Note: I have often sprained my ankle more than three times in one day and it is horrible, I hope your sprain improves soon!!

request - bruce masterlist

You'd spent the entire morning alone at Wayne Manor. It was pretty odd, considering Bruce usually disappeared at night, but in the mornings you'd always see him in the kitchen or across the hall, his coffee in hand, his face still half asleep. But that morning there was no sign of him. Alfred had told you he had an important meeting at the company with the rest of the shareholders and that he'd probably be back around noon so he could get some more sleep.

So you decided to take advantage of the quiet and boredom by trying to do something productive.

You found a small library in the east wing, one you'd never seen before, and it seemed like a good place to settle down, surrounded by old papers, unclassified books, and titles they no longer copied. It was a somewhat dusty and forgotten corner, but cozy, with a large window that let in the morning light. You lost yourself there for over an hour, sorting through old documents, reading handwritten notes from someone decades ago.

You didn't hear any of the doors open. Nor the sound of footsteps. You were alone, or so you thought.

And when you finally decided to stand up, awkwardly and quickly, as if you were still so young and your knees weren't already giving way, you felt your left foot catch awkwardly against the carpet, your ankle turn at an odd angle, and the world spin with you.

The pain was immediate.

"Ow... ow, ow, ow!" you moaned, rolling slightly to the side as you clutched your foot in a mixture of indignation and pain.

You didn't even have to call him, quick footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by Bruce's deep, worried voice as if he'd seen the Batsignal.

"What happened?" he asked, immediately kneeling beside you. "Did you hurt yourself?"

You nodded with a grimace, still holding your ankle with both hands.

"I stood up wrong... I think I twisted it," you said through your teeth, trying to sound calm, although the sharp burning sensation running down your leg made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Bruce didn't say anything at first. He just leaned in a little closer, his face shadowed by the light streaming through the window behind him. His large, warm hands reached for your leg with a gentleness that belied everything else about him.

"Can i?"

You nodded again, biting your lip.

Bruce brushed his fingers over your skin, gently pressing around the swollen area. When he touched a more tender spot, you let out an involuntary gasp. He looked up immediately, his eyes fixed on yours with a concern for seeing you complain.

"I don't think it's more than a sprain, but I'll have Alfred check you out. In the meantime, you'll just have to keep it elevated and on ice for a while," he said, more to himself than to you. His voice was low, firm, but with that tinge of guilt that only appeared when something was out of his control.

"I'm fine, Bruce," you tried to say, knowing full well he wasn't going to fully believe you. "I just need a minute."

"No, you're not staying on the floor," he said then, wrapping one arm around your back and sliding the other under your legs.

"Hey, wait! You don't have to... Bruce!" you protested, even though he'd already lifted you off the ground as if you weighed no more than a breath.

"I can ask Alfred to do it if you prefer," he joked, in his dry tone.

"No, poor guy, I could break his back, I don't mind you carrying me, Batman."

Bruce crossed the hall with a firm and confident step, taking you directly to one of the rooms, where Alfred already had a pillow and an ice pack ready.

"Mrs. Wayne, if I may say so, you can't keep twisting your ankle all the time, you should pay a little more attention," Alfred said as he carefully placed the ice pack on your swollen ankle, his tone polite, though clearly resigned.

"All the time? It was just one time!" you replied, making a face that was both offended and amused. .

“Once… today,” Alfred remarked with British elegance, dry enough to make you roll your eyes and gentle enough that you couldn’t contradict him.

Bruce, sitting next to you on the couch, barely hid a smile, but said nothing. He just shifted more comfortably, resting his arm behind you on the backrest, as if he didn't want to be even half a meter away. .

"I promise to be more careful," you said dramatically. "Although the carpet was really into me, I swear. It gave me dirty looks from the moment I walked into the room."

Alfred sighed. "That rug's been in the family longer than Master Bruce. I doubt he has any vengeful intentions."

"Tell it to my ankle," you whispered. .

Bruce glanced at you, his hand gently brushing your arm, as if checking to make sure you were still in one piece.

"I'm going to stay with her for the moment, Alfred," he said then, as if it were a decision already made.

"All right, sir. If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen… making a cup of hair reducing tea."

“Thank you, Alfred,” you said, as he walked away with his dignity intact, even in the sarcasm.

The silence hung for a few seconds, comfortable, until Bruce spoke again. "Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt as much as it used to, I think I can put it on the ground now."

Bruce looked down for a few seconds, as if it disarmed him more than he was willing to admit. Then he met your eyes again.

"I'm going to start thinking you twisted your ankle just so I could hold you."

[softaestluv]

Nine Lives

Simon Riley posts an ad for a stray cat he does not want and you answer.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: short n’ sweet, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, Creampie, penis in vagina sex, over use of terms of endearment

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | mlist | ao3

this chapter does contain smut, 18+ content & is the final chapter

A cat.

His stupid cat.

His stupid fawn-colored cat.

Found three days later wedged under a dumpster in an alleyway, she yowled high-pitched and distressed when Simon pulled her out. Fawn-colored fur a little dirty and matted, hungry and scared, but she wasn’t hurt, no scratches or cuts on her after a quick examination.

Churro was okay.

Never better as she snuggled into his arms as soon as she recognized his gruff voice and broad chest. Grumbled harsh grievances to her he didn’t really mean as he carried her home because she was gone for three whole days, making his pretty cat lady entirely too stressed over a feline.

Only cursed more complaints at her when he attempted to bathe her. A bath that only resulted in scratches on his forearms and hands, left him with a cat still filthy and matted— Don’t you trust me, bloody pest?

So, he cleaned her down with a warm moist towel and wiped the bigger clumps of dirt out the best he could after he gave her a bowl of food and water. Even gave her one of the creamy snack pouches she likes before he sent you a picture of her curled on his couch like she never left— Sweet girl is here.

Your response is instant, sending an overwhelming amount of exclamation marks, capital letters, and hearts that make the corners of his lips twitch chest warming. You ask him if he can drop her off at your place since you can’t come pick her up. It’s the first time you’ve invited him over, the first time he’ll see you since he carried your crying frame to his bed and cuddled you to sleep. Since you woke up in his arms, pressing yourself deeper into his chest with a quiet noise of protest when he tried to get up.

The image of you snuggling closer into him played in his mind on repeat, blinking up at him bleary-eyed and swollen from crying the night before, tangled in his sheets. Divine and breathtakingly gorgeous with bed head and groggy smiles. Took all his strength not to pin you under his larger frame and kiss your morning breath away. Melt all your worries about Churro’s safety with his tongue and fingers.

He settled with a kiss to your temple.

When he arrives at your apartment, he tries to ignore the fact that his precious girl has been living in a shitty neighborhood. Apartment is even shittier, no cameras or bolted locks on your door for safety. He’ll fix that, eventually, and well, Churro already thinks his home is her second home, might as well make it her only home.

You open the door before he even has time to finish his knock, peering at him and Churro with wide, excited eyes. You lunge forward with a happy squeal, stealing Churro from his arms and squeezing her tightly in yours.

“Oh, my pretty lady! You’re okay, I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried, angel. I thought you were gone forever, don’t do that again, okay?”

Simon follows you in as you talk animatedly to Churro, pressing countless kisses to her head. Churro purrs louder than Simon’s ever heard her before as you snuggle against her face.

Before he knew you, before he knew Churro, he would’ve rolled his eyes and glowered at the display of affection to a four-legged pest, but now, he knows the two of you. Knows how much you care for her, how such an annoying animal can claw its dainty legs under his skin and carve out a Churro-shaped hole in his heart.

Now, he gets it. Now, he can’t help but crinkle his eyes affectionately at the display in front of him because it fills his chest and lungs in such a thick, tacky way he’s never felt before. And he’s just relieved that he’s the one who found her for you, who returned her to your arms, so he can be a part of the sweet interaction.

It’s a moment before you turn towards him, but he doesn’t mind. He watches you without complaint any chance he gets, doesn’t even look away when you catch him and begin to open your mouth, ask him an abundance of questions, but he speaks before you can even begin.

“Found her in an alley a few blocks from my house. Got stuck under a dumpster somehow. She isn’t hurt at all, checked her already, jus’ got lost is all. Gave her water and food too, even one of her little pouches.” He explains, your lips forming a small smile like you were trying to hold back your smug comments. “Tried to give her a bath, but she was not having it. Bloody clawed my arms raw.”

You laughed, “Cats don’t like water!”

“I know.” He said, pointing to the cuts on his hands as his evidence, “But she was dirty. Needed to bloody clean her somehow.”

You place Churro on your table, walking over to pull his hands in yours, examining the small scratches decorating his already scarred skin. He thinks you might feel bad, that you’re going to apologize for her behavior, but when you look up at him you’re smiling so big that he can hardly see your irises. It makes the breath catch in his throat that such a warm look is meant for him.

“Thank you,” You murmur, eyes glassy, “For caring for her so much. Always knew the big scary man was soft for us”

Your words, the tears welling in your lashes leave him a little speechless, staring dumbfounded for longer than he probably should. Maybe he should be offended that you’re calling him soft because he’s anything but— just for you two though.

“Of course, baby. I care about the both of you. She’s our cat and you’re my girl.”

Your eyes widen, mouth parting in quiet shock, and you divert your attention back to his arms, gently tracing the cuts in a weak attempt to distract yourself. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that without asking, but it’s true. You are his and he’s sure you know that by now.

He cups your face, fingers curling behind your head, thumbs resting in front of your ears, “My pretty cat lady.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” You murmur.

He huffs a laugh at your confession, leaning down so that your noses press against each other, “Yeah?”

You nod coyly, wrapping both of your hands around his wrists.

So, he does.

God, it’s so fucking sweet, you’re so fucking sweet and soft that he almost thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not when he’s quite the antithesis of such words, when callous and ruthlessness seem to describe him better when violence and bitterness seem engraved in his bones. When he hasn’t felt the urge to hold something in his grasp with such care, glass in his palms, fragile and delicate before you and Churro came into his life.

It’s tender, dragging his lips against yours languidly, but it’s deliberate, determined. Doesn’t intend to rush through the kiss, doesn’t want to diminish the moment into animalistic instincts and lust. Instead, he’ll take his time, wants to ingrain the moment, the way you taste, saccharine and sweet, the way you feel, doughy and pliant, the noises you make, melodic and mollifying, into the back of his skull.

The feeling melts over him and his tongue bursts an aromatic taste in his mouth. It’s molten honey and syrup, rich and balmy. Makes him hoist you onto your counter, wedging his way between your thighs, but you make a quiet noise of protest that makes him pull away just enough to let you breathe, lips swollen and pretty covered in his spit.

“Not here,” You pant, gesturing towards Churro perched on the table when he tilts his head in slight confusion, “Not in front of her.”

Simon laughs, you’re cute.

You hop down from the counter, tangling your fingers in his to guide him to your bedroom, closing the door behind you to lock Churro out. You peel your shirt off before climbing onto the bed, resting on your elbows to stare up at him through your lashes, rocking your foot, and biting your lip tauntingly. It makes his mouth water, crawling over your frame to grip your ankle and spread your legs wide to accommodate his size. Shifting your thighs over his hips as he settles his weight on his forearms on either side of your head.

“Thought you didn’t like cat ladies,” You tease, dipping your fingers in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer to your face.

“I don’t, jus’ you.” He stamps his mouth against yours with a bit more fever, playfully nipping against your bottom lip that earns him a muffled gasp, allows him to lick into your mouth, and delve deeper into your taste. “Must really be a witch, you an’ Churro both.”

You choke on a chuckle when he moves to the crook of your neck, littering wet stamps against the delicate flesh of your throat. Sucking the skin between his lips and teeth, kneading the supple flesh of your breasts and hips in his large palms until you begin to writhe impatiently trapped under his frame, wringing his shirt in your fists, chest swelling with shallow lungfuls.

“Must’ve put some spell on me.” He mutters, tugging at the hooks of your bra until your breast spills from the cups. “Maybe you put some potion in my tea when I wasn’ lookin’.”

You laugh again, sound morphing in a quiet whine when he seals his lips around your pebbled nipples, “No, I think Churro might be Cupid.”

He smiles around your nipple because it’s true. He never believed in fate, barely clung to the evaporating idea of love before you. If it wasn’t for that damned cat he definitely wouldn’t have you shirtless under him, hips gradually grinding against the front of his jeans the longer he takes to peel your shorts and panties off. Wouldn’t have an all-consuming desire festering in his chest.

The two of you have been playful, soft, and sweet, basking in each other’s lips and touch, but when he finally slips the lace material off your hips the room seems to shrink, becomes heady and suffocating. Makes his eyelids feel heavy, breaths ragged, turns every touch against your flesh searing and branding, burns an ache straight to your core.

He slides down your frame until his face rests between your thighs, perching one of your legs over his shoulder, and pushing the other one wide, splaying his hand on the inside of your thigh. It leaves your cunt bare and spread for him, and he has to stifle a groan at the sight.

God, are you perfect, pussy glistening and swollen for attention. For his attention, peel the hood back and suckle your clit, give the pulsing bead any stimulation.

So, he does.

Presses a soft peck against the puffy flesh.

“Simon.” You say a little breathless, and fuck does his name sound pretty on your lips.

It’s enough to entice him to lick a thick stripe over your pussy, doubling back over your clit in calculated strokes and firm shapes. Your hands fly to his head, sifting your fingers through his hair, frantically trying to grip onto something, so you don’t immediately melt into the pleasure.

But that just won’t do, will it sweetheart?

He suctions the sensitive bead between his lips and sucks gently as if not to suddenly overwhelm you.

“Simon!” You moan, arching your back slightly in shock.

The noise is hypnotizing, your taste just as addictive, and he finds himself holding your thigh down from clamping constrictively over his head, so he can lap eagerly between your folds. Each movement makes a new mewl slip from your lips, makes your pretty legs tremor and shake, stomach tightening the closer he brings you to the brink.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t imagine this situation in his head each time you sat on his couch. Had tried his best to ignore it, not picture the way you would shed your layers on his tongue, but it was almost impossible when his cock was heavy in his pants with need. And now, it’s even harder for him to stop, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind when you look so pretty laid under him, watching you arch into his touch like it’s the only thing you need.

His cock is throbbing and painfully hard in his pants when he slips a finger into your sopping cunt. He should probably work you up to it, but he can’t resist when you look so desperate, weeping for more by clinging to his digits, so he adds a second soon after. And you take it so fucking well, your gummy walls spreading so heavenly over his thick fingers.

You cry out when he begins to bury them into your welcoming cunt, smothering his tongue against your swollen clit with more fervor, a different determination to make the insistent fire lapping in your womb burst and fill the palm of his hand.

You’re gasping and shaking, gripping onto the sheets before tangling your fingers in his hair, trying to clamp your legs shut before spreading them further apart because it’s too much, body stinging with insatiable pleasure, but it's not enough at the same time, pleading your way to your orgasm.

And Simon is more than willing to give his girl what she wants.

You clench painfully around his fingers, moan punches straight out of your lungs when you finally do, burying your face into your sheets. It’s a sight watching your walls quiver, watching your hips convulse, watching your breasts jiggle with each inhale— Jesus, baby, look at tha’, fuckin’ pretty little thing you are.

He strokes your poor cunt through it, stripping himself of his clothing the best he can with one hand. His cock is already leaking, reddened, and swollen, lined up with your entrance before you’ve completely returned to reality. He doesn’t break through your walls until he’s got your lips around his, whimper deliriously into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, and cling to him desperately.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth popping open when he starts to sink in. He has to rest his forehead against yours, squeeze his eyes shut at the sensation of your pussy. Warm and gummy, so fucking tight, clenching a suffocating ring around the base of his cock when he bottoms out. It takes a moment for him to muster his strength, will himself not to fucking outright cum against your cervix when you feel so fucking good.

It’s almost painful when you begin to speak and your voice is so dainty, shaky, and whiny, ask him so sweetly to move, fuck into your aching cunt and soothe the fire pulsing under your skin— Simon, oh my, you’re fucking big. Fuck, why didn’t you tell me you were this big?

He tries to laugh, but it just comes out strained, “I know, baby, I know. You can take it though, right? Make you take, don’t worry.”

You just nod at him, a little dazed from being stuffed so full, stretched so thin around his fat cock that you’d just agree to anything he says with knotted brows and pleading eyes.

He can’t wait for the day he’ll fuck you in two, make you sob and drunk off his cock, aggressive and unrelenting, bend you over every surface he can before rucking your oversized clothes up and ravaging your pretty cunt. There’s no rush, he’s waited this long to even get a taste of your lips, and he plans to keep it intimate, tender, show you how you’ve unearthed something in him he thought he wasn’t capable of. But he was, just for you.

So, he fucks you nice and slow, cock dragging against your swollen walls so heavenly, thrusts real deep and languid, kissing your cervix gently with each stroke that makes your legs shake, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Hiccuping for breath each time he pulls out to the very tip of his cock head, just to plunge back in your pulsing walls, so his balls smack lightly against your taint. Makes you take every inch so you can feel it in your fucking throat.

His name is like a prayer on your lips, chanting it between breathy whines, and weak attempts to ground yourself back to reality and not the way his fattened cock keeps grinding against that gooey spot in your pussy. Toe’s covered in your signature fuzzy socks curling against his back, arching so pretty against his pelvis each time he ruts into that gummy spot.

You whimper when he tangles his hand in yours, reciprocate the action by crossing your feet over his back, locking the both of you together. You’re babbling at this point, mewling that you’re so fucking close, please Simon, don’t stop, need it, need you.

He can’t even manage the strength to tease you, mutter playful words to you when he’s been gritting his teeth together in a weak attempt not to paint your walls white. So, his thumb finds your clit and makes your vision blur white instead, practically begging you to orgasm with encouraging praises.

Your body goes rigid, clamping narrowly around his cock as you finish, a thick ring of your arousal collecting around the base of his cock. It’s divine, all of it, your fucked out express, the sheen of sweat on your collar bones, the way you claw down his chest in ecstasy.

He’s steady through it, draws your overwhelming orgasm out as long as he can until your fingers are pressing to his hips for him to stop.

He will, just after he fucks his own cum into you.

You’re close to overstimulation and shedding tears when he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t quite want that, not yet at least, so he presses praises into your skin until you believe them, until you’re eager for him to make you two one.

Easy baby, I got you. I know, ‘ts too much isn’t it?

Jus’ a lil longer, yeah? Did s’well f’me, s’fuckin’ pretty stretched ‘round me.

Gon’ make you all mine, okay? My sweet girl now.

You finally croak back, nodding earnestly at him, “Always were.”

That pushes him right over the edge, burying himself to the hilt, so he can fill your drenched cunt, so warm and tight, with his expense. He has to bury his head in your neck, a beastly groan vibrating from his chest. The ropes are thick, balls tightening and thrumming with each emptying pump so much so that it leaks out of you.

He can barely stop himself from smashing you and going completely limp from the intensity. He kisses you instead, spends entirely too long mapping the shape of your lips that he grows a little chub in your walls when he should be cleaning the both of you up.

When he finally does pull out, you’re docile and tired, he has to carry you to the shower, clean your sweat-drenched and cum stained skin nice and pretty again, help your wobbling legs put on a fresh set of pajamas before he drapes you into your sheets again.

He crawls into the bed with you, but before he can snuggle under the blankets, you shake your head, pointing at your bedroom door.

“You gotta let pretty lady in.”

He chuckles, of course, he has to, he should’ve known without you having to tell him. Churro trots in as soon as he opens the door, following him into bed with you. He pulls you snug against his chest, banding his protective arms around you as Churro curls herself above your head on your pillow.

You smile sweetly at him when he stamps a kiss against your forehead and then against Churro’s.

“Knew you liked her.”

@lighthousebats @cococococ @sai-int @tessakate @starboykel @imrandomstuffsblog @your-internet-tenshi @glossy01 @orangegreensun @uriahs-barn @ye-olde-trash-panda @akkahelenaa @h0lydrag0ns @pukbadger @dawnnightshade666 @lizziesfirstwife @little-b33 @topaz125 @v1x3n @hadassery @afanofbeans @definitely-not-sammie @alexlove-you @dravenskye @hardpostdinosaur

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes) (pt. 2)

synopsis: part 2 of my messy fwb pazzi! i would call this fluff and smut. your cws are alcohol and sex as always. uhh idk what elese ngl. azzi and paige are idiots but it works-- capiche?

wc: 10k (ao3 link) (part 1 link) (my masterlist)

a/n: welcome back to my attempt at a porn without plot oneshot that is now 17k and 2 parts <3 enjoy <3 sorry this took longer than expected i got scared of all the people who were waiting on it lmfao </3 hope it lived up to the hype if not don’t lmk please <3 um i tried to make azzi’s inner monologue a bit nonsensical because she’s drunkyyyy so if it got difficult to follow i apologize <3 this is extremely unedited btw i'll go back and fix stuff later but my eyes are closing and i want to sleep <3 ok bye

when azzi trudges back into the kitchen, she finds that the environment in the apartment has mellowed considerably since she slipped away, and it makes her even more aware of how long she must’ve been in the bathroom. 

she eyes the handle that has miraculously been transported from the floor in between a circle of teammates to the kitchen counter, and how the line of liquid has mysteriously dropped even further. typical. 

and lucky, considering this means the likelihood someone noticed her extended absence, and more alarmingly, paige’s absence in addition to hers, was slim. 

she surveys the room further, and tries to keep herself from immediately looking for a mop of blonde hair, but nonetheless frowns a little to herself when she fails to lay eyes on paige, a little disappointed she left without saying goodbye. even though she’s mad at her.  whatever. 

there are a few others missing, too, most noticeably, azzi’s roommates nika and olivia, and she groans to herself in annoyance that she’ll have to walk back alone. 

caroline notices her then, standing on the edge of the kitchen, and motions for her to come join her on the couch, pulling away from her conversation with amari to pat the cushion next to her. azzi debates finding an excuse to duck out– she really would rather be in her room right now to wallow in sexual frustration– but she hasn’t spent any time with caroline tonight and owes her a quick chat. 

she immediately regrets this choice. 

because as soon as she sits down on the ugly brown suede of the couch, caroline is dragging her eyes over azzi’s flushed face and most likely swollen lips and saying “when are you two gonna get your shit together?”

azzi blinks. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

she panics a little– annoyed that caroline would allude to paige in such a populated environment, but when she looks around she sees nothing but teammates who are extremely drunk and paying no attention to their conversation. which is good, but also doesn't give her the out of not wanting others to listen in on this conversation. 

caroline tilts her head and looks at azzi. “really? so paige was in the bathroom helping you- what, pee? giving you emotional support while you took a shit?”

azzi glares, tipping her chin up in defiance. “how do you know even paige was in the bathroom with me–” she pauses for a second, realizing that sounds almost like a confession, and adds “-i mean. why would you think that. that’s ridiculous.”

caroline raises her eyebrows. “okay, azzi. totally believe you right now.”

“good,” azzi huffs. “you should.”

goddamn caroline and her penchant for staying mostly sober and preying on young, innocent, emotionally vulnerable people like azzi. nika and her should start a club. 

the girl in front of her sighs, and nudges their legs together, in what is probably an attempt at comfort. “i just don’t want you to get hurt, az. or paige.”

and that. makes azzi pause for a second, not because she thinks it's truly a possibility, but because she’s surprised at the genuine worry in caroline’s tone. 

she knows that messing around with your best friend on mostly undefined terms doesn’t exactly have the highest success rate in the world, but, well. it was paige and azzi. and even though she was aware that she sounded a little naive in believing that they’d be fine no matter what, she knew that neither of them would intentionally hurt the other. 

paige would probably rather lose every basketball game she ever played again than hurt azzi on purpose, and though azzi was loath to admit it, she felt the same. it might be strange to say that she wasn’t worried for their future, knew that they would always be alright, but azzi felt it in her bones. and not even in a drunk way either. 

caroline might not get it, but as long as her and paige did, they’d be okay. 

“carol, we won’t, i swear” she states plainly. 

caroline eyes her, disbelieving, but azzi knows this isn’t something she’ll be able to explain, certainly not in tonight's brain state, and decides that this conversation is over. she pats her leg, before standing up shakily and stumbling around the room to say her goodbyes. 

it’s at least a little bit nice knowing that everyone she’s leaving behind is definitely more drunk than she is, and she doesn't even have to convince evina that she needs someone to walk her home beyond rolling her eyes and saying “it’s literally one building- i’ll be fine.”

the trudge upstairs is quiet, and azzi lets her conversation with caroline wash over her. a year ago, she’d probably have freaked out at the reminder that her and paige meant as much to each other as they did, and that they weren’t anything more than best friends. 

but now, even with her anger still simmering towards paige, the thought is vaguely comforting. they’re not dating– won’t be for a while azzi’s sure– but it worked for them, in a twisted, irrational way. 

she smiles to herself, and then immediately frowns at how ridiculous she is, stumbling down a dark hallway by herself and grinning about the girl who’d just left her wet and aching with no remorse. the annoyance at paige comes back in full force.

she’d always been a touch emotionally unstable when drunk.

she climbs the final set of stairs thinking about how supremely excited for the solitude of her room she is, as the nights events have tested her sanity, her libido, her liver, and many more things that she can’t be bothered to name, but her plans to march straight into her bedroom and dive under the covers to take the edge of the night off are derailed when she opens the door to their suite and her eyes immediately catch upon nika and paige splayed out across the couch, game controllers in hand. 

because of course. of course paige was in her home, just to torment her. 

they both look up at the sound of the door, and paige’s face lights up before schooling it into a more reasonable expression, and azzi hates herself for flushing. 

“what are you doing here,” she accuses, beginning to toe off her shoes. 

“oh i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i wasn’t allowed to hang out at nika’s place,” paige tosses, so visibly relishing in getting under azzi’s skin that it made her want to throw something.

“nika’s place is also my place. and olivias.” she retorts, regaining her balance from a brief stumble caused by her mistake of trying to balance on one foot to untie her stubborn right sneaker.

“you and olivia aren’t the only ones who live here,” paige says loftily, controller slack in her grip, even through nika’s nudges to get her back in the game.

“yeah well me and olivia don’t need to hear you guys playing video games all night.” azzi shoots back, beelining towards the kitchen to get herself a much needed glass of water. 

nika puts her controller down in defeat, accepting the derailment of her plans to continue playing their game. 

paige doesn’t even seem to notice, eyes following azzi as she walks across the room, the open floorplan making it too easy for her to watch. “olivia’s not here. she went to her boyfriend’s ages ago- said she wasn’t coming home.”

and.  “oh.” 

that’s why paige was so blatantly trying to piss azzi off. nika says something about how it’s probably because liv got horny at the questions she was asking, but azzi’s focus is on the fact that paige had probably known that azzi’s suite would be free from people who were unaware of their dynamic, had probably planned to come back here before she’d even followed azzi to the bathroom. it meant she’d always had plans to finish the job, just with a little teasing to prove her point.

she refuses to let that thought soften her annoyance but her subconscious– who looks and sounds a lot like the whiny blonde in front of her– puts up a valiant fight. now is not the time to focus on that. because she has angry appearances to uphold. 

she also does not mentally acknowledge how obsessed with her paige is when she stands up off the couch and comes to plant herself across from azzi, leaned up against the counter and arms crossed.

she watches azzi fill up a glass with sink water, and azzi hates that she can feel her eyes like a physical sensation. she swallows down the cool water gratefully, hoping it will cool her down.

“so you didn’t miss me?” is the tactic paige decides to go with when azzi finally looks in her direction, expectant and glaring. 

honestly. 

“no,” she bites out, icily. “i miss the peace and quiet of not being around you.”

paige’s smile only grows. “you’re bein’ mean, baby. you mad at me or somethin?’”

and dear god why is she pulling out pet names right now. except. azzi knows why: it’s always impossible for her to be annoyed with paige when she’s calling her baby. which is manipulation. she contemplates dumping her water over paige’s head. 

“yeah, i’m fucking mad at you- take a wild guess as to why.”

paige smirks. “prolly cause i called you out on your lie.”

“no, because you’re a fucking tease,” azzi spits. 

somehow this is the wrong answer, because paige cocks her head. “aw, is she cryin’ for me? bet she is. should've just admitted i’m you best, and i woulda take care of you, hmm?” she pouts, as if she isn’t spewing pure filth in the light of azzi’s kitchen with nika still sort of in earshot.

sometimes, it was hard to reconcile this paige– confident and cocky and so sure of herself– with the paige that had once bashfully admitted to practicing how to drive with only her left hand in the off chance azzi would let her hold her right; the paige whose hands had shaken so badly the first time they’d kissed that she’d knocked her phone off the ledge of the pool they’d been sitting on. 

azzi loved every version of paige, always, and knew that at least almost every version of paige belonged to her in some capacity, but the way she was acting right now, so much like the lothario version of paige that so many people thought of her as, was fucking with her head. 

she was aware that it was a direct reaction to her own declaration that charlie had been her very best, and that paige was putting on this show just for azzi, because she was jealous, but the nagging idea that she’d picked up this persona from sleeping with other girls had azzi fucking pissed, even if it was irrational.

and also, paige like this was really, really hot. which made azzi angrier. and meaner. and, well. wetter.

“i can take care of myself,” she glowers, and she doesn’t mean for it to come off as suggestive as it does– doesn’t mean for paige to know that she has every intention of getting herself off– but the thought slips out before she can catch it and paige’s eyes darken. god damnit. 

azzi can see her hands clench around her upper arms, like she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out. 

“yeah? you don’t want my help?” 

“no,” azzi grits out, even though she kind of does. 

paige goes to respond, leaning forward off the counter, but nika beats her to it, a touch of exasperation and disgust in her tone. “get out of our kitchen and go have this fight in your room, i don’t want to hear it.”

azzi scowls at her, knowing that’s exactly what paige wants, and sure enough, the blonde smiles, sharp and pleased, and spins on her heel with an overdramatic flip of her hair, sighing exaggeratedly. “if we must.”

“no, paige it’s not your room,” she calls, but it’s no use. 

paige flips her off without looking back and smacks a loud, messy kiss to the side of nika’s arm. “nighty night twin, sleep with a pillow over your head, yeah?” 

azzi might actually jump her. and not in the fun way. 

“paige,” she shrieks, vowing to refuse any and all attempt by paige tonight to get in her pants. 

nika groans at the same time and hits paige across the shoulder. “i’m going to kill myself.” her grumbles fade as she disappears down the hallway, and azzi is left to follow paige’s retreating figure into her bedroom, slightly dazed and extremely pissed, as any normal person in her position would likely be. 

she stops short when she gets to the doorway, however, because paige has somehow deemed it necessary to strip down to her sports bra and boxers. because of course she has. 

such a presumptuous idiot.

azzi stops and stares for a split second, before trying to get her fuzzy brain to ignore the miles of skin now exposed, including but not limited to: the pale meat of her thighs, her biceps from where she’s tucked her hands behind her head, the ridges of her abs, the muscle on her– azzi needs a gun. 

so she can kill herself. 

actually. scratch that, kill paige, and then kill herself. in like. a romantic, shakespearean way. 

paige’s eyes flick to where azzi is sure her cheeks are flushed and grins, self satisfied and stupid, and then she interrupts azzi’s mental designation of herself as romeo (much more romantic) and paige as juliette (long luscious locks)(she knows paige will disagree with these role assignments and she makes a mental note to bring it up later so they can argue about it) with a lazy “s’hot in here, hope you don’t mind,” and azzi is reminded of why she’s thinking about shakespeare plays in the first place. 

murder. she wants to murder paige. lounging on azzi’s bed, like she hadn’t left her high and dry without a single apology only twenty minutes prior. 

what a fucking asshole. azzi hates her. 

she huffs, spins around to shut the door, perhaps with a little more force than usual, and then stalks to the edge of the bed. she’s too drunk to be dealing with this. it’s hard enough to stay mad at paige sober, but drunk, with a half naked paige on her bed? she’s fighting an uphill battle with 50 pound weights on each shoulder. 

“put your clothes back on, dickhead. i already told you, we’re not-” she cuts off her response, squinting. “is that my bra?”

paige blanches. 

“no,” she blurts, voice in that high pitched tone she uses whenever she’s lying, “it's not.” her face is crimson. liar.

paige is absolutely wearing her sports bra, the white, faded garment doing terrible, terrible things to azzi insides as it emphasizes the lingering tan of paige’s skin from summer. the added knowledge that paige had chosen one of azzi’s to throw on does nothing to help the heat in her stomach.

“paige,” she scolds, trying not to let affection of all things at the act of thievery well up inside of her. “that’s totally mine. it has the stain from when you spilled wine all over me last summer.”  

that had been a delightful accident. 

paige had tripped, knocked azzi’s cup all over her, and then had had a perfect excuse to drag her inside and away from prying eyes to change. 

twenty minutes later, they’d rejoined the bueckers’ family barbecue with flushed cheeks and giddy eyes, because paige had deemed a make out in the laundry room an extremely necessary addition to her apology.

paige appears to be relishing in that exact same memory, and she grins, cocking her head to the side. azzi was hoping she’d show at least some remorse. she should’ve known better. 

“want me give it back?” she taunts, arms coming down from where they’d been behind her head to start tugging the flimsy fabric up. “can do it right now, if you want.”

“no,” azzi all but shrieks, lunging forward onto the bed and halting paige’s hands. 

which is. extremely stupid for two reasons. one, the fact that it actually probably does serve her best interests if paige takes off her bra, and two, she’s somehow landed astride paige’s hips, knees on the mattress on either side of her torso, and hands gripping paige’s wrists.

their eye contact is heavy, and paige’s hips shift beneath azzi, searching for friction even when she knows she hasn’t earned it. 

“kinda seems like you want me to take it off, hmm?” 

azzi tries to stop herself from grinding down on paige’s torso, but is woefully unsuccessful. 

“i don’t,” she moans. how she got here– when five seconds ago she swore she was standing on business– was beyond her. reason and logic never applied when it came to paige. 

in a flash, paige frees her wrists from azzi’s hands– that have gone slack from her focus elsewhere– and flips them, pinning azzi’s hips to the bed, and then just looking down at her for a second, wild and turned on. 

“i think you’re lying,” she breathes, gaze focussed on azzi’s lips. 

azzi’s too distracted by paige’s eyes above her to process the words for a split second, but by the time they register, paige’s mouth is already crashing down on her own, swiping a tongue in almost immediately like she’s been dying without it in the last thirty minutes. 

and azzi- azzi lets her deepen the kiss, lets her press azzi back into the bed, even lets paige tug off her t-shirt and suck a hickie into the sensitive skin below her chest as she arches into it, because she has a plan forming. 

paige mouths down azzi’s stomach, smug and stupid but still so, so good at ready azzi’s body, knowing exactly what she needs, and when paige hooks a finger in the waistband of her shorts and boxers, azzi nods approvingly, lifting her hips to let paige tug them off. 

humiliation burns a little at how wet her boxers are, how slick is already glistening on the inside of her thighs, but paige’s gaze is hungry, intentional, and azzi smiles to herself. 

just as paige ducks down to lave a kiss on the skin of azzi pelvis, azzi wiggles out from under her, the process made easier at paige’s surprise. 

she settles a few inches away on the mattress– still on her back and legs spread wide, exposing her dripping hole– and paige’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, like she’s trying to taste the brief glimpse she got of azzi’s skin under her mouth. 

in a trance, paige crawls over trying to resume their previous positioning and reaches out to touch, almost mindless, like she can’t help it. azzi bats her hand away. 

she’s aware that this might against her self interest– paige above her and inside her and all around her was eons better than her own hand– but she knows there’s no better way to make paige suffer than to show her exactly what she wants and not let her have it, and the desire to make paige feel as desperate as azzi had felt in the bathroom wins out over her own desire to get off fast. 

“you don’t get to touch now. you had your chance earlier,” she rasps, eye contact steady even as her breath hitches at the neediness in the dark blue of her gaze.

paige makes a wrecked, disbelieving sound in the back of her throat, but her hands still on the sheets, not making another attempt at touching, and azzi tuts approvingly before slowly gliding her own hands down her abdomen, tracing at the mark paige’s mouth had only just made underneath the swell of her breast before dragging down to ghost over her cunt.

“azzi” she moans, eyes fixated on the movement of her fingers, gathering the abundance of slick on two digits before dragging them back up to nudge at her clit. 

azzi’s back arches at the feeling, and at the piercing intensity of paige’s gaze, pleasure curling in the base of her spine at how good it is, and she feels herself clench around nothing. 

if it were paige’s hands, azzi knows she would drag it out, would wait to press inside and only give her light touches until she were incoherent, but it's her own hands on herself, so she simply dip her fingers down again, but this time, instead of tracing the edge of her hole, she slips one in and relish in the pleasure that curls hot and wet. 

they both gasp at the act of it– paige’s more of a longing whimper– and azzi needs more.

one is not nearly enough– not when paige is moaning next to her like she’s the one being fingered and azzi is already worked up from their bathroom encounter earlier– and azzi immediately slips a second in with the first, choking back another moan at the pleasure that pools in her stomach again, and trying to angle her hand so she can thumb at her clit in the process. 

it’s all wrong though– the angle’s a little off, and azzi can’t get the right stimulation on her clit and inside at the same time– and this is all heightened by the fact that paige is watching beside her, jaw slack and eyes hooded, and. 

and azzi wants to cave so badly, let paige replace the heat of her gaze with the heat of her mouth, but she hangs on a little longer, determined to make paige suffer. 

but then. then paige starts talking, slurring about how good azzi looks, how good paige could make her feel if only she were allowed to touch, how badly she needs a taste, and azzi feels her remaining control start to slide away, despite herself. 

“you’re so wet- just havin’ me watch you finger your pretty little pussy, hmm?” paige chokes out, hands twitching at her sides and eyes wild, gaze tumbling over the pink of azzi’s cunt in between her thighs and dragging upwards across the rest of her body. 

azzi’s too turned on by the filthy words to disagree, whining out an affirmative instead, and her head falls back against the pillows when she increases the pace of her fingers, trying to curl them into that spot that paige always seemed to find on the first go.  

paige must be encouraged by her reaction, must know azzi is close to relenting, because she doubles down. “look so pretty for me, wanna touch azzi.”

azzi stutters out a moan, and twists her fingers harder. it feels good, great even, but the knowledge that it could be paige’s fingers is making her frustrated at her self, and it turns out being frustrated makes it hard to focus on pleasure, even with paige’s voice in her ear. 

“you’re not doin’ it right, baby, know i could do it better, please let me do it better,” paige breathes, and azzi can see her hands lift in the corner of her eye before falling back down onto the mattress in defeat. 

and paige is right, she’s not doing it right, too fast paced, she can’t get the angle quite right, her mind is scattered, and she huffs a sigh. paige being right– being able to read her body so well just by looking, watching, makes azzi angrier, and she doubles down in her resolve, even if that means not coming for the next twenty minutes. 

but then. but then paige starts begging, “please azzi, need to touch- can i please touch,” and azzi is undone at the desperation in her voice.

before she can process her agreement, she’s moaning out “yes, yes, paige,” and in a heartbeat, the blonde is on top of her, licking into her mouth for an open mouthed kiss, hands knocking away azzi’s to take their rightful spot between her legs.

immediately, she nudges her own two fingers inside azzi, and she swallows her moan at how much better it feels, how much fuller she is, how much better paige is at curling just right, and she nearly cries with relief. 

she’s close from her own fingers and paige’s words, and she’s sort of expecting paige to finish the job in under a minute, seeing as she’s extremely capable and also has a point to prove. which is why she’s surprised when paige’s ministrations are just shy of enough, not quite their usual finesse. 

she whines in frustration, kissing paige harder, trying to coax her into giving azzi what she wants, but paige pulls back above her and smirks. “you can come when you admit i’m the best you ever had.”

and oh my god. why was she still on that. 

defiance wells in azzi, sharp and bratty, and she glares at the cruel vision above her. “you’re not-” her voice cuts off when paige curls her fingers exactly right, and paige laughs– laughs– above her. 

“you sure, baby? sound so needy for me, just gotta say it, then you can come.”

azzi chokes on a moan, before gasping out “don’t need you to come.”

paige drags her fingers out and circles, punishing her for that sentence. “you sure? cause two minutes ago you were begging me to come finish it, couldn’t do it without me, huh baby” 

jesus fuck, her words were messing with azzi’s head, and she only has the ability to whine in protest, beyond words. she was letting paige edge her twice in one night. god help her.

“know i could make you come so good, baby, you just gotta tell me,” paige continues, breathing all of this into azzi’s ear, sending her shuddering. “just say it, say paige, you’re the best i’ve ever had, baby, and i swear i’ll get you right- just gotta remind you who you belong to.”

and it’s almost embarrassing how fast azzi folds. but paige had paired that last sentence with a grind of her palms against azzi’s clit, relentless, and. azzi never really stood a chance.

“okay, paige, paige, feels so good, best i ever had i swear, please make me come,” she babbles, hands digging into paige’s back and tears forming at the corners of her eyes from how desperate she feels. 

paige shushes her, soothing, and quickens the drag of her fingers, finally in that rhythm that always has azzi gasping for breath. it’s immediately so good, and azzi really doesn’t stand a chance when she drags her thumb up to rub at azzi’s clit in time with the thursts of her fingers, whispering “good girl, you just had to say it baby,” into the skin of her shoulder. 

“you can come, az- want you to, just for me,” paige breathes, mouthing at azzi’s neck, and that’s what does it, snapping the band in her stomach.

she comes with a drawn out moan, thighs clamping together and hands clawing at paige’s back, and she’s too far gone to be embarrassed by the tears she releases in pleasure.

but then, instead of coaxing azzi through her climax like she normally would, paige’s face is suddenly gone from above her. azzi’s head is too delirious with pleasure to catch up to where she’s going, and she misses paige all around her immediately, but then she feels her presence in between her thighs, licking azzi through it, and she genuinely might die here, in this dorm bed in fucking storrs connecticut. 

and jesus christ it’s too much, pleasure and pain warring for attention in azzi’s mind and making her already fuzzy head even more so, and it’s so much and she feels like she’ll explode, and.

“paige i cant, i cant–”

but she gets cut off by paige’s “you can,” her fingers wrapping around azzi’s thighs to hold her still and diving in, drinking up the remnants of azzi’s orgasm and then continuing on, as if her first one was simply the appetizer. 

“s’to make up for the one i didn’t give you earlier,” she rasps, hands still keeping azzi’s body steady as she ducks back down for another taste. 

azzi doesn’t have words anymore, and resigns herself to the pleasure-pain, twisting her fingers into paige’s hair in a way that is sure to be painful, and will also probably get paige even wetter, the freak.

and there’s. a reason paige is the best she’s ever had, and she seems determined to prove that all over again, relentless with her tongue as she sucks azzi clit into her mouth. 

her back arches, drawn taught from overstimulation, and she’s sure she’s making all kinds of pathetic noises but all she can focus on is how she’s already at least half way to coming again, heat curling tight and thighs trembling. 

paige looks up at her from between her legs, looking reverent even in her determination to remind azzi of how wholly paige’s she is, and smiles sharply. “‘member what christyn asked me earlier?”

and. what. azzi’s brain is a lot fuzzy and entirely confused on why paige is bringing anyone else up right now, let alone one of their teammates. 

she whines in confusion, trying to drag paige’s head back down where she wants her, hands grabbing at her hair, but paige holds steady, letting her chin rest on the soft skin of azzi’s pelvis, moisture glistening on her mouth. 

“in the game. she asked me what my favorite sex position was.”

azzi has some vague recollection of this, but she’s not exactly focused on anything except for paige’s mouth right now, and she’s rather insulted that paige is so coherent. 

her head dips back again, against the pillow and she gasps out “uh huh,” wiggling her hips to trying and speed this intermission up, remind paige of what’s right in front of her, but instead of reattaching her mouth, paige smacks at her hip, just enough to sting, and grunts “be good, baby, focus.”

fucking hell. 

azzi is trying to focus– focus on the feeling of her impending orgasm– but she chokes out a gasp at the pain and makes eye contact again, shuddering at the desire on paige’s face. somehow the hit to her hip made it even harder to not writhe under her gaze, but she lets paige’s words wash over her and tries to focus. 

“s’always gonna be this, baby,” paige slurs once she has azzi’s attention, “always wan’ my mouth on you, best place in the whole world, best pussy in the whole world and it’s mine to taste.” 

azzi somehow, impossibly feels herself get even wetter, her ability to think of anything but paige melting entirely, slipping through her veins and leaking out from her cunt, surely dripping onto the sheets by now with nothing to lap up the slick. 

distantly, azzi remembers that she was right– that the first thing her brain had gone to at the question had been how much paige loved eating her out– but she can’t even relish in that small victory, too busy trying to be still and good for paige and not spontaneously combust.

“tastes so good- azzi- would die here, swear,” paige continues, voice husky, and even though she’s not physically touching azzi– not where she needs her at least– azzi can still feel her words winding the coil in her belly tighter, pushing her closer to the edge. 

“paige, please, need it, need it so bad,” she cries, and she actually feels like she might die if paige doesn’t touch her. 

and then, finally, finally, paige is dipping her head back down to azzi’s neglected cunt, teasing the edge before slipping inside, and azzi has to fist a hand over her mouth to muffle the strangled cry. 

if paige was ruthless before, it’s nothing compared to the pace she sets now, switching between laving her tongue across azzi’s clit and diving into her hole, and azzi is back on the edge in seconds, trying not to thrash her legs at the overwhelming pleasure. 

she can hear herself babbling– a jumble of paige and please and fuck– but her ears are ringing and all she can focus on is the growing spark in the base of her spine. 

and then paige pauses for a second, one hand moving from azzi’s hip to rub at her clit, and she gasps “wanna see you come again baby, come for me,” before dipping her head back down, and azzi shatters completely, hands tugging at paige's hair and thighs tightening around her head.

her first orgasm had been loud, crashing down around her, but this one washes over her more gently, like she’s surrendered entirely to the feeling. 

she shoves paige’s head away when she can feel her arms again, and tries to get her breathing under control, reeling from how hard she came.  

immediately, paige is crawling up her body to kiss her. 

azzi’s limbs are buzzing, pleasure curling in every nerve of her body, and she lets herself be moved onto paige’s chest, her mind in that blissed out, malleable place and her gasps muffled into the bare skin of paige’s shoulder. 

she stays like that, floating, for an undetermined amount of time, and then she leans back to press their mouths together in a gentle thanks, smiling against paige’s lips. 

they kiss for a bit, slow and lazy and perfect as azzi comes down from her high, and she’s warm, and still a little drunk, and so perfectly sated that she could absolutely fall asleep like this, trading kisses with paige's hands stroking down her back until her eyes fall shut. 

but then paige, wonderful, lovely paige who’s just taken azzi apart piece by piece and then put her back together again, makes a soft, needy noise when azzi’s hands move gently across her stomach and she’s reminded that the other girl has yet to come. 

which is, like, surely a crime, and one that azzi has the power to rectify. 

she rolls on top of paige and deepens the kiss, sliding a knee between the blonde’s and bracketing her face with her arms. paige exhales sharply at the change in position, hands moving with azzi to stay fixed to the dip in her spine, and when azzi moves down to press an open-mouthed kiss to her throat, paige’s hips shift up involuntarily. 

her head dips back against the pillow, blonde hair splayed out across the pale blue of the sheets, and azzi wishes, desperately, that she could suck a mark into the alluringly pale skin of her neck that’s revealed with the motion without having to deal with the consequences. 

instead, she moves down to paige’s collarbone, encouraged by the stutter in her breathing and the flex of her fingers against azzi’s back, and finds a spot she hopes will be hidden under the collar of her shirt come morning to leave a mark, sucking at the skin and relishing in the arch of her body beneath her and the bruise she knows is already forming. 

her only coherent thought when she leans back to look at the mark on her breastbone is mine. 

which. paige isn’t hers, not technically, not in the ways you could label definitively, but she also definitely, assuredly is, in the same way azzi belongs to paige, in the unspoken but not unacknowledged way that many things with them are. 

she looks back up at paige’s face for a moment, and is struck, yet again, by how achingly beautiful she is like this, soft and needy and entirely azzi’s. it makes her heart crack open in her chest at the thought, and she presses their mouths together again in hopes of distracting herself.

she blames the earnestness of her thoughts on the vodka still sliding through her veins, even if that simmer has started to fade away and she thinks these thoughts multiple times a day. 

azzi deepens the kiss, as if she can press her sentiments of care and impossible fondness and mine into paige’s lips, and she responds twofold, like she can hear azzi’s thoughts of you mean so much to me in the way she drags their tongues together and reciprocates them right back to her, nipping at azzi’s lip gently, a you mean so much to me too. 

eventually, they’ll have to start using the actual words, but for now, with the upcoming season and the team dynamics looming above them, this will have to be enough. azzi will force it to be enough.

she drags one of the hands next to paige’s head down, skimming over the fabric of her sports bra to brush at her nipples through the material and then moving lower, nails scratching lightly over paige’s abdomen in the way she knows drives her a little crazy. 

sure enough, paige whines in her mouth, but when azzi’s hand dances under the waistband of her boxers, she pulls back for a second, breathing hard. 

“you don’t gotta- like- i know you’re tired,” paige says, pupil blown wide and lips slick. her eyes are dazed but steady, and azzi knows the buzz of vodka has started slipping away from her too, taking the desperation with it and leaving only tenderness. 

she smiles, half at paige’s expression, and half at her unflinching selflessness. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all.”

paige tilts her head back, eyes flicking around the room so she doesn’t have to make eye-contact. “you don’t have to, like- swear we can just sleep.” 

her cheeks are red, and azzi’s smile grows at her shyness. 

honestly. she just had azzi spread out before her, begging and incoherent, mumbling the filthiest things in her ear, and a simple wanna make you feel good has her blushing and squirmy. affection blooms in her chest, pooling sticky and sweet, and she presses a kiss to paige’s cheekbone. 

paige has never been one to shy away from reciprocation, so azzi’s a bit confused, but she’s still joking when she teases, “what’s wrong, baby, worried you’ll come too quick?”

paige’s guilty hesitation is an unexpected confirmation, but delightful all the same. 

“no- that’s not- m’not-” her voice cuts off in a whine when azzi cups her over her boxers, and azzi smirks, tries not to be affected by the feeling of how soaked paige is even through the fabric.

“really?”

paige’s hips twitch against her palm, fingers scrabbling against her back.

“azzi,” she moans, and that’s all it takes to have the younger girl slipping her fingers underneath the waistband and pressing at her clit. 

“i know baby, need it so bad, hmm?” she coos, mentally reeling at how wet paige is– all from working azzi up again and again– and the fact that she would’ve gone to sleep anyways without release had azzi wanted that. 

god. 

paige whines in affirmative, and normally azzi would try and draw it out, try and build paige up slowly to prolong her pleasure and selfishly prolong her view of paige falling apart, but tonight, paige is already too keyed up, and she rubs immediately at her clit in firm circles, the way she knows works her up quickly. 

she’s rewarded with another moan, and paige’s hands move from the base of her spine to her face, tugging azzi in for a messy kiss as she begins to grind against her hand. 

her fingers dip down to paige’s entrance, and she groans into her mouth when azzi slips two fingers inside, the glide almost too easy with how wet she is. she pumps paige slowly, curling her fingers into the spot she knows like the back of her hand, and paige breaks the kiss to let out a broken sound, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. 

“doing so good for me, baby” she breathes, cataloging the way her praise cause paige’s eyes to flutter; her hands to grasp azzi’s shoulders; her cunt to clench down on her fingers. 

she loves paige like this, loves even more how they can go from rough and messy to soft and reverent in a matter of minutes, and she tries to savor every sound that rolls off of paige’s tongue, every twitch of her hips. 

her fingers continue their slow, unyielding rhythm, with paige a mess below her, and when she can feel her start to get close, making all sorts of delicious sounds high in her throat, azzi pauses her ministrations. 

not to be mean and drag it out like paige had done earlier, not tonight, but to rid her of the boxers that she’s being constrained by and tug off her sports bra so as to see all of paige spread out before her to touch, to admire.

and god is it a sight. paige is too gone to make fun of how beyond love sick azzi probably looks, thank god, so azzi hovers above her and just takes it in, scouring over every inch of paige: the jut of her hip bones; the blush of her nipples; the taut muscle of her thighs.

she must take too long simply observing, because paige whines, hands pulling azzi back down so their skin is flush together, and the older girl moans into her mouth when azzi dips down to kiss her again, one of her hands coming up to hold at the base of her neck, claiming. 

azzi can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath her palm, and it’s more erotic than she was expecting.

she breaks the kiss, suddenly hit with the greedy urge to taste paige everywhere, to feel her tip over the edge on her tongue, but when she goes to crawl down paige body, she’s stopped by paige’s hands on her back and a whine in protest. 

she pulls back in confusion, just as paige whispers, high a needy, “can you- want you to stay up here, need you close.” 

god. if azzi malfunctions a little bit, no one can blame her. 

she doesn’t have a verbal response right away, just surges into to kiss paige again, wet and needy, and when she pulls back, paige’s pupils are blown so wide her eyes are nearly black, cheeks flushed, and azzi wonders if its possible for her heart to physically leap out of her chest. 

“‘course, baby. whatever you want,” she chokes, and she wonders if paige knows how true that statement is, how azzi would give her anything in the world if she only asked. if her voice is rougher than it usually would be, paige is too desperate to point it out.

she shifts them on their sides, so she has both hands free, and uses one to pull paige back into a kiss by the back of her head, trailing her other hand down to her previous position in between the blonde’s thighs, rubbing circles on her clit and swallowing her gasp, before dipping back down to her hole and slipping two fingers in. 

if paige was worked up before, it’s nothing compared to how wet she is now, and azzi fights to keep her composure and not melt into her own puddle of slick at the tangible feeling of paige’s desire. 

she curls her fingers, working up to an unforgiving rhythm inside of paige, pressing as deep as she can and curling her fingers. paige arches into her with a cry, babbling out a string of incoherent words and azzi’s name, and though she’s not usually this vocal, something about the sacredness of the moment must have opened the floodgates, because paige seemingly can’t stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. 

“god, azzi, please, fuck-, please don’t stop-” 

azzi would never dream of it. a different time, perhaps, she might remind paige of that, make a teasing comment about how she’s never not gotten paige off before, but something about how delicate the blonde looks beneath her stops that thought before it materializes.

“i know, baby, i’ve got you, doing so good for me,” she breathes instead, and is rewarded with a choked off moan, paige’s hands gripping azzi’s shoulders like they’re the only things grounding her to earth.

azzi tilts her head down to rest on paige’s shoulder, watching her fingers move in and out, and continues curling her fingers repeatedly, making sure to grind her palm against her clit in the process, and relishing in the desperation she can feel radiating off of paige. 

she knows paige is close, can feel it in the tremor of her thighs, the pulse of her walls around her fingers, and she leans up to rasp “come just for me, paige, all for me,” into her ear, pairing it with the addition of a third finger.

it does exactly what she expected, and paige writhes against her hand, mumbling “just for you azzi, only for you,” before breaking off into a high pitched gasp and tensing, coming all over azzi’s fingers. 

azzi kisses her to try and swallow the rest of her cries, and pumps her fingers slowly, working her through it, before pulling away when paige mumbles “too much” into her hair, breathing labored and hands tugging at azzi’s back. 

paige’s thighs are shaking. azzi resists the urge to make a smug comment, but only barely. 

she licks her fingers clean, chasing the taste of paige dripping down her hand, and paige makes a soft, wrecked sound in the back of her throat, pulling azzi even closer.

she then kisses paige on her temple, sweaty hairline be damned, and presses as close as she possibly can, relishing in how needy paige is right now.

they lie there, curled together for a couple minutes in contented silence, basking in this version of each other that they only get occasionally now, before azzi decides she’d really rather not wake up hungover and sticky, and gets up to grab a washcloth. 

they should probably shower. that is one hundred percent not happening tonight. a washcloth will have to do.

paige grumbles sleepily at the separation, but lets azzi go with a kiss to her temple and a swat of her ass, and azzi pretends to be scandalized when she bends down to grab a shirt off the ground so as to not walk in the hallway naked and paige whistles behind her at the view. 

she doesn’t bother with pants, and as she shuffles to the bathroom across the hall– noting gratefully that there’s no light coming from under nika’s door– she feels the beginning of an ache in her thighs and she grins to herself as satisfaction wells in her stomach. she hopes she feels it for days to come– hopes rather possessively that paige does too. 

the lights of the bathroom are brighter than she was ready for, and she squints in annoyance as she wets a cloth and wipes carelessly at the mess between her legs, before dropping the cloth on the edge of the sink to wash her hands. 

absentmindedly, she thinks to herself, a little ridiculously and definitely still a little drunkenly, that she misses paige. it’s been maybe a minute max. she has got to get a grip. 

but then, as she’s reaching to turn off the water, she feels two arms snake around her waist and the familiar weight of paige curling into her back, tucking her head into the crevice between azzi’s neck and shoulder and pressing a kiss, as if summoned by her needy thoughts. 

sometimes she thinks their brains are synced up on, like, a telepathic plane.

“your legs stopped shakin’ then?” she says as a greeting, and paige folds herself further into azzi, almost bashful. azzi fucking loves when she gets like this, in that possessive, greedy way that comes with the knowledge that she’s the only one who’s ever gotten to see this version of paige. 

“shut up, bro.”

azzi just giggles. 

paige is also in only a large t-shirt– no doubt stolen from azzi’s drawer– and it’s inside out, the tag sticking up against the collar and the faint, backwards outline of st. john’s basketball is just barely visible through the material. it hangs loose and oversized, hitting mid thigh in a way that should not be as sinful as it is, and she looks rumpled and soft and azzi thinks she might possibly drown in affection.

she spins them around, leaning paige up against the sink, and moves to wipe the washcloth gently between paige’s thighs, mourning the unblemished skin and the missed opportunity to leave her mark and return the favor that paige had given her earlier. 

next time. (not that- not that there’s going to be a next time. or anything.)

paige must feel the heat behind her gaze, because she shoves at azzi shoulder and rolls her eyes. “you’re insatiable.” 

azzi simply hums in agreement and spins them back around, curling into paige’s side to face the mirror and grabbing her tooth brush. 

she brushes as efficiently as possible, rolling her eyes at the faces paige makes at her in the mirror, and then forces paige to use her toothbrush too. 

paige protests this until azzi says she’ll withhold morning kisses, and paige almost knocks the toothbrush out of azzi’s hands in her haste to use it.

azzi ignores the urge to say something entirely stupid like we should do this always and then you could have your own toothbrush here. from paige’s lopsided grin around in the mirror, foam lingering on the corner of her mouth, azzi thinks she probably understands the unsaid words anyway. 

they pad back to azzi’s room with their fingers intertwined, trying to step on each other’s toes to be as annoying as possible, and paige’s hand smacks over her mouth when she laughs too loudly in the silence of the hallway at a near stumble when they trip over each other's feet. 

paige flops onto the bed unceremoniously when they return, denying azzi’s offer of boxers while the brunette throws on a faded pair of her own, and she only moves from her face down position when azzi worms up next to her, nudging paige over until they can curl up under the bedsheets chest to chest, azzi tucked up under her chin.

it warms her heart to an impossible level that it wasn’t even a question if paige would sleep over. she prays that when they wake up, they can stay in their bubble for a little while longer, and then decides to voice that thought aloud. 

sort of.

“if you’re annoying about this in the morning i swear to god-” 

“-oh if i’m annoying– were you not the one who made me sneak out at the ass crack of dawn last time?” 

that had absolutely happened. but in azzi’s defense, both nika and olivia had been home, and had interrogated her when they got up about who she’d brought back from the bar, because they’d heard that she’d had someone over. she’d nearly killed herself of embarrassment. 

instead of admitting to this, she wriggles closer and says, pettily, “must’ve been one of your other bitches.” she’s joking. definitely. 

paige huffs, annoyed. her hands move further down azzi’s back, gripping her waist, and azzi stays firmly tucked into her shoulder, hiding from her face, but she just knows paige is rolling her eyes aggressively. 

“bruh you’re not serious.” 

azzi is dead serious. she, again, doesn’t really have the right to be possessive, but they’re breaking every other rule tonight– paige put on quite the jealous performance– she might as well indulge too. 

distantly, she’s aware that eventually, when they’re not being stupid and ignoring this whole sleeping-together-and-not-talking-about-it thing, they’ll need to discuss the fact that they’re definitely in love. and she knows that the responsibility of bringing it up will eventually fall on her, that paige will follow her lead, would probably do anything azzi asked of her, but whatever. 

that’s tomorrow, sober azzi’s problem to freak out about and then subsequently ignore. right now, she stays stubbornly quiet, and paige sighs, exaggeratedly loud, making azzi’s whole body move with paige’s chest when she inhales. 

with as much conviction as a girl who’s had seven shots in the last four hours can muster, paige uses the hand not currently on azzi’s waist to tilt her head back so they can make eye contact, and says “azzi, bro, you gotta know i don’t have other girls.” 

her eyes are a little unfocussed, from the sleepiness or the fading drunkenness azzi doesn’t know, but she does know that paige is telling the truth anyways, with that kind of quiet earnestness that only she has ever been able to exhibit. 

she’d known, on some level, that paige wasn’t messing around with anyone else, but there’s a difference between hearing paige mumble confessions in the middle of an orgasm and hearing her assuredness in the after. 

she also knows that exclusiveness probably goes beyond the normal realm of best friends with benefits, but that's neither here nor there, and satisfaction settles in her gut anyways and she smiles, probably disgustingly wide. 

she tucks her head back into paige chest, lest she give away how happy that confirmation makes her and give the other girl an unneeded ego boost. 

“me neither. y’know. if you care.”

paige definitely already knew this, but operating under assumptions and hopeful thinking is very different from a verbal acknowledgement. this isn’t really in the realm of casual. azzi can’t bring herself to care. 

paige hums, and azzi doesn’t know how, but the simple, minute sound exudes smugness. she should’ve kept her mouth shut. 

“yeah, i know. prolly cause i’m the best you ever had,” paige singsongs. 

azzi bites her shoulder. “i never said that. you’re making assumptions.” 

“you literally said that, like, thirty minutes ago.” indignation laces her words, and then she pitches her voice up in a terrible impression of azzi, drawing her words out breathily because she’s a pest, and mocking, “ohhhhh paige, feels so good, best i ever-”

azzi elbows her in the gut to shut her up, and she makes a funny, cut off sound in surprise and (hopefully) pain. good. 

“please just go to sleep.”

“i’m just pointing out the fact that you literally just said i was the best-”

“paige, i swear to god if you don’t shut up-” 

“you’ll what,” paige dares. she probably thinks this is foreplay, and it would be, too, if azzi wasn’t already exhausted and sated.

“or i’ll call charlie.” it’s an empty threat and they both know it, but paige gets huffy anyways, and azzi smiles into her chest. 

“azzi do not play with me right now,” she grunts around azzi’s giggles, hands tightening on her waist, before adding “it is not funny.”

“it kinda is.”

“it’s not.” she grumbles. a beat, and then “never want to hear his name ever again bro, swear.”

azzi just laughs. 

paige is quiet for a second, but azzi knows better than to think this means she’s going to leave it, and sure enough, five seconds later, “s’okay, y’know, that i’m the best you’ve ever had cause, like, you’re the best i ever had too. so like- it works.” 

satisfaction spreads deliciously through her body and azzi resists the urge to say i know into paige’s shoulder, grinning instead, as the other girl continues on loftily with her speech. 

“but like i’m the best you ever had even more than you’re the best i-”

“-paige,” she cuts off. 

“what.” 

“shut up,” azzi grumbles, bringing her hand up to try and find paige’s mouth and cover it blindly in the dark. “sleep time.” 

it’s a cop out and she knows it, but also it’s probably nearing two am and she’s trying to limit how bad her hangover tomorrow will be, and if paige keeps talking like that they’re gonna, like, end up having sex again and not sleeping. or something. 

paige nips the finger that azzi’s placed haphazardly over her mouth and finally quiets, blessedly taking a command for once in her life. 

they settle more comfortably into the sheets, twisting around so paige is pressed up against azzi’s back, legs tangled and hearts beating in sync, and azzi feels her whole body relax into a state of peacefulness that only comes with being wrapped up in paige, cozy and quiet and safe. 

it’s silent for at least a whole minute, so azzi mistakenly thinks paige is done yapping for the day and starts drifting off. but then paige– azzi really needs to get her checked for adhd– whispers “hey azzi” into her hair.

she debates whether she wants to respond. 

the combination of alcohol, post sex-haze, and paige’s arms wrapped around her is making her entire body feel warm and fuzzy, and she was kind of already halfway to sleep, but her unflinching, rather self-sabotaging tendency to humor paige no matter the circumstance wins out. 

“mm,” she mumbles, and tries to make her voice sound as sleepy as possible so paige will make this quick. 

the other girl is silent for a second, and azzi wonders if she’s going to say anything at all, and then her fingers twitch against azzi’s stomach where they’ve wormed under her t-shirt and she whispers “if we wake up drunk can we fuck in the shower?” 

under normal (see: sober; awake) circumstances, this sentence would cause azzi to shriek, and probably pinch paige somewhere she knows would leave a mark. instead, she hums, considering, pretending like she hasn’t already decided the answer is yes, and slides one of her legs further between paige’s.

they won’t wake up drunk; are barely riding tipsy right now. they both are fully aware of this. it’s an unspoken request that they continue their little bubble of paigeandazzi with no rules until later tomorrow– that when they wake up they can mutually pretend the alcohol hasn’t left their system and extend the breach in their precariously constructed facade of a platonic relationship.

“maybe.” 

this means yes and they both know it, and she can hear the smile in paige’s voice when she says “bet.”

azzi laces their fingers together against her stomach, and grins into the dark. “‘night, p, love you,” she whispers. she chooses to ignore how decidedly not casual that is. 

paige squeezes their fingers. “love you too, az,” and she can feel the grin on paige’s face pressing into her shoulder.

her last coherent thought before she drifts off is that their new rules are supremely stupid, but if it takes becoming an alcoholic to break the rules every night, she’d consider it. 

(they do, in fact, pretend to still be drunk when they wake up, and paige doesn’t stop using her comically exaggerated, extremely annoying pretend drunk voice until azzi makes her shut up. they absolutely fuck in the shower. and also in the kitchen. which is where nika finds them, rumpled and glowing, arguing over who would be romeo and who would be juliet. she doesn’t even bother saying i told you so.)

(they last barely ten days before it happens again.)

a/n: badda bing badda boom! sorry for being a whore <3 and sorry for leaving this off without writing them getting together for real…but i think this is a happy ending while still making it feel appropriate for the pace of this story and the trajectory of their relationship :)) pls don’t kill me we all know they’re in love including them!!! as always comments and anons and stuff fuel me like nothing else and i die a miniature death every time someone tells me they liked my work so <3 love you <3

[flwrstqr]

AFTER HOURS ★ MAKEOUT SESSIONS WITH THEM

𝐈𝐕────𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝗙𝗟𝗘𝗨𝗥𝗦 ❫ 、 boyfriend!enhypen x fem!rea 13OOwc. ✶ fluff established relationship 𝘄 ｡ kissing, mention of drinking, petnames ｡｡ 书

다니 ⦂ since this is the most highly voted one, here it is 💌

LEE HEESEUNG

you remember it vividly—your back pressed to the hallway wall, tipsy giggles caught in your throat as heeseung's hands slid around your waist like he couldn’t stand the idea of not holding you. and the way he was looking at you—like he’d been dying to do this all night. “what?” you whispered, already breathless. “nothing,” he said, eyes dipping to your lips, “just can’t stop staring at my pretty girl.” the way his mouth brushed yours so slowly at first, like he was savoring it, then more desperate. his lips tasted faintly like champagne and birthday cake. “you always taste so sweet,” he murmured against your lips, slightly tipsy, his smile lazy, flushed, pretty. your hands tangled in his hair, it made you forget everything else. that is, until the hallway light flicked on and someone gasped, making you both caught off-guard. he pulled away with a soft laugh, shielding you slightly. “worth it.”

PARK JAY

you were barely breathing when he zipped up your dress, his fingers slow and careful, like you were made of glass. "perfect," jay murmured, fixing your necklace in the mirror. then he spun you around gently by the waist, and for a second, he just stared. his eyes roamed, lingering like he couldn’t believe you were his. “god, baby,” he whispers, before you can tease him, he leans in. he kisses you, hand cradling the back of your neck, the other firm on your waist. slow, with a soft sigh against your lips like he’s trying to memorize you. you melt. he hums into your mouth like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. his cologne, your gloss, the soft rustle of fabric. no one makes it to the party.

SIM JAKE

"smart girl," jake grins. his lips press a quick kiss to your cheek, feather-light. then another—lingering this time. you glance at him, flushed, but before you can tease, he kisses you again—closer to the corner of your mouth this time. “jake—” you warn, but then he’s already brushing his lips against yours. you melt into it before you even realize, he's pulling you into his lap like it's the most natural thing. his hand rests at your back and your waist, keeping you close, and your fingers thread into his hair like muscle memory. just one more,” he whispers, but it’s never just one—his lips find yours again. the textbook stays open on the coffee table, but neither of you look at it again. “maybe a break,” he mumbles. 

PARK SUNGHOON

you were turned toward the window, and eyes narrowed, fuming over something stupid—he forgot to hold the door or said the wrong thing, you honestly forgot now, but your pride wouldn’t let it go. sunghoon had been quiet too, his hand occasionally twitching on the gear shift like he wanted to reach for you. then the car stopped at a red light, and you felt his gaze burn into your profile before he reached over, fingers gentle under your chin as he tilted your face toward him. “are we really doing this, baby?” he mumbled, low like he wasn’t mad, just tired of pretending he could go a second longer without you. you barely manage a scoff before he leans in, mouth brushing yours. you melt into it despite yourself, his thumb stroking your jaw, your hands finding his hoodie. it deepened—your breaths mingling as he kissed you like he missed you even though you were right there. your anger crumbles between kisses until a loud honk snaps you both back, lips swollen, breathing a little uneven. sunghoon grins, “guess that means you’re not mad anymore?”

KIM SUNOO

you barely sat down beside him before he was eyeing your lips, glossy and tinted just right—new lip tint, the one you warned him about with a playful, “don’t smudge it, seriously.” sunoo just nodded, feigning innocence, but the way his fingers were already curling behind your neck gave him away. “just one kiss, baby.” but it wasn’t one. his lips found yours immediately, warm and needy, kissing you like he’d been waiting all day. soft at first, teasing, then deeper—his hand on your waist, the other cradling your cheek, tilting your head just right. when you finally pulled back, dazed and lips tingling, he was grinning—gloss smeared across his own mouth like a trophy. “the tint looked better on me anyways, baby."

YANG JUNGWON

the second the elevator doors slid shut, jungwon was on you—no hesitation, just hours of pent-up glances crashing into urgency as he pressed you into the mirrored wall with a hand firm on your waist. “finally,” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing heat into your skin before finding yours. the kiss was hot and breathless, all lips and sighs and the soft drag of his mouth against yours like he missed you, like he couldn’t wait a second longer. you melted into him, knees going weak when he tilted his head just right, kissing you deeper, like you were something he hadn’t tasted in forever. your fingers fisted in his jacket, chasing his mouth with every press of his lips, every soft hum between kisses. when the elevator dinged, you were flushed, dazed, lips swollen, and he just chuckled, brushing your hair back. “you okay, baby?” he teased. down so bad.

NISHIMURA RIKI

you’ve barely shut the door when his suitcase hits the floor with a thud and and he’s already got a hand tangled in your hair, the other pulling you flush to him like he’s scared you’ll disappear again. his lips crash against yours with this desperate urgency, like he’s trying to make up for every second he was gone. your back hits the wall, your shoes still on, bag hanging from your shoulder. your hands are on his jaw, then his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. and you gasp into his mouth—he’s breathing hard, kissing you like you’re oxygen. "damn riki, i never seen you miss me so much—" you try to tease. he just mutters, “shut the fuck up. let me kiss you,” against your mouth before pulling you in again. 

[prettydaisygirl]

Hi honey! I came to request a James Potter au because the obsession with this man is very high!!!

The poor man, arriving home from his job as a firefighter, finds his very stubborn, eight-months-pregnant wife on a ladder fixing a light bulb. He must be scared and in shock. 🫠

hi nonnie!! You and the other anon literally sent in firefighter requests at the exact same time so i'm turning it into it's own little au. I already have another req for it! Also than you so much for requesting, especially a pregnancy request, my baby fever has been so bad recently I'm obsessed with writing family fluff. Hope you enjoy, my love <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who should not be changing a lightbulb ✿ 771 words

cw: pregnant!reader, reader climbing a ladder while pregnant, James being a protective husband

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James Potter does not consider himself to be an anxious man. 

As Fire Chief, he has to keep a level head. He needs to be logical, precise, and quick on his feet. He doesn’t have time to worry or be afraid, he has to act, and he prides himself on being able to do exactly that.

Except when it comes to his wife. With you, he can’t help but find himself sick with anxiety. And it’s gotten significantly worse since the two of you found out you’re expecting.

The anxiety usually creeps in toward the end of his shift. He doesn’t get nervous about fires or disasters, he gets nervous because he hasn’t heard from you in over an hour. No calls, no texts, no nothing. Which probably means that you’re doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing. And that is what worries him. 

His muscles feel heavy as he steps up to the front door. It opens easily, the familiar scent and feeling of home easing the tension in his body just a little. The quiet brings the tension right back. 

“Love?” He calls out, peeking into the kitchen. You aren’t there, or in the living room. 

“I’m in the nursery, Jamie!” You call back, and that makes him smile. The nursery has been your favorite place as of late, James thinks you’re probably nesting. He finds it sweet.

It’s less sweet when he pads down the carpeted hallway and turns the corner into the nursery. His heart stops, the smile dropping off of his face.

“Angel, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You’re several steps up a ladder, arms stretched fully overhead as you twist a lightbulb into the ceiling’s empty socket. Your belly, swollen and stretched almost as far as it will go, sticks out in a way that threatens your balance. He’s behind you instantly, hands on your hips to steady you. 

“The light was flickering.” You explain, voice calm and soft like you aren’t on the verge of a dangerous fall. 

“Please get down.” James grips your hips a bit firmer, but never enough to cause pain. His heart beats faster than it has in the last several hours, and he’s put out two fires today. 

“I’m fine.” You blow him off, continuing to twist the lightbulb. You make a small, frustrated noise when your hand slips, and James thinks he might have a heart attack. But it’s when you move up on your toes that James decides he’s had enough.

“Okay.” He fully wraps an arm around the front of your thighs, under the bottom of your belly. The other sprawls across your side, keeping you steady. “You’re done.”

“Jamie-” You try to argue, but his grip only tightens. 

“No.” He gently tugs at you, just enough to guide you down the ladder. He knows he can catch you if you lose your balance.

“I’m fine-”

“Get down.” He keeps his hands on you until your feet are planted firmly on the floor. And he still doesn’t remove them as you plop down into the rocking chair, he just moves them to your shoulders. You don’t look sheepish or guilty, instead you’re pouting. He hates that he loves it. “Don’t give me that look. You know you’re too far along to be doing things like this, my love. Especially when I’m not home to help you.”

“I was fine. I can change a lightbulb, James.” The way your lip sticks out encourages him to gently flick it with his finger.

“Said every person who has ever fallen off of a ladder changing a lightbulb.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and slips the lightbulb from between your fingers. “You’re carrying precious cargo. If someone is going to fall, it’s going to be me.”

“You’re not going to fall.” Your whined protest only serves to prove James’ point. He smirks, but hides it with a kiss to your hair before he steps onto the ladder himself. He reaches the socket easily, standing several steps lower than you were. 

You pretend to be annoyed, but now that you’re settled, you notice there’s an ache in your lower back and your feet hurt. A hand rubs over your belly, and even your pretend annoyance starts to fade as you watch your husband install the lightbulb in his uniform. By the time his eyes meet yours again, you’re fully ogling him. 

“I’ve changed my mind.” You decide as he steps off the ladder. He raises his eyebrows at you, a silent encouragement. 

“I think you should be the one changing the lightbulbs from now on.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[msmk11]

James Potter x afab!reader (blurb)

Cw: reader is pregnant and emotional; james is a coddler; one mention of pregnancy induced nausea

Summary: your hormones get the best of you when james gets a haircut

A/n: can be read alone or as part of this universe

You’re leaning back against the couch, hand running over your swollen bump, and fan blowing softly on you as you absentmindedly watch whatever is playing on tv. You don’t really know what’s happening on screen because you keep dozing off. This far along in your pregnancy, you’re too heavy to get much of a good nights rest. And, god love him, your husband doesn’t often leave you alone long enough during the day to nap. He’s been anxious since the day the test had two lines, but his worrying has worsened with time. You don’t mind it mostly- knowing it kills him that he can’t do more to help with the nausea or aches and pains that come with the gig. Yet, you’re thrilled for the hour or so of silence promised to you this Saturday afternoon while James goes out to run some errands. You sip on a glass of lemonade you fixed yourself and the baby kicks. He or she is a fan of the sugary drink and has caused you to crave it almost constantly. You’ve never had so much of it in your life.

You hear the front door swing open and the lovely baritone of your husband’s voice, “don’t even think about getting up!” He calls out, “I’ll come to you!”

“I can get up and walk,” you answer back with a huff, “I’m not immobile.”

His socked feet pad down the hall quickly as he emerges in the living room, “no! No! Don’t do that!”

Any other time you’d offer some sarcastic remark in return that he’d brush off with a laugh, but this time you can’t. Your eyes are fixated on something else, “your hair…”

James’ eyebrows raise and he looks up, as if he can see the curls on his head. He gives you a handsome smile, “oh yeah! I got a haircut while I was out cause it was getting too long for the summer weather.”

It’s certainly still floppy, but shorter on all edges. While before he’d need a headband for his morning runs, and you could even give him small pigtails, you’re certain now there’s no need for either. Your eyes fill with tears and James’ face falls.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Your husband rushes towards you, concern etched on his face as he cups your cheeks.

You sniffle and then the dam breaks, fat tears spilling down your swollen cheeks, “you cut your hair!” You wail pathetically.

He looks a bit bewildered at this and says your name so sugary sweet, “it’ll grow back, sweetheart!”

“But it was so long and pretty and- and” you hiccup, choking on another sob, “now it’s short!!!”

James tries not to laugh at the fact that you’re crying over his hair. He knows it’s just your hormones making you act this way, and he won’t mention it or tease you about it. It’d only make you more upset.

“And- Jamie- now I can’t put it in pigtails and- and- you can’t wear that headband I got you and-“

He melts even more and rubs his hand over your bump, pressing his lips to your slightly sweaty hairline, “sweetheart, you can still play with my hair, and I’ll still wear the headband all the time, I promise. I just don’t wanna be too hot in the summer. And I wanna see you, hm? My hair was getting so long I could barely see your pretty face.”

This calms you down a little and your sniffling slows. Your eyes are wide like a baby deer’s and shiny with unshed tears, “really?”

James kisses your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips, and then your bump, “I promise, baby. And you know me, my hair grows fast.”

You nod and swallow, much calmer than before, “okay.”

You say it so meekly and James can’t help but tease you a little, mimicking your ‘okay.’ It makes you giggle and your husband’s face lights up, eyes twinkling with affection, “love you so much sweetheart.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, “now why don’t I refill this lemonade and then I can rub your feet while we put on your favorite movie.”

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — the poison in my veins

summary — to everyone else, they hated each other. to them, they loved each other so much they couldn’t stand it.

warnings — fem!reader, angst, smut, fluff, not proofread

requested by — a combo of two asks! one by my bestie girly maja ( @joeyburrrow ) and another by anon!

note — again, not my best work but a lot’s been going on so this is what i could spin in the meantime. pls enjoy.

tags — @willowsnook @starsinthesky5 @joeyfranchise @sportyphile @hannahjessica113 @kazsbrckkers @ebsmind @iosivb9 @joeyb1989 @softburrow @wickedfun9 @irishmanwhore @burrowdarling @hotburreaux @joecoolburrow @blairsworld22

THE ROOM WAS WARMLY DECORATED. Round tables were set up, black table clothes draped over them, and small, tiny lamps accompanied each table. Name cards were placed at each table, and table numbers were slid into slots.

It was another Bengals sponsored charity event.

She fluttered around the venue, her manicured fingers adjusting each little card and table cloth. She’s done this before, but every time she felt her nerves act up. Did this look okay? Would people gossip about it later? Would it go smoothly?

Players were encouraged if not required to attend. It showed the sponsors that they were serious about their cause: food insecurity. Most players showed, but there was one she didn’t want to show up.

“Joe said he’d be here,” Lydia, one of her assistants, spoke up, “said he’d be late though. He has some shit to do for Alo,”

“Good,” she quipped, rolling her eyes, “maybe I should pay Alo to keep him there longer,”

“I don’t get it,” Lydia quipped, setting a ‘reserved’ place holder on a seat, “why do you hate him so much? He doesn’t seem to hold the same animosity towards you,”

“He hides it better,”

flashback, 2019, evening of the SEC championship

It was dark. The moon provided the only lighting in the bedroom. Soft moans filled the room, the whispers of the sheets humming through the air. Joe’s hands held her hips, his lips pressed tightly to her sopping cunt.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her hand digging into his hair. His tongue worked slowly, slicking through her folds with masterful ease. He took his time, wanting to untie every knot in her stomach.

Joe wasn’t her boyfriend. He was her best friend. The arrangement they had was…unique. It included cut strings and a quick fix. When he needed sex, he went to her. When he needed a laugh, he went to her.

She was everything except his girlfriend, and that’s all she wanted to be.

“Taste so good,” Joe murmured, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he licked at her pussy. Wet, squelching sounds filled his ears as his lips pursed around her clit, sucking at the sensitive bud.

“Joey,” she gripped his hair, feeling the soft knot of an orgasm kiss her muscles. The pressure built, making her squirm. Joe’s hold on her hips forced her to stay still, it forced her to let him taste her. The salt of her musk coated his throat, his nose brushing against her skin.

He was relentless. His tongue massaged her clit, pressing into the swollen and soft bulb. He heard her whimpers, felt her thighs clench around his head as she teetered on that sinful edge.

“Don’t hold back,” Joe ordered from her pussy. She didn’t, she let the rubber band snap, her orgasm pouring from her body. It soaked the sheets, it soaked his face. He lapped up the slick, moaning and shivering at the overwhelming sensation. Her orgasm was thick, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Jesus,” he murmured as he licked another stripe up her sensitive pussy, “can’t believe I’ve missed out on that for years,”

She laid on her back, her skin illuminated by the moon. The contours of her muscle shaded by the shadows of the bedroom. Joe admired her, just for a moment. She was beautiful, someone he could never have all to himself.

Their agreement was no strings attached. Technically he could go and see other girls. But he never wanted to. He wanted her, the beautiful girl that squirmed on his bed, the girl who always made him laugh.

He crawled up her body, his face inches from hers. They looked at each other, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. Their lips were parted with desperate pants, but they never touched. Joe never kissed her, and she didn’t want him to unless he meant it.

And she wanted him to mean it.

present day

She stood off to the side, watching as players shuffled in. They were dressed nicer than they usually were, switching the usual sweats for some nice jeans and a button down. She’d swapped her usual jeans and t-shirt with a dress. It was sleek, hugging her curves in a delicious way, her hair was done beautifully, pinned behind her head.

As her eyes met Joe’s, her heart lurched in her chest. It was the same feeling she had when she first touched him, when she first realized she’d fallen for him.

flashback to the evening of the National College Football Championship game

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Joe snapped, shaking his head. They’d been arguing for the past 30 minutes. She stood in his bedroom, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were wide, bewildered at his statement.

“No, I’m not. Is it so crazy of me to want more?” she asked. She hadn’t confessed her feelings, but she expressed her desire for more. For months she felt like they could be more, they could cross that threshold from friends with benefits to lovers.

He seemingly didn’t agree.

“This was never meant to be a long-term deal,” he told her, shedding of his shirt, “you knew that,”

“Yes, I know that. But for months you gave me the impression that you felt the same,” she huffed. She was regretting her words, her confession. She wanted more, and he didn’t.

“That’s what a friends with benefits arrangement is, Y/N. I thought you understood that,” he groaned, flopping down on his bed. Despite the nonchalant exterior, Joe’s heart was slamming against his chest.

He couldn’t admit it. He couldn’t admit he’d loved her since the day he saw her.

“Don’t undermine me, Joe. Just because you just won the championship doesn’t mean your shit doesn’t stink,”

“I’m not undermining you, Y/N. Why are you being so damn dramatic?” He groaned, running his hands down his face. She opened his face to retaliate, but she caught something. Her eyes flicked to the floor beneath his bed, bright pink lace poking out. She didn’t own any pink panties.

Technically, it wasn’t cheating. They weren’t even together.

“You had someone else in here,” she hummed. Her words hung in the air, a death sentence. Joe sat up, his eyes wide as he flicked his eyes over her face. His heart skipped a beat, his hands shaking as they held him up.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a nonchalant shrug, “so what?”

“So what?”

“We’re not exclusive, Y/N. I can fuck whoever I want,”

“Oh, so I’m just a fuck buddy. I’m just someone to fill in the blanks,”

“No, you’re not just someone to fill in the blanks. But we’re not exclusive, plus, I like Paige,” Joe shrugged. He used this girl’s name like it was familiar, rolling off of his tongue as if he was moaning it.

“You like her,” she stated, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It shouldn’t hurt her that much, it shouldn’t sting as much as it did.

“Yeah, I do. She’s different,”

“Different? What the hell does that mean Joe?”

“I didn’t mean it-”

“No, you meant what you said. She’s not me, is that it? She’s gives you a thrill? Maybe she isn’t so academics focused so you can fuck her whenever you want to?”

“Y/N, stop-”

“No, no you like her. You should go for it, no strings attached right?”

“You know what?” The air was thick, anger and rage sitting deeply in their chests. He slid off of the bed, his chest rising and falling with his breaths.

“She’s not you. She’s better, she’s not high maintenance, she’s available. She’s not as defensive, she’s easier to talk to,”

The words sat in the air. It sucked the breath from her lungs, ripping her heart out of her chest. She felt her stomach lurch, the ache seeping down to her toes. She clenched her jaw, and she silently moved across the room.

“Fine,” she hummed, “then we’re done,”

“Wait, Y/N-”

“Fuck you, Joe,” she snapped, and with that, she slammed the door in his face, leaving his apartment.

present day

She took her seat with other members of the charity board. Her legs were crossed neatly, her hands folded in her lap. Speakers went up and said their pieces, thanking the organization and the sponsors who came out. They thanked the charity organizers for putting it together, and before anyone knew it, they were dismissed to the elegant food tables set out.

Joe stood with his table, joined by Ja’Marr and Tee. His body was adorned in a simple, long sleeve button down and black pants. His curly hair was unruly, not styled even in the slightest bit.

But he didn’t care how he looked. He cared how she looked. Her dress hugged her body, her usual t-shirt and jeans traded for elegance. Joe felt his body shrink at her presence, his ego flattening. He never compared to her, to the poise she always exhibited and the academic excellence she displayed.

Even after all of these years, she still managed to stir up those memories, the feelings of warmth and of need. It was deeper, though. Always had been. It took root in his soul, a dormant flower that only at her presence did it sprout.

She felt his eyes on her. She didn’t have to turn around to know that. He always had a certain intensity in his gaze, one that she came to know very well. She grabbed a plastic plate from the table, stacking it with fruit and small treats. She needed a boost, she needed something to do while she withstood the intense gaze of Joe.

She didn’t think he’d come right up next to her.

“Looks amazing,” he hummed. It was the nicest thing he’s said to her in a while, and it shocked her. She wanted to quip back with something snarky, but no words came to mind.

“Thanks,” she answered as she used tongs to grab some cheese slices, “but I didn’t set this up. The caterer did,”

“Oh. Right,”

The silence that followed was deafening. She filled her plate with small snacks and so did he, but there were unspoken words between them. Years of silence and emptiness caught up to them in that moment, begging to be filled.

“Can we talk?” Joe asked softly. He looked over at her, took note of how her shoulders tensed and how her eyes fluttered. The question hung in the air, silencing the room around them. They needed to talk, but about what?

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked. She could feel his eyes on her, the same intensity he always had. He wasn’t looking through her, he was looking at her. She could feel how his eyes were round, the emotions he had pouring from him in the simplicity of his question.

“Y/N-”

“How’s Paige?” she asked, her words cutting. Joe flinched, his chest tightening. His hands shook, the stutter of his breath giving him away.

“We’re not together anymore,” Joe admitted softly. She still didn’t look at him. She refused to meet his eyes, the very eyes she’d fallen for years ago. She couldn’t come to the reality that even after all this time, she still loved him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she hummed, plucking a cookie from the tray.

“Are you?”

“Excuse me?” She perked her eyes up, finally meeting his. She hated how her heart skipped a beat, how her body tensed and relaxed all at the same time. His eyes untangled every single bit of stress in her body, but was also the source of said stress.

“Are you really sorry?” He asked, stepping closer to her, “or are you just saying that?”

“Want me to be honest? No, I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that things with her didn’t work out. It feels like sweet karma to me,” she snapped, her eyes hardening with the walls around her heart. She hated him, but fuck she loved him.

“Karma? For what?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? You chose her over me, and don’t even come at me with that friends with benefits bullshit,” she snapped, setting her snack plate down before it became carnage on the floor.

Joe, for once, didn’t have an excuse. His mouth was glued shut, his eyes studying her every move. She was beautiful, even when her eyes cut deeply into his chest. She was strong, even when this argument was killing her.

“Nothing to say? For once? Fucking-”

He kissed her. He didn’t give her another chance to speak, not when he looked like that, not when she still sparked that flame of desire in his chest. She didn’t kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips against hers made her heart ache. It ignited the dormant volcano of desire in her belly, stirring the flames of need.

He’s never kissed her before.

He pulled away, her eyes fluttering open. Her heart raced in her chest, her stomach doing pathetic flips. She hated him, but the way he kissed her and the way his touch ignited her skin had her reeling.

“What the hell?”

“Y/N-”

“You can’t just kiss me and-and expect things to be okay!” she stuttered. Her stomach is aching, her legs are sore from tension and by God she wants him. But she won’t.

“Oh so now I can’t kiss you?”

“Not after calling me high maintenance! Not after saying that Paige was better than me!”

“You’re still holding onto that? I was a stupid college kid!”

“Yes! Your words stung, Joe. Seeing you with her killed me even more. It was always more than sex to me, Joe, and you knew that,”

“I did, and you still avoided me like I was the plague,”

“Because to me you were,”

Their words were venomous, hanging around their necks. Their veins ran cold with poison, but their desire for one another was so intense that they couldn’t step away from each other. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of betrayal and arousal. He looked at her, admiring her strength and her audacity.

He needed her. She needed him. Neither of them would do anything about it.

“Don’t kiss me again,” she snarled, “not unless you mean it,”

Joe wanted to reach for her as she walked off. His heart left with her, leaving him broken and empty all over again. He did this to them, he broke them in two. Joe’s always loved her, but in that moment, he watched as that piece of him walked away. She was the love of his life, the heart that kept him beating, and now she left him to die on a raft, the poison from their past slowly killing him.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He lied about being a superhero. You lied about not having freaky ass mind powers. You broke up- bitterly. End of story. No shot Invincible and some superpowered grunt for Machine Head would ever work out in any reality. Except. When he comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. 

[Invincible Varients x Reader] [current overall word count: 289k]

[6.7K, part one of ?] [2] [Ao3] [Chapter Index]         Took a lot of liberties with this. Wanted the variants to be more distinct. Please excuse formatting issues, tumblr is actually ass. Header art is mine. Buckle up, I write like a bad girl with a hope for better days.         TW: Canon typical violence, toxic relationships, abuse, unhealthy BDSM dynamics, major character deaths, what the flip is wrong with everybody here.

       1 * Buck Fifty

Where I think that we’re all gonna die, Just to get fucked in some parallel life, While a strange martian fungus sprouts, From our sexier parts. Canoeing on Mars - Go Hang Music

        Semantics are a funny thing, really.          You say, “Go jump off a bridge,” most people do just that. Jump.          Here’s the not so fun part, some people, they go, “Well, what bridge?” And it’s a back and forth, you pushing, them pulling until you find that magic sweet spot in their logic and they finally jump.          So because you were chatting with this asshole for the better part of ten minutes, people run to you asking questions. “Did you know him? Is he okay?” Clearly, he wasn’t. The guy’s brains were dashed on a rock, blood following the runoff stream, too shallow to break the fall.  Your attention slides off the body. To the couple that pulled over the second he went over the ledge. Early thirties. Medium-ugly man, pretty girl with her hand on her swollen belly. Engagement rings glinting under the spring sun.             “Get back in your car.” Power rolls off your tongue. Thick, heavy, and sour. “And drive away.”         Concern leeches out of their eyes. Glazing over the moment the words meet their ears. The woman gets in first, shutting the passenger and sliding a seatbelt over herself. The man steps around the car, into steady traffic flowing carefully away from their car. He’s nearly clipped by the side mirror of a sedan that blares it’s horn. Swerving away, scraping the opposite side of the bridge’s barrier.         He gets into the car. Unblinking as car after car rams into the sedan. A pileup in the making but he looks nowhere but straight ahead. The couple’s car, a buggy, pulls off the narrow shoulder. Catching a pickup in the side, sending it careening into the sedan’s front. You watch the sedan driver pop like a pimple and the buggy drive off.

        You look back down, to the target, the only one supposed to get hurt here. He’s dead alright. Job’s done. Collateral doesn’t matter, not here anyway. Pileups happen all the time for no good reason at all.         Still, you tug up your hood and make your way down the side catwalk of the bridge. Going the opposite direction of the pileup. Smoke thick in your nose.          Air displaces, a woosh overhead. You’re at the bridge’s end, at the corner of Park and Main when the spandex clad cavalry arrives. You know that pink glow anywhere. Atom Eve sprung into action. Resetting metal, fixing tires. You make yourself watch her, not the blue-black blur that’s scooping civilians out of cars to safety.          You catch a look at him anyway. Still at last, because the job was done that quick. Your gut tightens, brows press together, a sour lemon frown on your lips. He’s smiling at her as they talk about money. The city of New York a brand spanking new client of Invincible Co.          Payday for them. You too. So stop being such a dill, and get a move on.         You turn before Mark can see your face. He wouldn’t think of you as the culprit. A long ago thing of the past, pre-powers. Good, it’s better if you’re not on his shit list. The best if he had no idea you were still rolling with Machine Head.          He’d seen you in his superhero skin at Machine Head’s side. God, how that ended.          No longer seventeen. No longer needing desperate money for college. No longer innocent or wanted.          When they start asking questions to bystanders, you’re already halfway down Main. You walk fast, you’re late. Twenty minutes out from the tower on foot without a car when the meeting was in five fucking minutes. Wasn’t your fault the guy had to be persuaded to kill himself.         

Machine Head wouldn’t see it that way.          You caught somebody by the arm. Alone, in nice enough clothes. They turn, lip curling, about to yank their arm away. “Give me your wallet.” You say low. 

        Fear doesn't breach their eyes. They simply pluck the leather bound thing from their jeans, detach it from a chain, and hand the whole thing over. You hold a thumb out until a taxi pulls up.          You didn’t have to pay. With powers like these, you could’ve done anything. You could be living large. Countless pretty things on your arm, willing to do anything at your say so. But you’re here. In debt. A criminal. Because you don’t know where to go or what else to do or what else you’re good for. They’d find you anyway, you could tell them to go and forget you existed but somehow, through mental gymnastics, you told yourself they’d come back. Kill you for trying to leave.         You pay the taxi fair out of courtesy because you once worked a shitty customer service job. You’re a killer, not evil. Consider it a good deed for the day.         You run through the double glass doors. Careful not the leave prints on the glass. Machine Head was very particular. An evil megalomaniac, but particular.          You know you’re late by the time you push open the Italian maple doors. He’s standing, ramrod straight, back to you, machine eyes (cameras you supposed?) scanning the city. His city. For a time it wasn’t. He was usurped, locked in the same jail house as you. You thought that your difference in sex would keep him away from you. But no, you were still working for him in the slammer to keep your back shank-free. He got out, took The Order by the throat, and now you were out too and-         “Fifty-three seconds. You made me wait fifty-three seconds. Do you know how much money I could’ve been making in those fifty-three seconds, (Y/n)?” He turned to you. Suit crisp. Metal shining.         You feel drastically under dressed in your sweats and hoodie. Lightly stained from cheap takeout. But you wouldn’t change it, it was practically the uniform of the average New York streetwalker. Not noticed. Perfect for the casual assassin, burglar, and occasional drug mule.          You don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Because that’s more time wasted, more money piled onto your dept. “Granger is dead.”         “Yeah, of old age.”         You swallow back the anger. After five years of cat scratches like that, you’re more than used to keeping your feelings in check. “My next assignment, sir?” 

        His circuitry clicked. “Nothing. Maybe I’ll give you something next time if you aren’t so inconsiderate with my time.” You turn for the door. No argument there. “Oh and, (Y/n)?” You stop, hand on the polished knob. “Be here twelve tomorrow. Sharp. Or I’m adding another month.” His threat is real, but hollow. Another month under his thumb means nothing when you’re too useful to ever let go.         Shallowly, you nod and slip out the door.      ***         Another two hundred. A month after the last raise in rent. You could kill her. Tell her to jump off the complex roof while doing a hand spring.          “Miss Neighbor?” A voice behind you makes you look down, down, down.          She’s a tiny thing. A sprout though she’s supposed to be eleven. “Caligula got out again.” Her arms piston forward, presenting the fluffy thing. Eyes slited and soft belly exposed.          You sigh, taking him into your arms where he melts and purrs. “Thanks Cecelia.” You say, foot kicking open your ajar door. Caligula figured out how to turn the knob last year. Ever since you’d been vigilant about double locking the door but some days you were in a hurry and too stressed to worry. Like today. “I owe you one.” Your hand slipped into your hoodie, pulling out the last remaining dollars and coins stolen from the stranger. You spot a fifty in the wad that her eager hands wrap around. You hold on a little too long before letting go.          There’d be more pockets to pick tomorrow. You could make rent with a few extra hours. Though, man, you didn’t want to. You were tired enough as it was.         Her eyes glittered as she thumbed through the cash, the little capitalist. She slipped a single dollar and two quarters into one hand. The rest of the fat stack in the other. Ah, reward money for giving her money. Child’s logic.         She holds out the wad to you. “Thanks Neighbor lady, but I just need a buck fifty for the vending machine down the hall. Gonna get me a Reese's Pieces.”          She yelled a thanks more heartfelt than yours and toddled down the hall, knees awkwardly bowed. You watch her turn the corner. Slack jawed. For a change, somebody let you keep something. Something good happened, even after you made a stupid decision.

        You push inside the studio and push away all thoughts of killing Cecelia’s greedy bitch mother. Who would find Caligula if she had to move to her aunt’s? Plus, if you got rid of her mom another, greedier landlord would probably replace her.          There wasn’t a point.          Early dinner was phoned in because you were so frazzled after this afternoon you’d forgot to grocery shop. Pizza. You waited, splayed on the couch, Caligula purring away on your knee. A Youtube stream pulled up on your junk laptop because you didn’t bother with a TV. News was a good thing to keep an eye on when you were a criminal.          A knock at the door. You rise. The pizza boy looks about the age of minimum wage. Still, you tell him, “Give me your wallet and the pizza.” Before shutting, and locking, the door in his face, no tip. Good deed already done for the day.         Another knock should come. Him demanding payment and his wallet. Instead, footsteps recede. He’s already forgotten. He’ll remember vaguely later, making a regular delivery. Losing his wallet, maybe in his car on while packing pizzas. He’ll panic, pause his debit card that you’ll never touch out for fear of being tracked. Working for Machine Head meant cash only.         You’re back on the couch, indulging. Caligula licking grease off your fingers. You skip from one news stream to the next. Looking for yourself. You weren’t the costume and flashy mask type of supervillian. If you considered yourself super at all. No inhuman strength or speed or shape shifting. Just, talking and making people listen.         You were lucky. Only caught the once. It was the second time Mark saw you rolling with Machine Head, a month after your cataclysmic teenage breakup. A year in the slammer, slap on the wrist. Machine Head paid your way out of papers and records.          It was three months later, after a particular fuck up, Machine Head revealed to you that Mark came to the prison the day you were supposed to be released. You’d been let out a day early. At the time you thought they just wanted you out because of overcrowding. But Machine Head knew Mark would come. Would try and persuade you to his side of things. Maybe make up and be sweethearts again. By then, through prison and three months of being an official card in Machine Hand’s deck— you’d crossed lines Mark wouldn’t forgive. You couldn’t go running back, saying you saw his side now. Because you didn’t.          Imagining what Mark would say if he saw you again, if he knew you stayed with Machine Head, it was enough to make you cry right in the middle of Machine Head’s office. He didn’t even have to rub your nose in the shame when you’d do it yourself. You were so angry. At Mark for putting you in jail, playing you right into Machine Head’s hands. At Machine Head for never letting you out from under his thumb. At everything, all of the time.

        Working for Machine Head wasn’t all bad. Got his endless supply of grunts to teach you a thing or two about tact and not getting caught. Things like not abusing the pizza boy every day. You saved it for once every few months. Never the same boy twice. Any repeats would be begrudgingly paid.         Another slice finds it’s way between your fingers. You’re mid-groan as your attention catches on the latest stream. Not ten minutes ago you were bored out of your gourd. Now, “A devastating attack has left Seattle’s space needle— gone.” The camera panned up, up, not that far up because the iconic slab of concrete was fucking leveled.          Your brows raise but you make no move. Not your circus, not your monkeys.          The camera raises further. “And it seems the destruction was at the hands of—“ The stream cuts, going blue on your computer scream. You scoff, lean forward and beat the corner as flashes of blue and yellow mock you. Finally, it clears, and you see somebody. Decked in white. Hovering hundreds of feet about the needle.          The pizza turns sour in your stomach but you lean forward, elbows on knees. Unable to see a face but so familiar with the shape of that body. For every time you saw it, on the news or overhead, your stomach went sour. “What the fuck is he doing without his mask on?” You squint. Just seeing the dot of tanned skin that was his head, no details beyond.         Caligula yowled, crossing over your laptop keys to get at your fingers. The stream changes. “—le are evacuating Universal Studios Hollywood in droves. Authorities are unsure what’s caused the majority of the studio to collapse.” A crash off screen. The camera pans. Smoke rises from the skyline. Wind carrying it down to pollute the central valley. There’s that shape, that body again. Silhouette dark in the smoke, with something else, something you hadn’t seen. A new low. A fucking cape?         Caligula takes another step. The stream changes. “This just in, Big Ben is gone.” An anchor takes up the screen, pale and balding forehead shining with sweat.         “Sorry, Keith, uhm, what do you mean gone?”          “I mean it’s gone, Jared. Cut— Cut to the footage!” The stream flickers. There’s the London sky. Gray and dreary. Clouds overshadowed by pillars of smoke. Chunks of rubble litter the street. Cars with their horns still blaring, engines burning crushed beneath. People squashed like grapes. 

        There he is again. But. No. Not really. This shape in the sky, this man had the same makeup but wider, thicker. You lean closer to the screen, sure you’re seeing things and not his old super suit.          Your phone vibrates in your pocket. The news is forgotten, half eaten pizza slice thrown to the pen box where Caligula pounces to lick pooled oils off the cheese.         You don’t have to look to know it’s work. Nobody calls you for anything but work and you only work for Machine Head.         “Boss is feeling generous.” Isotope’s voice grits through the speaker. “Get back here on the double.”         Seeing what you mistook for your ex on so many streams has soured your mood. Spiked your daring. “You can’t just teleport me?”          He scoffs. “You’ve got legs don’cha? Use ‘em.” Machine Head’s voice spiked the other end of the line. Isotope sighs. “Don’t move.”         You wipe your hands off on your pants before he’s in your apartment. Appearing through a haze of radioactive green light. You don’t even get to stand before his hand is on your shoulder and you’re zapped into Machine Head’s sprawling high rise.         You stumble but straighten. Isotope leaving your side to stand at attention by Machine Head. Who was currently heaving over his desk.         Papers, pens, and pretty mugs dashed to the floor.          It’d only been a few minutes. Did Granger survive? Did somebody see you? Report you?  Is Machine Head going to have you killed, right here, right now?         Power coils in your throat. Words ready to shoot like bullets to protect yourself.          “Tell me, Dregs.” The word spits off his electric voice box like sparks. Your stomach cinches. In this room, on the street, in the normal world, you were (Y/n). On jobs with fellow grunts you didn’t trust, in Machine Head’s scant paper trail, you were Dregs. He reserved calling the insult of a ‘villain name’ for when he was particularly unhappy with you. The name wasn’t your doing. It was a nasty nickname that stuck when Machine Head, near dead, overheard Invincible, breaking up with you in the shattered remains of his office all those years ago.         “You— you’ve been— you’re—“ His lip quivered under his mask.          “I did this for us.” You’d said. “I needed money to go to college with you. It’s just a one time thing!”

“They tried to kill me. He hired you to help kill me.” His voice had changed then, matured a fraction. Gone was the boyfriend that called you dude. Here was the man, mask held in his hand, identity shocking you to your core.          “I didn’t know it was you!”         “So you were fine with killing somebody?”         “I thought it was all talk!” You’d pled with him. In the middle of this very room, now reconstructed and shiny.          “Well it wasn’t!”          “I saved you.” You’d protested. “Without even knowing it was you— I saved you!” Because you had thought it was talk. You thought it was an easy paid security guard gig and you weren’t ready to kill someone for money. How times would change.         “You— How long have you been working with these—“ He gestured to the room at large. The dead. The dying. The bloody. He wasn’t looking great himself, but you spared him most of the pain with your words. A few suggestions here and there could save lives. You could’ve been a hero. His face sucks in then the word comes flying out, “Dregs of society— these fucking—“         And it stuck.         Hearing it always made you want to hit something. Though your punches weren’t particularly affective. You could tell Machine Head to jump out his shiny bay window but you don’t because there’s always a bigger thumb.         “Why-“ You’re back to the present, “the,” staring down your shitty bosses back, “fuck,” thinking about killing him, “is,” again, “your ex boyfriend tearing apart my city!?”         “What?” Now that, was not what you were expecting.          “You heard me!” His voice synthesizer spiked, turning the words into a melody. “Use your eyes!”         You look past his heaving form. So focused on the idea of being murdered you neglected the city scape. Sky scrapers were sliced in half. Twisted metal supports reaching for the sky. Smoke billowing, fire brewing. You heard it now, the screaming from below.          A black streak cuts the horizon. Blasts straight through the empire state building. The top half of the building groans, hitting nearby buildings as it comes down, shaking the city. People fall out the windows, go splat on the ground. Others are crushed under fresh rubble.         Standing up in the air was unmistakably Mark. Wearing his Invincible skin, the new blue and black one that made you angry with how good it looked on him. But he wasn’t wearing his mask, which was unlike himself. He also had a mohawk, which was also unlike himself.

        “Jesus.” You say. Thinking of clones or illusions or shape shifters. Villain of the week type of bullshit.         “Is that you trying to fix things? Stop him!” Machine Head’s hands go to his head, gripping metal like hair. “Now!”         That’s how you ended up here. Standing on the roof of Machine Head’s high rise. Jerry-rigged megaphone in hand. No ordinary Walmart megaphone would do in a situation like this. Had to be a ‘roided up version of the original. Double speakers on the sides with complicated volume amplifiers in its guts.          You’d been here before. Ontop a building, shouting into a megaphone. There was almost nothing ridiculous you hadn’t done to get someone to hear you. To do what someone wanted you to do. Usually it was ontop of a bank, shouting at police to leave, to forget about the robbery, to forget your face.         This was new enough that your palms were slick with sweat around the plastic handle. Mark sliced through more buildings with his body. They went down like soft butter. His laugh cracking and wrong as people burst open on the streets.          The cavalry had arrived. Nobody low-levels on the city’s payroll. Mark cut through them easier than the buildings. Not Mark, you tell yourself. Mark didn’t kill. You did. Mark wasn’t bad. You were. That’s why things didn’t work out.         You breathe in. Anger surging. Whoever or whatever this loser was— was going down, hard.          “Hey!” The megaphone twisted your voice from one to multitudes. From a shout to a building shaking scream.          Not Mark paused midair. Holding a half dead hero against him. Fists beating his cheat while their guts spilled out their midriff. He was half a mile away, a spec, but you still felt his eyes on you. Hard and boiling a dot through your skull.         “You! Yeah, you!” Getting their attention was always the worst part. If he didn’t think you were talking to him, your power would fall flatter than a popped balloon. One of the many drawbacks that’d nearly gotten you killed time and time again.         The hero dropped. Still falling. You didn’t see him coming, human eyes too weak to see faster than light. He’d be on you before the hero hit the ground.         “Stop!”          The air cracks. You stumble back. Eardrums crackling. One good thing about having powers? The littlest, stupidest things are enhanced. Not your hearing, no, but your ability to not go deaf. You literally can’t. Sure, you could’ve had a naturally amplified voice, super speed, healing, but nope! You get— anti-deaf powers, if you could call it that, as a cherry on top.

        Not Mark is suspended midair, a flower preserved in resin. Fist reeled back ready to punch a hole through your head. A grin that’s more of a snarl on his lips. Black piercings shining in the light of nearby fires. Brow, bridge, cheek, lip, like lizard spikes. Mohawk flattened against his head. Blood on his teeth, on his knuckles.         Close up, he is Mark. A clone or deft shape shifter, but so close to your Mark it throws you off balance. Worse is the no mask part. Your ex-boyfriend stares at you will his full naked face. Eyes brown but darker, more sunken than you remember. With bags beneath, like being evil is so fucking exhausting.         Shape shifter for sure, and a bad one.         He blinks. Still in air. Eyes sharp on your features as you lower the megaphone. Something about those eyes scare the shit out of you. You expect glazed complacency. You except no expression at all. But he’s looking at you with so much emotion, too much to be really under your control.         There’s no time for machinations. You knew aliens or other powered individuals could give you trouble. But nobody was able to fully resist, not yet.         So you say, “Kill yourself.”          Just as he says, “It’s you.”         You’re both surprised.          You double down. Power leaden on your tongue. “Break your own neck, now.”         His arms move like an animatronic. One hand poised on his sharp jaw, the other poised on his shoulder for purchase. There’s no snap, death groan, and falling five stories. He is staring at you like you’re actually precious to him. Like he misses you. Like he didn’t dump you then throw you in jail a month later. Like he didn’t see other people, like Atom Eve and him weren’t going steady.         It pisses you off. Power roils in your throat. You growl this time, “Rip out your throat.”         His hands fall to his sides. You’d met resistance before but a rephrase, a second or third command always did it. He wasn’t dead and that was a very, very bad thing.         “You made it.” He says. Soft but voice gruff. “To New York.”

        “Die!” You command. Though your power didn’t work on vague words like die. “Die, right now!” His feet touched down on the ledge. You step back. “Stop breathing.”         At those words he sobers. A smile, sharp toothed and easy and so un-Mark-like stretches his face. “Guess we want each other dead in every reality.” The words are an inside joke that make him laugh. “I almost respect the forwardness.”         "Break your legs.” You spit, taking another step back. Megaphone falling to the floor. “Break your arms."         “I think-“ He follows you in slow, languid strides. “You shouldn’t talk to your emperor and boyfriend like that.” Your words like bullets on kevlar armor, on viltrumite skin. They make him pause momentarily, shudder, then he breaks right though your hold and keeps coming.         Boyfriend? Boyfriend!?         You couldn’t have a boyfriend working for Machine Head. You’d seen what he threatened Titan with. You couldn’t have Mark, of all fucking people, as a boyfriend because of what he did. So you couldn’t let yourself have a boyfriend because you were so scared you’d get the same fucking reaction. And if things got to be too much you’d tell them forget, find someone else.         You see red.         “Eat your heart and shit it out.”         “Jeez, did I really fuck up this bad here?” He chuckles, and it sounds like Mark. Your Mark.         “Now!” The power forces out of you in waves. His step wobbles but he just keeps coming.         “You really must want me dead! What’d I do, take over your planet? You know a man’s got needs, baby. No biggie.”         The door to the stairs bursts open. Machine Head heaves with the effort of racing up the flights. Isotope behind him, less winded.         “Dregs!” Machine Head hisses. “Fuckin’ kill him already!”         “Dregs?” Not Mark tests the name on his tongue. “Is your name here fucking Dregs? Do- oh shit-“ His eyes alight, “Now I geddit. You’ve got powers in this universe!” He says like it wasn’t obvious. “That’s like your hero name, right? Oh (Y/n), baby, that’s so stupid it’s cute.”         “Fly into the sun.” Power rips out you, sizzling through the air.          He actually hovers off the roof. You wait for him to blast off and become a solar flare.          His muscles tense and untense. “So that’s what that is. Shit, I thought it was just like, true love and stuff.” And he was going to kill you. “Man, that feels… weird. Do it again.”

        “Kill him!” Machine Head insists behind you.         “Kill yourself.” You can feel a migraine on it’s way, pounding in your temples. Powers are like a muscle. They can only do so much before giving. “Do it. Die.”         Not Mark shivers, letting out a delighted laugh. “Man, you could’ve really gotten me if I wasn’t full apeshit mode. But…” He hovers closer, leering, “You didn’t, so I guess it’s my turn now.”         “Isotope, take me to Seattle!” You speak before you think. Before his hand can clasp your throat. Isotope is next to you in a millisecond. Then you’re gone. Machine Head’s raging protests gone from your ears.         The streets of Seattle are wet with blood and rain. Isotope stands beside you, in a haze he’ll come out of any minute. Coming here of all places was a horrible idea but you hadn’t thought. The city came off your tongue, fresh on the mind.          “Help.” A voice croaks. A broken hand paws at your feet. Orange and gloved, once a defender, now an arm peaking out rubble. “Help me.”         You stare at it because what the fuck?          The air whips. You look overhead. He’s a hundred feet up, maybe more. Looking right back down at you. He’s more imposing than he was on your laptop screen. Broader of shoulder, uniform crisp white except where it wasn’t. Where glistening sinew chunks clung to his chest.         He stares you down like shit under his shoe. You wait for sudden death that never comes. Whoever this was. Mark, Not Mark, some hot guy, he wasn’t hurting you though he clearly just killed a metric fuckton of people; and you didn’t know why and honestly? It scared the shit out of you.         The hand finds your ankle. “Help. Help.”         Not Mark comes down then like an anchor. Arms crossed, legs tight. Crushing the rubble beneath his feet. Making the hand go limp, blood framing around it.         You knew at a distance and were even more sure now. It was Mark but wrong, again. Face too symmetrical, too sharp. Your Mark had little imperfections, a crooked nose from his Omni-Man induced beat down, ache scars on his hairline. This version was trophy husband material, mocking you in it’s image for what could’ve been.         He’s taller. Why is he taller? 

        Not Mark number two’s eyes are cold, rock brown slates that slide to Isotope. The shift in his muscles are subtle but you know violence is coming.         You weren’t staying to watch it happen. “Take me to Hollywood.” And it was done.         You were in a outdoor walkway by studio six. Isotope on your arm, stupor elongated.          The decision again proved to be bad, made from a sick need to check, to run. Studio six was burning and you could smell the bodies.          “Take me to the road.” You command. A flash, and you’re there. Outside the heart of Hollywood, watching Universal crash and burn. The rest of the city was no better. You knew Hollywood was worse in person but you never imagined it a gray flattened husk.          This couldn’t be real. You were dreaming, going to wake any second.         A shadow passed overhead. You look up, nothing but smoke and sun.          From behind, “Need some help, friend?”         You turn. He’s back in black (and yellow), grinning with his mask on. Cape billowing stupidly in the breeze. A scar indented to his face from chin to lip. A sliver of lip gone, exposing half a tooth before the scar meandered up, under his mask.         “Oh shit.” A laugh rips out of him. “(Y/n), you old so and so. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”         Like the others he’s splattered with the lives of others. Reveling, practically glowing in it.          “Tell me who you are.” You say, holding tight to Isotope in case he sobers and decides to zap away. No way you were being stranded with this… thing.         His body goes ridged at the command. You think he’ll resist like the other, then it comes pouring out. “Mark Grayson.” He says. “But not the one you know.”         Your head pounds. He’s not lying, people can’t lie when you’re prying information out of them. “More than that. Details.”         “I’m here to destroy everything I see. I’ve been…”  He shakes his head, body loosening. You feel your control snap away like a cut cord. His lips seal then pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ve got different tricks here. Tell me, have I taken hold of this useless planet yet? Do you see me as someone to rise up against? Have you given up yet? Have you saved your own life by sucking my—“         "Tokyo.” 

        You’re somewhere you’ve only dreamed of going and it’s destroyed. You thought, since you hadn’t seen it on the news it’d be a safe bet. You could figure things out, come up with a game plan, but no. You couldn’t think with your head pounding and nose starting to bleed, power waning with overuse on too many overpowered targets. The muscle was straining. You weren’t used to this much. To resistance. To using         Isotope, strong in his own right, like a puppet. It was exhausting.          Isotope was wobbling on his feet. He could teleport over and over but being under your control so long as well? Wasn’t good for him.          Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh so you couldn’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.          You snapped back to reality standing over a pair of women, curled on the ground in fetal position.         “Tell me what happened.” You say.         The blonde one doesn’t unfurl but speaks, accented and injured, “He destroyed everything.”         “Who?”         Her arm unfurls, shaking finger pointing up. You look up, expecting. The sky is clear. The woman’s arm re-latches to her brain dead best friend.          “I wasn’t expecting you here.” The voice is a river smoothed stone. Dark and solid— as a rock can be.          You already know who it is before you can look. A sight you were starting to get a little more than tired of. Though you didn’t expect a red and white suit splattered with blood.  He’s thicker, like the others, hair taller and spiked with gel.          He steps forward, over the dead girl and her whimpering friend. The sounds catch his attention, the next step he takes crushes the living girls head. Brains dying his white boot pink. “It’s unfortunate you had to see this, but it’s better you did. We’re on the same page now.”         “What the fuck does that mean?” Your power comes out weak, involuntary. You hadn’t meant to strain yourself but there you go, fucking up again.         “I want you to understand that what I’m doing is necessary. I don’t understand why you fought me before. So… unneeded. You’d know you’d never beat me but you…” His brows press together through his mask. His lip twitches, “I’ve said too much.” And your hold falls away.  Out comes his hand, fabric originally white but now red. “Come with me.”          “Sydney.”

        You stood across the water from the flaming opera house. A scream of frustration comes out as a cough, blood and mucous splat onto the cracked sidewalk. Your balance tips and wavers but you cling to Isotope who is barley upright himself.          You really needed to stop going for capital cities.          This one you see. Black and blue above the hundred foot tall fire. Watching it burn quiet as the night which it now was, across the world from your starting point.          The mask completely covers his face, but knowing how today is going. It’s Mark, again.          He disappears. You open your mouth, power rising up your throat. Air breaks. You’re thrown off your feet. He’s before you. Feet off the ground, staring you down though blue lenses. Same stupid spandex this time with a thick tool belt strapped round his waist and left thigh. A harness strapped to his chest, surely hiding things that could tear though your soft human flesh. Slight armor padding hiding his muscles.         He hovers over the broken fence separating you from the water. Your panicked eyes reflected back at you through polarized blue goggles.         You scramble to Isotope, splayed on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head. “Take me home.” His eyes lolled back into his head. You shake him, looking frantically behind you, to the unmoving phantom then back to him. “Hey! Wake up!” You watch the shape of a man. Terrified he’d come closer when you weren’t looking but there he stayed. Watching. Isotope’s eyes flutter. “Dregs.” He groans. “I… I can’t…” Sweat shines on his brow.         You slap him hard across the face. Palm stinging. “I don’t give a shit! Take me home!”         His pale narrow fingers wrap around your wrist. Green light grows slowly around you both. Not instant as if it would be if he weren’t fucked up.         “Faster!”         A sound from behind. You turn, finding something whipping toward you. You flinch, expecting a punch but instead find some cuff clapping onto your ankle. Thick and dark, matte finished. You don’t think of clawing at it as you’re teleported away.         Yet you take one last look. He is still. Waiting.         Your hovel of an apartment is like a church. You throw yourself to the unvacuumed floor, reverent. Caligula doesn’t come to love on you. When you peel up from the ground, Isotope is gaining his bearings. Eyes hazy with distaste as he zaps away, without you. 

        Leaving you alone in your tilted apartment. Everything was a little off skew. When you stood you stumbled back, partly from exhaust, partly from the floor literally not being at the right angle. It was then the building decided to creek. Letting you know of it’s incoming collapse.         

Most of New York City had been ripped apart, so with your luck, why not your apartment?         You’re out the door. Racing down flight after flight, two steps at a time. Beams whine in the walls. Pipes crack, spilling water from the ceiling into the lobby.          You’re barley out when the building goes down. You run down the sidewalk, between crashed and burning cars. Hopping over bodies, bodies, bodies. When the world stops shaking, you look at the damage. Creeping closer, finally remembering your cat.  The creeping gives way to frantic running. Tripping back over the bodies, screaming, “Caligula!” At the mountain of what used to be your home.          You throw yourself to the most manageable bit of rubble. Throwing stone size pieces tossed away in hopes you’d reveal your cat. You didn’t have much besides the clothes on your back and this goddamn power of yours— but Caligula kept you going. Kept you hoping. Because if he could come up in life, going from a neglected stray to spoiled in a twenty-something year olds apartment. You could do the same thing.          “Ca-“          “Cecelia?” You look up. Climbed to the apex of the disaster was your greedy landlord. Tossing concrete more frantically than you were. You climb up, carefully avoiding exposed leaking pipes. She had the right idea. Higher up meant maybe a better chance of survival. You search together, but separate. Calling different names. Kicking down different chunks. Waiting for heroes to come but after what you saw earlier— you doubted it.         “Rrrrow?” You know that sound anywhere. Your head snaps. Watching the gray go from rock to a fuzzy back.          “Oh God, Caligula!” You skid down to him and he jumps up to you. Meowing. Dust in his fur but otherwise okay. He’d gotten out again. This time all the way to the outside. He was okay. He was okay and you were so happy you cried into him.         “Cecelia! Ce— Cecelia?” You shouldn’t have looked. Watched the landlord crack her back as she moved the largest piece of debris she had yet. Just to fall beside the severed arm of her little girl. Fingers curled around a buck fifty. 

        She threw herself on the arm. Dirty fingers clawing at the window ledge that covered the rest of her little girl’s body. Opening her nails up on broken glass. Screaming a scream so horrible you’d never forget— and you killed people for a living.         A dent split open the back of her head, a waterfall of blood you hadn’t noticed before. The dent exposed her hind brain, though she didn’t seem to care, still screaming for her dead baby girl.          You weighed the options. Leave. Help. Have a better chance of finding help for yourself. Put the bitch down like you’d dreamed. Survive. Chance being found by the monster that did this.          You chose both. Not getting any close to her but turning. Power weak, watery but you didn’t need much. Not for the average person, distracted and distressed. “Lay down. Sleep.”         She did just that. You climbed down from the rubble. Careful with Caligula in your arms. Retracing your steps away from the building. When you look back, she wasn’t breathing.         ***         “Where is she?” THUNK!          Machine Head didn’t so much as feel pain. More so, felt his circuitry being shifted inside him. Any more of this and he’d stop working. Repairs on a piece as intricate as himself didn’t come cheap.         “Probably in fucking Seattle, asshole!” He said for the fifth time. He’d explained, best a robo man could while his ass was being beat by his grunt’s now blood thirsty (or would it be oil thirsty?) ex boyfriend. “He can teleport and she took ‘im!”          “Seattle’s gone idiot!” THUNK! Another punch dented the side of his head. Devastating for Machine Head, but nothing close to the skyscraper shattering power he’d seen before. The motherfucker was beating the circuits out of him but still holding back. Something was sparking and smoking within him. His camera eyes were starting to static.          “What—“         “Boss!” Zip, zap, Cadillac.          He was out of one man’s arms, into another. But not anywhere near far enough away from the little freak.          Isotope managed to get his boss away, about thirty feet. Holding him up just barley, eyes still frosty with the mind fog that Dregs cunt had inflicted on him. He tried splitting reality again, just to fizzle out and land them right back in the same spot.         Said little freak’s gaze slid to Isotope. Voice more dangerous than before. “She was just with you.” It was more of a question, a demand. Isotope was about to pass out but that didn’t leave him stupid. “At her place.” He breathed.          The freak stepped forward. “Where?”

[nottswitch]

꒰ bully!theo teaches you a lesson for talking back to him in public ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, kinda dubcon, oral (m receiving), rough throatfucking, throat bulge, size kink, choking, gagging, mentions of vomiting, hair pulling, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise if you squint, cursing, smoking

a/n: and so, bully!theo is born! read at your own discretion, and i hope you’re gonna enjoy this lil fucker of a man <3

⋆˚꩜｡

you knew you probably shouldn’t have done it. theo had warned you against it many times, and yet, you still couldn’t resist – the smirk he had when he completely obliterated you for the hickeys he, himself, left the night before was simply grating on your nerves too much. so, you retorted with a sharp quip; did you really have to bring up his dick size? maybe not, given that you knew for a fact it wasn’t ‘smaller than a pickle’, but it just seemed like the right thing to say at the moment.

now, you had to deal with the consequences – theo’s huge cock mercilessly destroying your throat as you kneeled on the cold floor of the guy’s bathroom. his hand painfully fisted your hair as he shoved your face into his crotch and back, again and again and again, showing no signs of stopping any time soon.

"you think you’re so cute, huh? so fucking smart, aren’t you?" he hissed, pulling you off his cock for a moment and leaning down, his ragged, smoke-smelling breath hot against your skin. you swallowed a thick mixture of his precum and your saliva, feeling your throat constrict after at least ten minutes of non-stop pounding. your lips were swollen and stretched out, your chin dripped with liquid, the stains at the front of your blouse rapidly growing in size.

a strong slap landed on your cheek, causing your head to snap to the side. your ‘ow’ was loud and high, but it did nothing to make theo even wince. he squished your cheeks between his fingers, his darkened eyes almost drilling a hole in yours with their intensity. the muscles of his jaw rolled back and forth, his nose scrunched up in contempt.

"where’s the fucking attitude, huh?" he shook your face in his hold, making your head go dizzy for a moment, and yet you couldn’t deny the wetness that pooled between your thighs at the gesture – at every one of them, really. maybe you were sick for it, but your body had its own story to tell.

"yeah, thought so." theo scoffed at the lack of your reply; the only sounds that came out of you were the rapid, shallow breaths you took due to the exertion of sucking him off so furiously. he fixed you with another look of disdain and then, without any warning, spit right on your face. his saliva trickled down the side of your nose, making you wince – not that it was the first time, yet it still felt equal parts as degrading as it was arousing. you had half a mind to spit back, but then realized you’d probably end up with a completely dysfunctional throat.

theo smirked darkly, the anger still seeping through his every pore, and dragged his fingers all over your face, smearing his saliva over your cheeks and lips. then, without any real resistance on your part – was it the lack of strength, or was it the buzzing ache in your lower belly, you couldn’t quite place it – he shoved his fingers into your mouth, making you gag; your hands flew up to his thighs to steady yourself, but he shook them off, slapping you once more. your skin stung, and your brows were furrowed, but it didn’t deter theo in the slightest.

"keep still," he muttered, pressing at the base of your tongue. your gag reflex flared up, and you felt the familiar churning in your stomach as you tried to hold back as much as possible. before you were ready to give in and just throw up, theo took his fingers out of your mouth, providing a brief sense of relief, but then immediately replaced them with his cock.

the gagging never stopped; in fact, it only got worse as theo started roughly thrusting into your throat again, his hips moving in a quick, steady rhythm. your hair was in his painful hold, tight against his body; no way you could pull away, even though your throat was sore and aching.

"’s all you’re good for," theo rasped out through his low groans, the smirk obvious in every word that left his mouth. "a fucking cocksleeve, yeah? stupid little thing, but fits my cock so well, shit–"

you hummed incoherently around his length, trying at least an attempt to express your disagreement, but it only made your throat open some more, and the tip of theo’s cock hit deeper. you could feel the bitterness of bile rising to the top, but the huge, throbbing erection was an obstacle that kept it at bay. theo could clearly see the way your body trembled, and for a moment, he held you down, your nose pressed right into the trimmed hair on his pelvis.

"so, cara," he drawled, his fingers running along your scalp in almost soothing motions, even though they were anything but. "you still think i have a small dick, hm?"

you couldn’t reply even if you wanted to but still tried to move your head in a ‘no’. theo huffed, finding your squirming to be amusing, and his free hand glided around your neck, feeling the bulge his cock created at the front of it. you were breathing through your nose, or at least attempting to, but it didn’t really help: every single twitch of theo’s steel-solid length made you gag a little over and over again. your entire cleavage was soaked in your own drool at this point, and it was obvious that theo would have something to say about it later.

"you don’t think so?" he raised an eyebrow, as if your admittance was a surprise. he started stroking himself through your throat, fingers curling into your skin, and somehow, it felt even more humiliating than simply being throat-railed: he wasn’t even using it anymore, your body being just a means to jerk himself off. "cazzo, you feel so fucking good silent."

theo let his head fall back against the wall, groaning as his hand sped up. the other one pressed you even further into his crotch, and seconds later, you felt thick, hot spurts of cum spilling inside you one after the other. the throbbing of his cock almost choked you, added to the pressure of his hand from the outside, and you pushed at his thighs, trying to finally get him out of you. it seemed like he didn’t want you to actually die – good – because he let go, pushing you head back in return. the emptiness you felt after letting go of his still half-hard dick was strangely disappointing, the sickeningly pleasant buzz in your soaked pussy only intensifying. you sucked in the drool connecting your swollen lips to theo’s cock and wiped them with the back of your hand; it didn’t help much, you were still completely drenched.

knowing you wouldn’t get anything more, you sighed and stood up on wobbly legs, taking a couple of steps towards the bathroom sink. as you splashed your face with some cold water, you heard a click of a lighter. in the mirror’s reflection, theo was bonelessly slumped against the wall, lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep first drag.

"might need a repeat of that tonight." the words came out along with a swirling cloud of smoke, grey and undoubtedly bitter. you scoffed, rubbing your eyes to get rid of the puffiness but only making it worse in the process.

"you fucking wish," you muttered, but your voice lacked conviction. it was a well known fact that ‘might’ meant ‘will’ in theo’s vocabulary, and you also knew full well that you’d give him what what he asked – no, demanded – for.

au. more.

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ SYLUS | making out (nsfw)

◜Sylus gives up and decides to give his girlfriend some attention.PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE TW: slightly explicit content, +18. minors DNI ── ◜sylus x fem!reader — mini one shot 0.7k words an : I have never, ever, EVER written anything explicit or NSFW. I've been writing for over 10 years but I've never felt it necessary in my fanfics. I've wanted to start making an exception and writing little things, so this is my first time writing something (a little) NSFW. I'm sorry if it's not the best. Another author's note here. ★ masterlist here

Sylus had his gaze fixed on the papers on his desk but his mind was elsewhere. More specifically on the girl on his lap and the way she was sucking on the skin of his neck.

He had work and important things to do, but his girlfriend was needy and he didn't say no when she asked to sit on his lap. The small kisses quickly turned into something more, soon she changed her position so she was straddling him, his shirt slightly open as she began to mark his skin. Oh god, how he loved letting her mark his skin.

"A naughty kitten." Sylus squeezed her hips and made her pull away from him. When he saw his girlfriend's swollen lips and slightly disheveled hair something twisted inside him. "I can't concentrate if you keep this up."

She gasped, lifting her face and trying her best not to moan. She felt somewhat embarrassed about the way she was behaving but Sylus had shown her that he was a safe place for her.

"Can you take a few minutes?" She looked at him with those eyes that always begged him to make an exception for her. And Sylus was weak, too weak.

"Fine." Sylus gave in, leaning towards her. Before she could respond he captured her lips in an intense kiss.

Kisses with Sylus were always different, sometimes it was intense and almost desperate but without being so rough. Other times it was soft and slow, just enjoying her lips. This time it was the complete opposite of the last thing, his lips sought hers as if he were totally in need.

One of his hands slid to the back of her neck, holding her still to prevent her from moving away from his lips. His tongue explored her mouth with such urgency that it made the heat rise in her body. Suddenly she needed more... she needed much more.

Sylus moved away just a few inches and took a breath for a few seconds before taking her lips again, making her gasp again. Her hips moved softly, needing more... Then she felt Sylus's hardness press against her wetness barely covered by the thin fabric of her panties.

A moan escaped her lips as she felt him press against her. She moved his hips causing a slight friction against her sensitive clit. A growl rumbled in Sylus' chest as he noticed what she was doing, which did nothing to help control the heat he felt in his body. He took her hips and guided her movements slowly, but it wasn't what she wanted, she needed more.

"Sylus..." She threw her head back and Sylus' lips were quick to press against her neck. He kissed and bit her warm skin as he enjoyed the way she rubbed against him.

When he finally pulled away from her neck he noticed the way her lips were parted, letting out soft gasps. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath and the image of his girlfriend in that way and in his lap was too much. He took her lips again in a desperate way, the movements of his hips stopped and suddenly he missed the way she pressed against him.

She moaned as he bit her lower lip. Her hips thrust down almost unconsciously, searching for something to rub against, but Sylus stopped her by squeezing her hips.

"Not yet."

"Sy..." She moaned in frustration, letting her head fall to his chest as her breathing was labored. Her body felt too hot and she needed more.

"I need to get back to work." He placed a kiss on her forehead, letting his girlfriend catch her breath.

She nodded giving in. She didn't want to push him, nor did she want to be that kind of girlfriend who interrupted his work. "I'll go to the bedroom," she murmured, pressing her lips against his.

She finally pulled away from him so she could leave his office. Sylus quickly felt the emptiness and missed the warmth of his girlfriend against him. He went back to his work, trying to continue with what he was doing, telling himself it was too important. But he couldn't get his needy girlfriend on his lap out of his mind.

He gave up after two minutes, he wasn't going to be able to concentrate no matter what he did. He dropped the pen, pushed his chair back and walked away from his desk. His steps were quick and hurried as he walked out of his office towards the room he shared with her. He didn't plan on leaving her wanting more and he certainly didn't plan to stay like that either.

[myownwholewildworld]

A DARK SUMMON ― a Boston QZ!Joel oneshot

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader. summary: Joel is a man with dark urges, ones that only you can satisfy. a/n: eeeeeek! 👀 Secret Santa 2024 is here!!! thank you so much to @pedrostories for organising #pedrostoriesgift24, i had a blast and i can’t wait to see what other people have come up with! this is my gift to @huntingingoodwill! AHHHH, HI THERE! Carmen i hope you like it sweetheart!!! 🥹 tried mixing the dark/ddde element with a stroke of brat taming, hope i've done it justice! merry Christmas to those celebrating!!! love y’all <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. noncon/CNC. ending with a twist. mind the age gap. brat taming!joel. pet names (sugar, sweetheart, kiddo, kitten). mouth fucking/oral (m! receiving). cum eating. fingering. dacryphilia. orgasm denial. boot humping. a bit of anal play. pussy pronouns. pussy spanking. one account of a face slap. mention of voyeurism. slut shaming. tight squeeze sex position. unprotected piv. reader is a blank slate with no backstory, has hair up in a ponytail. dual pov. no use of y/n. w/c: ~4.1k. divider by @cafekitsune

“On the count of three, I’ll let you go. If you escape, then you’re free,” Joel groaned behind you, his teeth sinking in the bare skin of your left shoulder. “But if I catch you… I’ll fuck you.”

His voice was a low threat that left goosebumps on the nape of your neck, your survival instinct flaring alive like flames rekindled by a gust of wind. All the muscles in your body contracted, anticipating the chase you would have to endure to flee.

Your heart was pounding so hard, you almost missed his next words.

“And believe me, I ain’t holding back if I get my hands on you,” such dark promise dripped from his lips, your heart twisting inside your ribcage.

Joel slowly untied your wrists, uncomfortably resting on your back, taking his time. He yanked at the rope and your hands slammed against his swollen bulge, an animalistic growl tearing his throat.

You swallowed, eyeing the open door in front of you and planning your escape route. Joel kept on tugging at the thick cord to free you from his grasp, your hands unwillingly brushing the tent on his worn jeans.

Then the hemp string completely loosened up, the tingling sensation in your fingers slowly fading away.

The tethers keeping you bound were quickly replaced by Joel’s hands, his meaty fingers wrapping around your wrists to keep you in place. The bastard pulled at your right hand, forcing your palm open to rub his covered erection.

Making a decided effort to ignore him, how he used you to get off, your eyes fixed on the door, your face expression a blank canvas. You knew better than showing him fear.

“One,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Two,” Joel continued to count out loud.

Your whole being automatically entered fight-or-flight mode, your breathing quicker and shallower as your heartbeat burst in your eardrums painfully. Your chest raised and then sunk in quick succession, the oxygen barely reaching your brain.

If you got to the door and ran for your life, you were almost sure you could lose him in the tangled maze of the abandoned mall. As he dragged you across the shopping center earlier, your mind recorded every single detail that could get you out of here. A few turns, down a corridor, some stairs, then straight ahead before another turn ― that was the closest fire exit.

You were so focused on running away, there was little room for any other feeling. If you let panic paralyse you, then he would win. And you were a bitter loser, especially if your integrity was at stake.

“Three.”

As soon as Joel took a step back, you lurched for a second, like a baby deer dazed by headlights. It only took your legs a moment to ground you ― then you lunged forward, almost falling face first, and ran towards the door. Grabbing the frame, you did a hard turn and sprinted as fast as your legs could take you.

Lungs burning and brimming with tears now, you sped up looking for that exit you saw on your way here. But keeping a cool mind while reality settled in was a hard task ― so much so you had lost track of how many turns you had taken.

“Shit, no,” you mumbled with a trembling little voice. “No, no, no,” you chanted, your throat clamping down.

Stopping, you scanned your surroundings, not recognising any of the untidy window displays. You paced around, trying to decide where to go, how the fuck to get out.

“Ready or not, here I come, kiddo,” Joel yelled, his voice not as far away as you would have liked.

You froze in place, weighing your options. Your hands were now shaking, the thrill of the chase giving you a burst of adrenaline but also clouding your mind.

Knees almost giving way, you saw the store to your right and decided your best option was waiting him out. He would tire, assume you had been able to run away. Didn’t matter if you had to stay put for hours, Joel would eventually stop looking. So, you ran inside, only to realise that it was a homeware shop.

It was pretty much run down, all decorations spilt everywhere in disarray. There were fake ghosts and corpses hanging from the ceiling, and you were sure the spiderwebs were not part of the décor. There were also some Santa toys laying around, candy canes and a decrepit nativity scene. Some orange lights flickered at the bottom of the store, giving the whole space a very eerie appearance. It was obvious that when the world went to shit, this shop was in the middle of selling all the Halloween décor, and transitioning into Christmas time.

You hesitated, but there was no time to choose another hideout. Booted steps approached, the heaviness of his footfall echoing in the distance. If the way your skin bristled was any indication, you knew Joel was close. Too close.

Almost tumbling, you circled the counter and ducked. There was a big, spacious cabinet underneath with the doors almost off the hinges. It was stuffed with macabre toys and plushies, but those didn’t deter you. Pushing them aside to make room, you wiggled inside, hoping Joel would never find you here.

As you shut the doors, darkness surrounded you. It was pitch-black inside, almost suffocating ― the blackness combined with the claustrophobia hastened the rush of blood through your veins.

No, too dark ― too damn dark. You poked at the door slightly, leaving it ajar so a sliver of light filtered in.

You drew in a big breath in an attempt to soothe your racing heart. Swallowed the knot in your throat too and curled your hands into fists to control the tremor.

Closing your eyes, you leaned back, your head resting against the back of the cabinet.

Then you heard him.

“Come out and play, you little brat,” Joel mocked you as he sauntered towards the counter. “You’re just postponing the inevitable, sweetheart.”

He had seen you go into this shop, so now only needed to find out your hiding place. Joel had already looked through the obvious spots and had come up empty. He was starting to consider he might have seen wrong, but your rugged breathing gave you away as soon as he walked around the cash register.

A grin curled the corners of his mouth, noticing the slightly ajar door underneath the worktop ― your little, sharp breaths filtering through the crack.

Like any other predator, he knew his prey very well ― you. Joel was completely sure that, right about now, your heart would be wildly beating in your chest, hearing him so close. You could probably see the tip of his boots too, your pulse quickening.

The thought of you all panicky and sweaty stirred something dark within him ― something lustful. So much so, his erection only got harder even though he had already worked himself up with the groping of your hand on his bulge. It felt uncomfortable really, how his shaft rubbed against the zipper, his pubic hairs catching in the chain.

With a low growl, he slipped one hand in his jeans to rearrange his cock, to ease the pain. Squeezing his throbbing dick between his fingers, Joel hissed at how sensitive the wet head was.

It was just a brief, feeble attempt to satiate his vice for you. Only fucking you would relieve him.

“Where are ya?” he mumbled, lightly poking at the cabinet’s door with the tip of his boot, dragging out the moment.

Joel heard you whimper, a hummed bleat that ignited the fire in his groin.

Not being able to resist the call of your cries any longer, he crouched down and swung the doors open.

Your teary, widened eyes greeted him, just as if he had arrived at the gates of his own personal heaven. You were tucked away, your back pressing onto the melamine sheet, as you cowered into the corner.

“Hi there, sugar,” he grinned, head tilted.

As soon as his strong, broad hand wrapped around one of your ankles, you started kicking and screaming, his cock twitching in response. Careful not to be in the receiving end of your strikes, he pulled you out while you put up an admirable fight. You clawed at whatever you could find, all the grisly plushies and toys spilling out of the cabinet.

“No! Let me go! STOP!” you yelled, a messy tangle of limbs kicking everywhere to free yourself from his grasp.

With your belly flat on the tiled floor, Joel yanked at your ponytail until your back arched uncomfortably, his lips trailing your jugular as he straddled the back of your waist.

“Yeah, fight back, kitten,” he grumbled in your ear, releasing his purchase on your hair.

Your head collapsed on the floor, your little sobs unleashing the beast within him. Grabbing your arms so you would cease in your futile escaping attempt, he shoved your limbs under his knees, pinning you down completely.

You wiggled under him, a begging mess as you tried to kick him off you.

“Please, Joel, don’t do this,” you pleaded, the swaying of your hips under him only enlivening his cock even more.

“That’s not what you were telling the other guy last night, were you?” he scolded you, unbuckling his belt and tugging at it in one clean sweep that took it off the loops on his jeans. “Hm? When you were making out with him in that alley, with your tiny hand buried in his pants and jerking him off. If he could have his share, so can I.”

He moved his knees just enough to liberate your arms, pressing your wrists onto the small of your back as he forcefully tied them up again, this time with his belt.

“Joel, I wasn’t―”

“Oh, yeah, you fucking were, sugar. You saw me standing there, watching, and you didn’t stop. Did you?” he groaned, ensuring the belt was as tight as possible around your wrists. “It actually made you wetter, I just know. Just like you probably are now.”

You wailed, words incoherent as you kept on mumbling and fighting back. Your resistance was an irresistible call for him, one that could not be ignored. Your sobs were a dark summon, the twisted side of him revelling in what was to come.

Joel slithered down your body, sitting on your calves with his knees on either side of you and then pulled your jeans and panties down unceremoniously, yanking at them eagerly. You choked on your tears, your tied hands trying to cover your exposed ass and the sweet dripping nook between your thighs.

Joel slapped your hands away, growling at you for denying him such a view. He held on to your wrists with the span of one hand, pressing them on the small of your back.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he grumbled with an obscure need.

His right hand glided down the swell of your butt cheeks until his ring and middle fingers pried your pussy lips open. Dragging the pads along your damp, velvety seam drove him fucking mad.

“You’re such a slut, sugar,” he rejoiced, forcing his fingers in your dripping hole down to the knuckles. The sucking sound coming from your entrance made his mind spiral out of control. “So fucking wet, you’re enjoying this, aren’t ya?”

He pulled his fingers out, then back in harshly. You whimpered, the running tears ruining your eyeliner.

“I AM NOT! Stop, you motherfucker!” You screamed, writhing under Joel in an attempt to get him off you. “I fucking hate your guts!”

Your pitiful, pathetic sobs grew louder as Joel fingered you like a man possessed, your cunt leaking everywhere. Your inner walls clutched around his fingers involuntarily, the warmth inside your pussy skyrocketing.

Joel was mad with lust, his throbbing cock strained in his jeans. He released your hands to release his dick from the prison of his clothing and started to fist himself at the same pace his fingers sank into you.

“Your mouth says no, but your sweet little pussy is begging for me, you little fuck toy,” he growled, his nuts feeling heavy with every pump he imposed on you and himself. “My fuck toy.”

Feeling your climax building up, your reddened cunt sheathing his digits greedily and palpitating now, Joel slid the fingers out of your seeping opening. You began crying audibly now, your orgasm being denied and fading into oblivion. But Joel knew you wouldn’t beg him to let you finish, you proud little thing. At least not yet.

He smiled, jerking himself off with your slick, buttering his pearly glans with your arousal.

“Keep cryin’, sugar, no one’s coming to help ya,” he mumbled, eyelids heavy as he traced the fold of your ass with the tip of his thudding cock.

It hitched in your unprepared tight ring, and he didn’t hesitate to push in slightly.

You snarled like a wild animal, kicking again and screaming in pain as his mushroom head found refuge in your rimmed hole. It was so fucking tight inside, suffocating even, Joel felt his glans pulsating.

“Being the whore that you are, I know that your pussy has been worked open several times, but what about your ass, hm?” he teased you, tip buried in your―hopefully―virgin ass.

“You piece of shit!” you shrieked.

Joel cackled, head snapping back at your retort. Then tutted at you, pulling out of your apparently forbidden hole. He almost felt sorry for you, but one glance at your pussy was all he needed to have his attention redirected.

“Alright, alright, sugar. In your pussy then,” he conceded, feeling benevolent. “I know she’s greedy for some cock, isn’t she?”

Joel swiped his glans clean with your panties, then grabbed a few of the plush toys and teddy bears that had spilt from the cabinet. He shoved them under your waist to prop your perky ass up, giving him better access to your slit.

“There she is, look at her go. Your hole is clenching, sugar, I can see her. She’s mouthing for something to keep her quiet,” he mumbled, almost sweetly, before his thumb found your unattended, glistening clit. Joel pressed circles onto your bundle of nerves lazily, your little cries transforming into wanton hiccups. “She’s so needy, leaking everywhere. I’mma give her what she needs, I’m that altruistic.”

His thumb broke contact with your melting clit, then Joel aligned his cock with the opening in your cunt and buried himself in one harsh thrust, down to the hilt. You cried again, your hands holding onto the hem of his tee shirt. Joel leaned down on you, placing his elbows to either side of your head, but most of his weight rested on you ― suffocating, omnipresent above you.

He couldn’t wait any longer, his hard cock pulsing inside you, so Joel began railing you as if the world was ending. Jackhammering into you, he glued you to the floor, his balls slapping your clit with every pump.

Joel kissed your neck as you stilled under him with no fight left within you.

“Has my sweet little fuck toy finally broken?” he taunted you with a smirk.

You said nothing in reply, not wanting to inflate his ego any more.

A teddy bunny with crosses for eyes stared at you as Joel drilled into you, your body rocking back and forth beneath him with the force of every potent thrust. He was growing harder and warmer inside you, if that was even possible, because you already felt full to the fucking brim. The noises coming from where you were joint like mating dogs sounded obscene, squelching and wet. Sinful.

Your body betrayed you, your pussy squeezing his beating dick tight, as if she didn’t want to let him go. Joel’s nuts would bounce against your clit, adding another layer to it all, breaking your resolution. But you managed to keep your lips sealed shut, your bottom one trembling with effort.

He began pulsing, his girth stretching your burning walls further apart as if they were putty. The way you would mould around him, hugging him tight ― it felt damn wrong. Deliciously wrong. How his flushed cockhead dragged along the soft spot along your anterior wall drove you fucking insane, but still you did not whimper aloud ― would never give him that satisfaction.

And then, suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and on the tipping edge of another orgasm.

“Joel, p-pl-please…” you sobbed quietly, ashamedly.

“Please what, sugar?”

You hated him for making you beg, but your cunt was drenched and throbbing ― your climax had been snatched away from you twice now, leaving you hanging on a precipice that was making you feel lightheaded.

You fought with your mind, not wanting to come but needing to.

Instead of answering, you sobbed through pursed lips, forehead resting on the tiled floor underneath you. Then Joel spanked your swollen pussy lips once and you wailed, the sudden sting flourishing into something else.

“Count out loud,” he ordered.

When his palm landed on your cunt again, your hips bucked up with equal parts of pain and pleasure.

“Two,” you whispered breathless.

His palm fell hard on your puffy skin, and you whimpered, tears welling up.

“Three,” another spank, another wail. “F-f-f-f-f-four…” you stuttered, tears falling off the cliffs of your cheeks.

The last slap was stronger than the others, foully resonating between the walls of the Halloween shop. It stung real bad, but then…

“FIVE!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy gushing as she had never before, and the biggest wave of your life washed over you like a tsunami. The burning sensation flowed up your spine, waking up all your nerve endings, and down your legs curling your toes. Your eyes had rolled to the back of your head, and you were drooling all over the floor, breathing heavily, still trembling under Joel’s watchful gaze.

You would never admit to him that it had been the best orgasm of your life.

Joel rubbed his palm against your sensitive cunt, soothing the harshness of his spanks. Then crouched down to press a few delicate kisses on your bulgy pussy lips, his broad hands coaxing your ass cheeks apart for better access.

His tongue flicked and buried in your wet slit, the tip sweeping from your tender clit to your fucked-out hole, collecting the cream of your arousal in his mouth. His warm breath felt like a balm, your entrance squeezing with unwanted pleasure when he suckled on your clit again. Being eaten out from behind short-circuited your brain, slick heat pooling in your clit again.

Unwillingly, you grinded your cunt on his mouth, chasing another high, silently whimpering. Joel laughed, mouth still on your pussy with hot puffs of air fanning your damp fold.

“What a good little slut you are. But we need to work on your manners, you should be thanking me,” he hummed. “My turn to come.”

Joel came off you, turning you around on the floor so you were facing up. Another denied orgasm and you were close to losing your shit, but you kept the façade from tumbling down.

Then he grabbed your elbow, forcing you to sit up, and pushed your back against the cabinet you had previously hid in. He grounded each foot to either side of you, his cock at your eye level.

“Say ahhh for me, sugar,” he asked darkly, his hand holding your chin.

Looking up at him, your eyes glassy, you shook your head no, pursing your lips together to keep your mouth shut.

“Playing hard to get now, hmm, kiddo?” Joel chuckled, rubbing his slick glans on your lips. “I know you love to suck cock, you little bitch. Don’t deny it.”

The tip of his dick breached your lips and swiped along your clenched teeth, but you didn’t budge. That was until he slapped you, which made you open your mouth automatically. With no free will left in you, you let him slot his throbbing cock between your lips and down your throat.

“If you use your teeth, I’ll break your jaw. Understood?”

Doe-eyed, you glanced up at him innocently and nodded with his dick buried in your mouth.

“Good girl, I’m sure you can take it like a champ,” he chortled.

He held onto the edge of the counter and began rocking his hips back and forth, first gently. You hollowed your cheeks and let him use your mouth as he pleased, the pulsing glans caressing your palate and then your uvula. Lips sealed shut around his girth, you made sure your teeth wouldn’t graze his skin ― your crimsoned cheek still burnt.

Towering above you, Joel moaned, head tilted back and knuckles white. The rhythm of his hips started picking up a relentless pace, his mushroom head breaching your uvula and making you gag while saliva and precum pooled in your mouth, dripping off the corners and landing on your breasts.

It didn’t matter how much you retched, it didn’t stop him whatsoever ― the gurgling sounds just spurred him on even more. Joel fucked your mouth harshly, burying himself as further down as possible, his balls slapping your chin with every thrust. The back of your head banged the cabinet door repeatedly as you fought for air to reach your lungs.

With your hands tied to your back, there wasn't much you could do about the growing ache in the pebbled nub between your thighs. Unconsciously, you rubbed your knees together, aiming for the orgasm you had been denied.

Joel noticed your efforts and felt pity for you. His poor little thing throbbing, pussy used and crying for some more. Feeling generous, he moved one foot between your legs, the tip of his boot notching your bundle of nerves just right ― and that was your cue to tilt your hips absentmindedly, humping his boot while you moaned around his veiny shaft.

“Look at you, so fucking desperate, sugar,” he pressed his boot further into your seam, and you wailed in response. “Should be ashamed of yourself, you fucking brat. Like being used like this, don't ya?”

His degradation, along with your incessant rubbing, was your undoing. Your hole clenched around nothing and a massive bubble of thick slick came down your narrow cavity, wetting the tip of his boot with your white cream, as you climaxed ― cunt pulsing and squeezing uncontrollably.

At the sight of you orgasming, Joel finally came in your mouth with a guttural groan, pinning you against the cabinet, dick pulsing maddingly on your tongue as the white ropes of his hot cum filled up your wet cavity, almost choking you.

Joel looked down at you with a satisfied grin and swept some tears away with his thumb, his cock still plugging your lips.

“You’ve done well for me, kiddo. You haven’t thrown up,” his praise made your eyes perk up, fixed on his brown ones. “As messy as you look right now, you look beautiful with my dick in your mouth.”

He pulled back, freeing your mouth. Before you could spit out his spent, Joel pinched your nose and sealed your mouth with the palm of his hand, forcing you to swallow. So you did.

Tucking away his cock, he then helped you up, veered you around in his arms, and untied your hands, restoring your circulation. As Joel put the belt back on, your pulled up your panties and jeans, then stirred around to face him.

A smile crept up on your face, curling the corners of your mouth.

Joel reciprocated, his sideways smirk making your heart jolt. He bowed down to kiss you, tasting himself in your mouth.

“I love it when you unleash this side of you, when you get rough like this,” you whispered cheekily against his lips. “We should do this more often.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head with fake disapproval, and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re such a good actress. There was a point where I almost believed you, sweetheart,” he admitted, and it was your turn to laugh.

“Was that when I used the safe words?” you taunted, and he nodded.

“Yeah, sorry I got carried away. But you know how much I would love to be the first one to fuck your ass, baby,” he pleaded with you, his hands gently resting on the small of your back.

“Maybe next time and with a bit more prep. But only if you behave,” you promised him, kissing him again.

“I always behave, sugar.”

[hotshotsxyz]

doctor, doctor, give me the news

(buddie) (1.4k words) (8x05 spec) y'all i think i kind of went off with this one

Tommy flinches. It’s a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing that he quickly turns into a playful cringe, but for a second, it was real. It was real and Buck saw it and he doesn’t know how to unsee it.

He pulls his phone out and opens the camera so he can see it for himself, and okay, yeah, it’s not great. But also—they’re both firefighters. Buck’s seen way worse than swollen, red skin, and he’s sure Tommy has too.

“Afraid of the curse now?” he asks lightly instead of voicing the thought.

“Um, yeah, I think you’ve convinced me,” Tommy replies.

Buck squints at his own image. “What do you think it is?”

“Other than a curse?” Tommy asks.

Buck nods.

“Honestly, Evan, I have no idea. Maybe we should call in some back-up.”

“What?” Buck asks, brow furrowing. “Like some kind of curse breaker?”

Tommy snorts. “Like someone with a little more medical training,” he replies.

“Oh, yeah that—that’s probably a good idea,” Buck says. He feels himself flush even redder.

“You want me to call Hen? Or Chimney, maybe?” Tommy asks.

Buck shakes his head. “They’re taking the kids to a haunted hayride today. I’ll text Eddie.”

Tommy’s nose wrinkles a little, and Buck can’t help but wonder which part of what he just said Tommy didn’t like. He types out a quick message.

SOS. curse real. need paramedic diaz asap

Eddie’s reply is almost instantaneous and comes in three short messages.

not a paramedic

and curses aren’t real

I’m on my way

Buck looks up from his phone. “He’ll be here soon,” he says.

“That was fast,” Tommy observes.

Buck shrugs. For a second he considers sending Eddie a selfie, something to prepare him for the not-so-pleasant sight of his face, but he—

He kind of wants to see if Eddie flinches, too.

Eddie’s key turns in the lock and Tommy shoots Buck an odd look. He’d try to parse it, but he’s really starting to feel how much his face hurts and he kind of just wants Eddie to hurry up and fix it. He stands and walks past the stairs in time to see him shut the door.

“Ouch,” Eddie hisses as soon as he catches sight of whatever it is his face is doing now. It’s not a flinch. If anything, he sways forward like he might at a scene. Assessing. Ready to jump in as soon as he’s formed a plan.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Told you I’m cursed.”

Eddie lets out a light laugh. “Mm, I think I’m supposed to be the one making the diagnosis here,” he says.

He ushers Buck to the kitchen table, sets his med kit down, and pulls out a chair for him.

“Gee,” Buck says, “A guy could get used to this kind of medical care.”

Eddie grins. “Doctor Diaz, at your service,” he says, holding out a hand for Buck to shake.

Buck huffs a soft laugh and takes it. “I’ll be a good patient, I promise,” he says.

“Don’t start lying to me now,” Eddie replies, eyes twinkling.

Across the table, Tommy chokes.

Buck drops Eddie’s hand and looks over at him. “You okay?” he asks.

“Mm,” Tommy hums. “Just uh—got some spit down the wrong pipe.”

Buck frowns but doesn’t push it any further. He looks back at Eddie and finds him rummaging through his kit with a pen light between his teeth. He makes a triumphant noise and turns to Buck.

“Alright, let’s see,” Eddie says softly.

He steps into the space between Buck’s legs, and Buck’s brain kind of just—freezes.

“Look up for me?” Eddie prompts, and when Buck doesn’t—can’t—immediately comply, Eddie presses two fingers beneath his chin and guides it up until suddenly the only thing Buck can see are Eddie’s eyes. “Thought you we’re going to be a good patient,” Eddie murmurs.

All at once, Buck’s brain unfreezes, skipping right past calm and into hyperdrive. Because—because—he’s looking at Eddie and Eddie’s thumb is skating across the skin that’s just beneath the worst of the swelling  and Buck can feel it and surely Eddie’s touched his face before except—except—no, Buck’s pretty sure he hasn’t but now that he has Buck’s never going to be able to forget the way it feels because he knows it should hurt, it should, but it doesn’t and he kind of never wants Eddie to stop touching him and that’s—that’s—

“—hurt?” Eddie asks, only Buck misses 90% of the question so instead of answering he hums vaguely and watches Eddie’s face twist in sympathy.

Eddie starts dabbing something on Buck’s face, hydrocortisone maybe, or triple anti-biotic—whatever it is it feels cool and nice and as Eddie concentrates on his task he bites down on his lip and suddenly Buck can’t look at anything else, can’t look at the furrow in Eddie’s brow can’t look at the ceiling can’t—

“You think he’ll live?” Tommy asks dryly.

Buck feels like he’s been doused with cold water.

Eddie’s lips, those lips that he still can’t bring himself to look away from, twitch into a small smile. “Depends,” he says. “Has anyone figured out how to break the curse?”

It punches a laugh out of Buck’s chest, the kind that comes out in a single syllable and with a rush of air. Eddie takes a step back and finally Buck feels like his brain is returning from the stratosphere, back to its baseline level of chaos.

“So—” Buck tries, but it comes out rough. He clears his throat. “What’s uh—what’s the diagnosis.”

Eddie frowns. “Honestly? It kind of looks like spider bites.”

Tommy’s chair clatters back, and when Buck looks over he’s suddenly standing.

“Babe?” Buck asks, but it feels gummy and unfamiliar in his mouth.

“I, um—not a fan of spiders,” he squeaks.

Eddie blows out a soft breath that Buck’s pretty sure only he could recognize as laughter.

“You don’t have to stick around,” Buck says, and he swears he means stick around the loft, but—but—“I’m okay, I’ve got the second best doctor in Los Angeles looking after me.”

“Second!” Eddie exclaims, mock affronted.

“Hen,” Buck replies with a shrug.

Eddie heaves a dramatic sigh. “You’re not wrong.”

Tommy looks between them, a deep furrow in his brow. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll uh—I’ll head out.” He backs toward the door, then pauses as he gets a hand on the knob. “See you tomorrow?” he directs at Buck.

“’Course,” Buck replies, and he’s pretty sure if Tommy had asked him that this morning his reply would’ve sounded soft and sweet to his own ear, but now Buck doesn’t hear much of anything at all.

Tommy nods once, and then he’s gone.

Buck looks back at Eddie, and god, he tries. He tries so hard not to notice the long line of Eddie’s legs where he’s leaning against the table, not quite sitting on it. He tries not to think about that soft curl, the one that makes an appearance more often than not these days, the one that rests against his forehead. He wants—he doesn’t—Eddie’s not—

Buck stands abruptly, except Eddie never did take more than a step back and now they’re practically nose to nose and Buck isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. Eddie’s head tips to the side and Buck—there’s not a thing he can do to stop the freight train that is his imagination, and oh, he can see it. He can feel it.

All at once he’s sure that if Eddie Diaz were to lean in and kiss him—right now, or a year from now, or a decade—if Eddie kissed him, Buck would be ruined in every sense of the word. He’d never be able to kiss another person without seeing Eddie, feeling Eddie, tasting Eddie and—

He wouldn’t want to.

Buck takes a stumbling step back and knocks into his chair, making it clatter the same way Tommy’s had. And fuck, for a second he didn’t even—

“Buck?” Eddie asks, all concern and kindness and wide brown eyes.

“Fine!” Buck says. “I’m fine. You—you, uh—do you want—” Me? Us? Something terrifying and perfect and permanent and “—water?”

Eddie’s brows knit together. “Sure,” he says. “But sit back down. Let me get it.”

“Okay,” Buck breathes. He sinks into his chair.

Eddie grabs two glasses out of his cabinet without even pausing to think and fills them with the Brita he already knew was in Buck’s fridge and snags a coaster that he bought before placing one of the glasses in front of Buck.

“Seriously,” he says, settling into the chair closest to him and leaning forward, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and he’s honest to god not even sure if he’s lying.

[tojisrealwifey]

Crybaby — f. toji (pt. 4)

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: When you realize your husband might still be hung up on his ex-wife.

・❥・requests : rules

・❥・characters: fushiguro toji.

warnings: mdni, 18+, themes of divorce, brief smut, angst but kinda fluff, slight comfort, sad gumi, toji's ex-wife's name is rei.

・❥・wc: 2.7k

・❥・masterlist

・❥・crybaby masterlist

"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Megumi sat slumped in the living room, his mind in turmoil as he tried to process his parents' impending divorce. Toji approached him with furrowed brows, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face.

In a swift motion, he slapped the back of Megumi's head, gently but firmly.

"Why'd you do that brat?" Toji asks in a scolding tone, his fingers rubbing his forehead to show visually how fed-up he is.

"What?" Megumi snaps, rubbing the back of his head, he turns in his seat to reveal his red and slightly swollen eyes to his father.

Toji takes a look at him and sighs, feeling regretful for taking a harsh approach.

"I know you're mad, but you shouldn't talk to your mother about the divorce that way. She's also hurting." 

Toji had returned home and overheard your conversation with Megumi. He waited for you to leave the kitchen and observed as you headed to their bedroom, likely to freshen up in the bathroom. 

Knowing that you would take a moment, Toji took the opportunity to approach his son for a talk.

"I was being honest." Megumi retorts but fails to conceal his guilt, likely feeling ashamed of how he addressed the issue.

"Megumi, it's not your mom's fault. I messed up years ago, and that's why she's acting this way. I made her feel like a stranger in her own home, and I can't undo that pain.

Megumi sat in silence as his father spoke, his gaze fixed on a distant point, but his attention fully focused on his father's words.

"Whatever went down between us, it's not something you need to worry about. But just so you know, even if your mom and I split up, we'll always be there for you."

Megumi's lips downturned as a gesture of doubt, the air heavy with uncertainty.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because she's your mother. The world can end but that fact will never change."

Megumi's eyes gloss over, prompting him to shut them close.

"Your Ma and I can't stay together because it's just breaking her heart more. "

"So you think she deserves better?"

"Yes." Toji answers without a moment of hesitation. Megumi looks taken aback by his quick response but isn't all too surprised.

"...But...what if she actually meets someone and starts a new family? Why would she bother with us after that?"

"Brat, do you really think your Ma would forget you once she meets someone else?"

Megumi falls into a contemplative silence, his thoughts carrying him away for a few fleeting seconds.

You wouldn't do that, he was sure of it. But he had also believed that his parents would never grow apart.

"I know your mom better than anyone else, and I know that you're her top priority, even more than me." There was not a hint of dishonesty in Toji's words.

As Toji gazes up, he notices your arrival in the room. Your eyelashes were still wet, whether from washing your face or crying, he didn't know.

Megumi takes the opportunity to offer you an apology.

"...Sorry Ma, I'm being so selfish. It's just, everything is gonna change now."

You and Toji stared at each other for a moment before you shifted your focus to Megumi. As you walked towards him, you wrapped your arms around his head while he pressed his face against your stomach, silently sobbing into your dress.

"You're allowed to be selfish, Megumi. You're our son." Your voice is so soft that Megumi couldn't help but hug you tighter.

The conversation ended in a heavy silence, with each of them grappling with the weight of their emotions and the changes in their family dynamic.

You and Toji made sure not to let it affect the atmosphere. The two of you cooked lunch as Megumi stood near the kitchen counter, lending a hand every now and then.

The three of you chatted, mostly about Megumi's college journey and eagerly anticipating his upcoming 18th birthday in less than half a year.

He enjoyed the atmosphere, letting the sadness be pushed to the back of his mind. He savored every single bite of the lunch that afternoon.

It was dark outside as your husband and son wordlessly prepared for bed. After the confrontation less than a week ago, you and Toji hadn't been sleeping in the same room. He opted to stay in Megumi's room for the time being.

But with him back, Toji was forced to move back into your shared bedroom. You had just finished brushing your hair and braiding it, as you do every night. Toji walks in wearing his sweatpants, bare on top.

"You don't mind, do you?" He asks you, walking over to his side of the bed. 

There was another pang in your heart, knowing your actions led to this. Your own husband was asking if he could sleep in his own bed. Your husband, who rarely gave a fuck about anyone telling him what to do, was asking for your permission.

"I think we're way past that phase, Toji." You joke, trying to lighten the heavy air. But no laughs follow, so you just nod in acceptance. 

"You don't have to ask, Toji." Taking the brush off your lap, you place it on your nightstand. 

Fuck, he missed you.

The two of you were living under the same roof, yet he missed you. He wanted to pull you in and place a kiss on your forehead like he did every night, but he held himself back another day.

"I'm just gonna go check on Megumi. Do you need anything?" You ask as you get off the bed.

'Yeah, you.'

Toji almost says the words on his mind, but refrains, shaking his head instead. Walking out of the room, your steps slowly lead you to your son's room. Knocking a few times, you wait for an indication to go in.

When Megumi verbalizes his permission, you open the door, watching him fluffing his pillow a few times. Just like his father, he too only wore a pair of sweatpants, choosing to go bare from the waist up. 

"What is it?" Megumi asked, confused as he took a seat on his bed. You shake your head at his direct tone, sighing once.

"Can't I check on my own son?" You ask, hands in fists as your knuckles pressed against your hips.

"You can, it's just I'm really tired." Megumi says, getting under the blanket and pulling the fabric up to his chest. His arms folded under his head, acting as a pillow while he closed his eyes.

You 'aww' at his tired face, walking up to him and sitting down beside his outstretched figure. You place a hand against his forehead, stroking it up towards his hair.

"I know, honey. Your alarms are all off, right?" You ask, your fingers running through his hair comfortingly. Softly massaging his head, you felt him relax under your touch.

"Y-yeah..." He answered, but his hesitation was clear to you, making you question him.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

He falls silent momentarily, before turning to his side, still facing you. His eyes remained closed as he spoke.

"Could you...stay here for a while?" He asks timidly, pushing his head into the pillow. You chuckle at his sudden shyness, giving a noise of approval.

Shifting yourself, you get under the blanket as well, lying down and embracing him with no hesitation. 

He softly fights against your tight hold, but you don't falter, instead attacking his face with small kisses.

"I missed you so much, baby 'Gumi." You cooed, pushing his head into your chest, pampering him with kisses.

Megumi stops fighting back, admitting defeat as he eases into your hold. Although he felt like a child again, he didn't complain anymore, easily lulled to sleep due to your warmth.

You pat his head just like you used to when he was 11 and had trouble falling asleep. Unconsciously you start to admire his features, noting what a beautiful boy he had grown to become.

He was handsome just like his father, although his face was a lot more delicate as compared to Toji. You had no doubt he took after Rei in that aspect.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you think about this irritable situation.

Was Rei watching over Megumi, even in her death? You were sure she was. This felt so unfair, yet so inevitable.

Your mind could no longer distinguish between what was right or wrong, who to blame or forgive.

'I'm sorry, Miss Rei.' You whispered in your thoughts, a heavy weight settling in your chest. 

'I know you wished to be here, to raise your son.' Your head swam with unspoken apologies to the late woman, regrets you could never voice aloud despite never meeting her.

"You're probably cursing me for hurting your son like this. Especially after Toji trusted me too," Guilt seeps into every corner of your heart.

You held Megumi tighter, feeling his form against yours. Your eyes closed, shutting out the world as you sought refuge in sleep, a brief escape from the pain.

'I won't let Megumi feel like this again.' You vowed silently. 

"Nor will I ever blame Toji for something he has no control over. That's my promise to you, Miss Rei. So please, rest easy."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unseen in the darkness, as you clung to Megumi, hoping your love could somehow fill the void left by his mother's absence.

"Toji...~"

Toji starts to stir, warm breath wafting against his cheek. He doesn't startle awake, but when he does open his eyes, your silhouette greets him.

It was dark, yet he could make out your features. Toji moves his arms almost on instinct, placing his hands on your waist, only to be met with your bare skin.

Toji, coming to his senses now, could feel your nakedness against him, breasts pressing against his chest, legs on either side of him as you lay on top of him.

He lets out a hiss, finally becoming aware of his sensitive cock that touched your folds. You let out another quiet moan against his cheek, placing a wet kiss to wake him up.

"Fuckkk [name]...It's so fuckin' early Ma." His hand smooths over your lower back, urging you to push your cunt down on him.

"Hahhh~ missed you, Toji. Mhmmm~ m-missed this..." You placed kisses against his jaw making him shiver. The coldness of the room finally hit him, realizing his sweatpants had been removed, as opposed to just taking his cock out like he had originally thought.

You slide back slightly, the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. You sit up, ass meeting his lap as you sink down on his length.

"Ohhhh~"

"Shiiiit~ You're so warm, babe." Maintaining your movements, your hips grind against his occasionally. Your thighs were already aching from lifting yourself and settling down.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

Keeping up this pattern, knowing when to clench, fingers toying with Toji's chest, playfully pinching his nipples, his fingers in your mouth, biting down to contain your moans, pussy snug around him, taking him raw in the middle of the night.

Fuck.

You were perfect.

The jiggle of your breasts, flushed face visible in the moonlight, drool spilling from your mouth and down his arm, his other hand gracing your waist with its warmth, your slick forming a ring around his cock.

It was perfect.

But not real.

Toji didn't jolt awake, but his hand came to hit hard against his head in frustration. Wiping his face to get rid of the accumulated sweat, he sighs in defeat.

Eyes still closed, he uses the same hand to feel the area beside him. Opening his eyes, he noticed your side of the bed still empty.

You didn't return?

He checks the small digital clock on his nightstand, eyes glancing over the blaring white numbers.

2:14 AM

He sighs. He caught himself early tonight.

This was the fourth time this week he had woken up after a wet dream about you. This started the day he walked away from you that night and camped out on the couch. 

It wasn't like he had never had a wet dream that consisted of you, but it was never consecutive, and...you were always there to take care of him.

After the confrontation that night, he fell asleep in distress, thoughts revolving around you and only you. He wasn't surprised to have a dream like that.

That was night one.

After having to clean himself up in his son's bathroom (since you were there in their shared room) he decided to just sleep in Megumi's bed, considering it was better for his back. He wasn't getting any younger

On night two, he had the same dream of you riding him, and although he woke up immediately, it was too late as his sweats were already soiled.

They say the third time's the charm, right?

Wrong.

After dreaming of taking you in their car, he climaxed instantly and almost punched himself after he woke up.

However, by today, the fourth night, he had become aware of his consciousness, forcing himself awake.

Turning on the lamp, he spares one look at his sweatpants, just in case, before going on the quest to locate you.

One leg follows the other in getting out of bed, his feet making a subtle 'thud' against the floor with every step. The soft sound was loud in the quiet night, but he continued, making his way to the only place you could be. Megumi's room.

He turns on the hallway lights and notices the door to Megumi's room slightly ajar. He softly pushes the door open wider, the yellow lights of the hallway flooding into the room in the form of a beam.

The beam of light was directly painted over his wife and son's sleeping figures. Your and Megumi's breaths were synchronized, snoring simultaneously. 

The two of you were clinging to each other, and Toji almost had the urge to chuckle at his son's actions, arms wrapped around your waist tightly.

If Megumi knew of this, he would likely dig a hole and climb in, hoping to vanish from existence. 

Something like this was so unlike Megumi, and this is what made Toji realize how his careless words were probably going to ruin this.

Because of bringing up a divorce, his son might never feel the love of his mother again. And nor will Toji.

"I'm sorry, Megumi. But there are complexities... things you're not aware of." "Tell me! Maybe I can help!" "No. It's something only I can fix. But, my heart just isn't ready for it."

No. It wasn't something only you could fix.

He made a mistake. That much was obvious to him, but he underestimated just how many people this could affect, where initially his intention was to be the only one hurt by this.

Instead of walking away, he should have comforted you properly. 

Instead of giving you 'freedom' in the name of divorce, he should have assured you.

Instead of wanting you to find someone better, he should have been the one to better himself.

Rei. He missed her. He loved her. Rei was a part of his life that could never be changed. She showered him with love, gave him a son, and showed him light in the sad dark he thought he could never escape. 

But she was gone, leaving Megumi in her place to keep him out of the darkness that threatened to drown him every waking second. 

So, He held on. For Megumi. He held on when he was shamed by his family. He held on when his family threatened to take Megumi away. He held on when he was on the brink of living on the streets. He held on to provide for his son. 

He held on when he didn't understand how school admissions worked. He held on during parent-teacher conferences where he had no idea how to respond. 

He held on when his son's friends were over and he had no idea how to host. He held on when he was around other parents, him being the only single parent. He held on as he saw couples walking happily with their children when he stood alone with Megumi, missing Rei's presence.

He held on. Until he found you. Because you were there to take him in your arms and hold him close, making sure he never fell back again.

And now he failed you.

Rei was a memory that he would never forget, even in his death. He was sure that memories of her would flash before his eyes as he would lay on his deathbed.

But you...

You would be there to hold his hand, letting him know that he died being loved.

He has to show you what you truly mean, but he doesn't know how.

If only his grunt nature allowed him to speak his heart. Well, he'll work hard to prove his love in any other means necessary.

Smiling softly, he steps back and closes the door to its entirety.

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