#(not really...but like...there's a good handful of them!)

[bizarrelovetriangel]

needy.

they joke about you being needy but you take it seriously so you stopped kissing and sleeping with them and suddenly they're not laughing anymore.

mdni. 18+ only. grinding. suggestive but no actual sex. reader enjoys being an insufferable tease <3

sylus.

You pushed him down on the couch and straddled his thighs while one of his hand runs up and down your back, and the other rests on your waist.

He breaks free from your deep kiss with a playful smirk on his face.

"You've been quite needy lately, kitten."

You paused.

Needy?

"Oh."

Sylus froze as soon as he saw the lack of amusement on your face.

"I didn't mean — "

"No, you're so right." You suddenly got off his lap and expertly dodged the hands that attempted to catch you and pull you back down. "I really should calm down, shouldn't I ?"

"No — "

"That's such a great idea, Sylus." you smiled and pinched his cheek. "Let's do something else instead. Let's make cookies!"

That was the start of Sylus' awful week, when he didn't get to touch you at all.

No hand holding.

No hugs.

No kisses.

No sex.

Sylus thinks he might actually go insane.

But he can't lose your game so easily.

He'll toughen up if he must.

He lasted years without you and he had successfully kept his distance from you, no matter how difficult and tempting, until the time was right.

His patience and self-control are not to be underestimated.

He'll be fine.

That's what Sylus keeps reminding himself every time he gets the urge to hold you. Every time his eyes fall to your lips, he tells himself that he'll survive without them.

You're trying to punish him for calling you needy, but he won't give in.

He'll wait until you give in.

It's more fun that way.

Okay, so this is harder than he thought.

It's day two and he's already weak on the knees from the very moment you walked out of the bathroom wearing the dress for tonight's date.

Sylus watched you put on your heels, flashing him a part of your thighs while doing so, and he wanted to run a hand on it to feel your smooth skin.

"Sylus?"

He blinked out of his trance to realize you just asked him a question. "What was that, sweetie?"

"I was asking if it'll be cold in the restaurant you chose, so I can know if I should bring a jacket or not."

He shook his head. "You'll be just fine."

That was a total lie.

It turned out to be cold as your table was specially reserved at a rooftop of a building.

However, it just so happens that Sylus has a jacket and the cold wasn't affecting him, so he was able to give it to you.

With a grin on his face, Sylus pulled your seat right next to his and gently put the jacket around your shoulders, making sure his fingers brush against your skin even if it's only for a second.

"Thanks." as you gave him a smile, you slightly moved closer to his face. "I feel much better now."

Sylus made the mistake of looking at your lips. Without much thought, his head tilted down and his nose grazed yours before aligning your lips.

"Wow! This wine is so good! Try it!" You shoved your glass of wine to his lips before scooting your chair back to its initial place, a couple of feet away from him.

Sylus almost choked on the alcohol but gladly accepted your offer. He put his lips on the same spot that had your lipstick stain on it.

At the very least, he got to enjoy an indirect kiss that should keep him satisfied for the rest of the week.

Or so he thought.

Day four.

The frustration has gotten to Sylus.

It's like owning the world's most valued weapon yet not being able to use it.

He can look, but he can't touch.

It's much more difficult than he thought.

Especially when you're doing everything in your power to make him cave in.

Well, technically, you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Right now, all you're doing is hitting the punching bag in the exact way that he taught you, but the way you look at the moment is making him want to grab you and pin you down — or you can be the one to pin him down. It doesn't matter to him. All he wants is his body to be pressed against yours.

Sylus quietly growled under his breath.

He clenched his fist and started to hit the other punching bag, hoping to take away some of the tension burning inside him, particularly inside his shorts.

You tilted your head and watched curiously as Sylus' punches to the sandbag has gotten heavier, leaving such satisfying sounds at the impact.

"Whoa! So good! You look like you're getting ready to beat up some real nasty bad guys. Did anyone piss you off or something?" You picked up the clean towel nearby and held it up towards his face to wipe the sweat on his forehead. "You do look tense lately."

Sylus' left hand suddenly caught the one you're using to wipe his face. "You're a vicious little kitten."

He gave your hand a kiss before stepping back and patting your head before walking out of the room and leaving you alone.

"Hey, where are you going?! We haven't sparred yet!"

"Shower." He looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. "Would you like to join?"

You almost agreed in a heartbeat.

But you have to stay strong.

"Nope, I'll just stay here and keep practicing so I can kick your ass the next time we spar."

Your own answer only disappointed the both of you.

Day seven.

You and Sylus went out for a ride on his newest motorcycle at night, on the empty, spatious roads of N109.

It was the worst idea of all.

As the one that's manipulating the vehicle, you're the one sitting at the front and you took advantage of the close proximity by pressing your ass right against his crotch.

Sylus had to concentrate on making sure his grip on your waist doesn't hurt you, with the way his body had gone stiff. Every part of him.

Every bump on the road slammed your hips against him and he had to hold his breath every time. His pants became tighter and tighter by the minute, and his breath had gotten unsteady.

He was sweating throughout the entire ride.

And once you finally made it back to his place, Sylus' patience finally broke.

From the moment you got off the motorcycle, Sylus quickly removed his motorcycle before taking off yours.

As soon as your face was in clear view, before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sylus' left hand caressed your jawline before locking his lips with yours.

Your eyes widened with surprise, though you didn't waste a precious second to kiss him back and pull him close by grabbing onto his shoulders.

Sylus didn't dare to pull away until he was out of breath. Even then, he'd only stop for a second before diving back in like a starved man.

Every time you'd pull back to gasp for air, Sylus would come after your lips and slip his tongue between them to capture yours.

"You win." he huffs in between kisses while your hands run through the strands of his hair. "I yield."

"Heh?" you can't help but grin. "What are you talking about? What are you yielding for?"

"Don't play innocent, kitten. You know what you've been doing." He tapped your forehead as you laughed. "I won't call you needy ever again, so if you could stop teasing me, I'd greatly appreciate it." he whispered against your ear before kissing it softly, "I don't know how long I can keep holding back."

"Since you learned your lesson...." you pressed your lips under his jaw. "You don't need to hold back anymore."

That was all he needed to hear.

Sylus wrapped your legs around his hips and kept you up against him as he made his way into his bedroom.

zayne

You're drawing random patterns with your finger on Zayne's bare chest as you cuddle with him when suddenly, he made a lighthearted joke.

"Your libido has been rather high lately. Based on my record, your premenstrual syndrome symptoms shouldn't be showing up for another two weeks."

You looked up to see the playful grin on his face.

"Oh, is that right?" you huff. "Must be my diet or something. No worries, I'll fix it."

Zayne blinked with confusion. "Huh?" But he received no more response for an explanation as you closed your eyes and drifted oft to sleep.

It was only until the very next day when he realized his mistake when he received absolutely zero kisses.

He was quick to figure out what brought on such an evil scheme.

"Oh, no..."

Day three.

You stopped by his work to join him for lunch, just as he requested.

Zayne observed that you're not angry with him and you have no problem spending time with him. You act normal for the most part. The one big change with your behavior is that you refuse to give him any physical affection.

You didn't even give him a hug as you greeted him.

It feels strange. It's like he's forgetting something as important like his wallet or his car keys.

"Are you punishing me for what I said the other day?"

"What you said the other day?"

"You know... about your high libido...."

He could've sworn a vein popped out from your forehead just now and he does his best to suppress a smile of amusement. He's already in trouble. He doesn't want to dig his grave any deeper.

"Nope! I don't care at all!"

Despite the words that came out of your mouth, you continued to make him suffer.

Later that day, you met up aftet work to drink milk tea while taking a night stroll around the city during such a lovely weather.

The way you were smiling the whole time made Zayne want to hold your hand and keep you close to him.

And yet, you were constantly moving around so much, either on purpose or due to all the sugar from your drink, so he ended the night feeling somewhat emptyhanded.

He hasn't realized until now just how much he enjoys even the little touches you grace him with.

Day five.

You and Zayne attended a formal event.

It's a banquet for the hunters association and you were obligated to come, and he was your date, so you two dressed up nicely to follow the dress code.

Although, if he was being honest, Zayne wishes you two are still in your apartment, where he can have you all to himself.

Ever since he had come to your home to picked you up, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. And throughout the event, he has been rather... uneasy.

As you're eating dessert, Zayne can't help but imagine tasting it from your lips. It has been days since he last kissed you, and he needed to be reminded of your sweetness.

He needed to feel the warmth and softness of your skin underneath your dress.

Zayne lets out a shaky breath before loosening his tie.

It seems that the room suddenly feels hot.

Or maybe it's just his racing mind and heart and the blood rushing down below his hips.

"Zayne, are you okay?"

You scooted your chair closer to him so that your legs are touching. You faced him and put a hand on his forehead.

"You feel warm. Are you sick?"

Zayne lets out a laugh that was half-nervous. "Are you teasing me again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just worried about you."

He detected from your tone that you are indeed teasing him.

On the drive back, Zayne was clutching the steering wheel as his mind continues to race, imagining all the things that he'd been wanting to do with you. Sitting still became difficult with a bulge rising through his pants.

But yet again, he ends the night without a single touch from you.

And Zayne has decided, he'll never joke about anything ever again.

Day six.

On his day off, Zayne had taken you out for a picnic and the torture continues.

Whenever you two have a picnic, there's lots of cuddling involved. This time, there's none at all and there's the Happy Snowman plushie sitting right between you two as a barrier.

You two are playing kitty cards and Zayne seems to be on top of his game today.

After all, he had a special proposal.

"Whoever wins must do something that the winner wants."

It's a simple but classic prize that no one can ever resist, so you gladly accepted the challenge thinking you'd easily win.

But Zayne's focus is unshakeable.

He's consecutively dropping assist cards to take away your points, and somehow he's stocking up all the sixes.

He won't even let you switch cards by acting cute. That's how serious it is right now. The stakes are high.

After six rounds, Zayne comes out as the winner.

"How could this happen?!"

Zayne chuckles at your dramatic cries, aggressively shaking Happy Snowman as if it was the one responsible for your loss.

Unfortunately for Happy Snowman, it's Zayne's turn to have your attention.

Zayne snatched the plushie out of your hands and set it aside.

"Darling, it's time for me to claim my prize."

You sigh and bowed playfully. "Yes, yes, congratulations for being crowned as the King of the Kitties. What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

Zayne smiled and gently held your chin with his fingers before guiding you to look up so you can lock gazes.

"Kiss me."

Your mouth drops at his request, face immediately heating up.

"Oh."

He found a way to end your silly little game.

He really is a clever boy.

"Your wish is my command~"

At last, you stop holding back against your urges and brought yourself on his lap.

Zayne eagerly welcomes you into his arms and wraps them around you tightly, making sure you don't try to escape.

His lips meets yours with desperation and his hands slides down to your thighs, encouraging you to sway your hips back and forth.

Between the deep and heavy kisses, he mutters, "I joked about you being needy yet here I am, being the needy one. But it's all your fault. Are you going to take responsbility for it?" Zayne pressed you down against his hips to let you feel just how hard he is for you.

"...should we end picnic early?"

"We should end picnic early."

caleb

You stumbled into his room while removing his shirt and almost tripped on his feet as you reached the bed.

"What's the rush, Pip-squeak? And here I thought I was the needy one."

Your hands come to a halt.

"What did you say?"

"I said there's no need to rush, I'm not going anywhere — "

"No, you just called me needy just now."

Caleb chuckles at your furrowed brows.

"I was joking, Pip— what are you doing?" you picked up his shirt that you dropped on the floor and threw it at his chest before walking out of his room.

"Gonna be needy all by myself in my room. Goodnight."

"Wha — hey wait!"

It's too late. You stomped your way into your own room and Caleb is left all alone with a boner that remained standing until his mood died down.

Caleb sent you a bunch of stickers, hoping you'd come back beside him. Sadly, you ignored all of them and he was forced to sleep with a cold, empty bedside.

The next day, Caleb woke up early and prepared breakfast for the two of you as usual. You came out of your room and lazily greeted him a good morning, so he was relieved to know that you weren't really mad.

But once he tried to kiss you on the cheek after giving you a cup of coffee and you blocked his lips with the palm of your hands, he learned that he's not completely off the hook just yet.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No kisses."

"What?! Why?!"

You almost laughed at the way his face shifted, looking like a little boy who'd gotten his favorite toy taken away.

"Because. I don't want to seem needy."

"Come onnnn, it was a joke! I'm sorry!" he tried to embrace you from the back but you stood up and moved away.

"Wow, look how nice the weather looks today!" you exclaimed as you look out the window, admiring the clouds of Skyhaven.

Caleb pouts at the way you deflected him.

Knowing how you behave whenever you're being petty, he has to brace himself for the worst few upcoming days of his life.

Day two.

The pout hasn't left his face.

You two are working out together at his home gym and he's pouting as he's doing push ups.

You're not even sitting on his back and motivating him to do more reps. You're just doing your own sets of excercises in front of him while pretending he's not there.

"Pip-squeak, look. I'm doing push-ups with one hand."

"...."

"Now I'm doing push-ups with just one finger!"

"..."

No matter what he did to grab your attention, he just couldn't get you to look at him.

But what if....

"Whew, it's so hot in here."

Caleb took off his shirt and threw it aside.

He tries not to grin as he caught you sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

Now, he'll do pull-ups on the bar right in front of you.

Or at least, that was the plan.

His shirt was thrown back at his chest just like the other night.

"Caleb you dummy. You'll get cold."

You walked out of the room and he was back to pouting.

Day four.

You went back to Linkon at Monday morning. Caleb couldn't believe he lasted four whole days without getting a single kiss from you. He didn't even get to hold your hand or pat your head.

The lack of physical affection and intimacy should be nothing to him since he always had to hold back from acting on his feelings for you. He was willing to wait forever for you.

But now that he thinks about it, he'd always been touchy with you.

Even before you were in a romantic relationship, he'd given you plenty of hugs, he'd given you lots of forehead kisses, he'd hold your hands whenever you let him, he'd hold you when you don't want to sleep alone, and he'd even kissed your cheek during the times whenever you pretended to be a couple.

Physical affection has always been a part of your relationship.

Taking it away is like taking away a pilot's airplane.

Well, maybe it's not that drastic but it surely feels that way to Caleb.

Now that he's able to kiss you and hold you whenever he wants, he can't stop. He loves being with you and becoming one with you.

He can't help but seek for your touch.

It's only been a few days but he misses your warmth. He misses how you taste. He misses the sounds you'd make.

Oh, he definitely won't survive for long.

This scheme of yours has to end now.

Day five.

You got a good jumpscare when The Colonel showed up at your doorstep at night, in his full uniform and all.

Before opening the door, you peeked through the peephole and took note of his serious expression, just as The Colonel often appears as.

But the scary demeanor vanished the moment you oppened the door.

His face lights up and you're flashed with the warm smile you've used to seeing.

"Caleb! What are you doing here?!"

"I just dropped by to bring you something you forgot at my house. It's pretty important so I thought I'd make a trip to Linkon so you don't worry about it."

You let him in your apartment, trying to recall what you could have forgotten. You were able to get through a long day at work without noticing anything missing, so what could've been that important that he had to give to you immediately?

"What did I forget?"

Caleb dug something from one of the pockets of his coat.

"Ta-da! Here you go~"

Caleb took your left hand and dropped something to your palm.

".....Are you being serious right now?"

A hair clip.

"What? It's something that you use every day, is it not? I know you were probably feeling weird without it. You're welcome."

"...I leave this behind on purpose. I always use it whenever I'm at your house, every time I'm doing my hair. It was meant to stay there."

Caleb laughs and scratches the back of his head. "Oh, my baaaad, Pip-squeak. Ah, but since I'm already here, might as well have dinner together!I'll help you cook~"

He removed his hat and coat before entering your kitchen. You're in the middle of making dinner too, so he somehow arrived perfectly on time.

You should've known he came in with a mission.

As he goes around the kitchen, he does everything possible to accidentally touch you.

He'd lightly bump into you and touches your shoulder as he apologizes.

His hand brushes against your waist to move you aside so he can pass by.

He stands behind you and reaching over you so he could get some containers on the cabinet, making sure to grind his hips against your ass just for a brief second.

Eventually, you found yourself cornered against the fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinnner." you glare at him and he was quick to give you a pout. "...And trying to win your attention because you've been so mean to me by neglecting me."

"Neglecting?" you tilted your head. "But I thought I was being needy."

Caleb groans before completely losing his patience.

He pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry! I won't say it again! Please don't punish me anymore I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry — " his embrace starts getting tighter at every word, making you cough dramatically.

"Jeez, alright fine! I get it, now let me go — "

"Never!"

Caleb lifts you off the ground and nuzzles his face against yours. "So soft and so warm ~"

"Caleb, the pot is boiling!"

"The pot can wait. I'm busy."

"Caleb — " the sizzling noises from the stove forced him to jump away from you.

"Okay I'm coming!"

rafayel

"You don't need to be so needy cutie, I'm not going anywhere~"

You pulled away from his kiss and raised a brow at him. "Needy...?"

Rafayel's eyes widen as he realized what he just said. "I — I was just joking!"

"Right..."

You laughed along but five minutes later, the kisses suddenly stopped and your attention shifted to your phone to play a silly game (one that he recommended to you in the first place).

Rafayel didn't think much of it. He was able to cuddle with you as the two of you fell asleep that night.

But once he woke up, things started to seem weird to him.

As you left to go to work, you didn't give him a kiss. You always give him a kiss. You rushed out of the studio before he could even remind you about it.

He didn't get to see you for the rest of the day because the Wanderers robbed him all of your time and energy.

At the very least, he was able to videocall with you and chat with you about how your day went. Though, seeing your sleeping face made him wish he was next to you so he could comfort you and ease your exhaustion.

Day two.

You joined him for a stroll at the beach and helped him collect some shells. He tried to hold your hand but you not-so-subtly moved away from him.

The face he made was worthy of a drama actor award.

"Are you worried I'd give you a virus? Come here, cutie, I'm perfectly clean. I just took a bath an hour ago."

"No no, just don't wanna seem clingy, that's all."

Rafayel took a moment to figure out what prompted that response.

"Waaaait, you're not really mad about me calling you needy, are you? It was just a joke, Miss Bodyguuaaard..."

"Mhmm."

Rafayel sighs as he realizes you're going to prolong this cruel revenge of yours just a little further. It's good that you're not really mad, though he can't help but pout about it.

He had to walk through the beach with you so close yet so far from him, and his hands have never felt so cold and lonely.

You don't even always hold his hand, as sometimes collecting sea shells require all hands available, but now that he's aware of your punishment, he can't help but notice that he really loves holding your hand and giving you little kisses.

Without them, his day feels incomplete.

Day three.

You showed up at Rafayel's art exhibition and he's acting like you just dumped him.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to show up today, Miss Bodyguard. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

He showed you one painting that you haven't seen finished until now.

"This is inspired by the gaping hole in my heart because my beloved has left me."

Trying not to laugh, you flicked his forehead. "Your beloved saw you this morning for breakfast and watched you get scolded by Thomas because you weren't ready for your event on time."

Rafayel huffs. "Well, I would have woken up early and would've been prepared on time if only I went to sleep early. But I couldn't sleep early because my beloved is being mean to me and won't let me kiss her."

"Weeeell, that sucks for you." you patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna go check out that lovely painting over there. See you later."

Rafayel followed you the entire time, walking so closely beside you so his hand would constantly brush against yours.

Once you reached an empty room, he stood right behind you and put a hand on the wall next to the painting that you're admiring.

His lips brushed against your ear after taking a whiff of your neck. "This perfume... it's the one that I really like..."

It was indeed the scent that makes him act like a cat that's high on catnip. You wore it on purpose, solely to get the reaction that he's giving right now.

Rafayel's lips brushed against your neck like a feather, testing the waters to see if you'd push him away.

So far, you do nothing but stare at the beautiful painting he worked months on.

His right hand landed on your stomach and gently nudged you back so that your body is right against his.

His kisses grew a little bolder, lingering on your skin a little longer.

But then, the sound of footsteps coming close forced you to spring away from him.

You held back a grin at his red face.

"This has been a wonderful exhibit, Sir Rafayel. Thank you for the tour."

"...Hmph..."

He crossed his arms and looked away, trying to calm down his racing heart.

Looks like his body craves for you more than he realized.

Day four.

"I got here as fast as I could! What's the emergency?!"

You slam the bathroom door open to find Rafayel chilling in his bathtub, naked body submerged in warm water mixed with pink foamy soap.

"...."

"Oh, good, you're finally here." Rafayel sighs with relief. "Miss bodyguard, you have to help me. I slipped from a paintbrush earlier and hurt my right arm, so I can't move it around easily because it hurts. Will you help me with my bath?"

"How did you get in the bathtub in the first place if your arm hurts so much?"

"Don't worry about it, cutie. That's in the past. I like to focus in the present."

You shook your head, though you're unable to hide a smile from his silly yet clever response.

You knelt down beside the bathtub and started petting his head. Right away, he closed his eyes and leaned in towards your touch.

You lowered your hand to his neck and brushed slowly your thumb against his skin just under his jaw, and you caught him gulping nervously.

Next, you slid your hand down to his chest, drawing random shapes between his pecs, causing his breath to stutter.

"But now that I think about it... how does one get help for taking a bath?" you asked. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Rafayel caught your hand before you could even think about pulling away and leave him hard, just like yesterday at the exhibit.

"I just need you... to move your hand... just a little lower...."

Your face heated up at his low tone. His face had turned into a dark shade of red, flushed from the warmth you've made him feel with just a few light touches.

"You better be careful." you whispered, moving your hands down as slow as possible. "With how you sound just now, someone might think that you might be a little....needy...."

Rafayel opened his eyes but didn't move a single muscle. His hand remained on top of yours, letting you wander to wherever you want to.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the needy one." he kept his gaze fixated on you. "I need to have you close to me. I need to hold you. I need to feel you."

Your face burned.

As did the rest of your body.

At last, your hand reached where he needed you to be.

Stiff and twitching, just for you.

Your core clenched as you recall the way he feels inside you.

"If.... if I'm gonna help you take a bath, you better make some room for me."

Rafayel has never moved so quickly.

xavier

Xavier breathes heavily on his bed, face flushed and chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You're lying next to him, equally spent after getting lost in each other's bodies.

"We've been doing it so much lately, I'm starting to feel sore." he says with a chuckle, putting one hand on his neck and shoulder.

"....You're right." you softly tapped on his chest as if to give him comfort. "Don't worry, I'll let you recover. Let's not do anything for a while."

Xavier's eyes widen. "What?! That's that not what I meant — "

You let out a yawn. "I'm sleepy. Goodnight, Xavier~"

"Wait — "

"Goodnight, I said."

Day one.

You had to be joking, right?

You were probably just so tired and blurted out such a hasty statement.

You probably don't even remember what you said.

Xavier didn't forget, though. He couldn't, even if he wanted to.

When he woke up at noon, you were already at work. You made breakfast for him. If you were really upset with him, you wouldn't have cooked anything for him.

So, everything should be fine.

He arrived at work and the very first thing he did is greet you at your station. You're behind your desk, busy with a report on your computer.

"Good morning."

He leaned down to give you a hug. Although you didn't return it, you didn't deflect him.

That means you really were just bluffing. Everything is fine.

"Good morning, Xavier."

Fast forward to a couple of hours later, you two are investigating an abandoned but recently used building that's been raided by Wanderers.

There was a suspicious man on site, so you hid somewhere so that you can observe him for any possible leads.

Xavier pulled you into a room that looks to be a supplies closet, which was luckily clean enough to not contain any foul smell that would make it unbearable for you to hide in.

You stood by the door that's slightly cracked open so that you can keep an eye on the suspicious man.

Xavier stood right behind you with absolutely no space between your bodies. His left hand made its way to your waist while his lips brushes against your neck.

Before he could do anything else, you turned around and covered his mouth with one hand.

"Hmm? What are you — "

"Shhh. We need to be quiet."

Okay, so you rejected his attempt to makeout.

But that was only because you couldn't risk missing out on any leads and had to focus on the suspicious guy, right? That's all. Everything is fine.

Everything is not fine.

He caught you on a conversation with Andrew and you were touching his shoulder. Then you spoke with Simone and you were touching her arm.

But when he talked to you, you didn't touch his shoulder or anything. You didn't touch his hand and you even moved away when he tried to touch yours.

For the final check: the Pocky test.

Once you're back in his apartment after work, Xavier decided to share his last box of Pocky with you.

As you were eating one, Xavier quickly went up to you.

"Wait, let me check if yours is good."

He continued to eat the stick of Pocky until he's closer to your lips.

But then you suddenly pulled back and ate the rest.

"Wah — "

You gently patted his cheeks. "Nice try."

So, it turns out you knew what he was doing and no, you were absolutely not going to give him kisses today.

And so, sulky Xavier makes his return.

Day two.

Xavier decided to get revenge for taking away kisses and cuddles by showing you the most horrifying scary movie on both of your watch list.

You two are sitting on his giant bean-bag chair, sharing a blanket while your eyes are glued to the TV screen, unable to look away at the bloody scene of another character getting ripped apart.

Little did you know, Xavier is mentally cheering.

For every jumpscare, you scoot closer and closer to him. Around halfway of the movie, you're sitting on his lap yet you're too focused on the movie to realize it.

Xavier kept quiet and rested one hand on your thigh, while the other casually shoves popcorn in his mouth.

As the end credits started to roll, Xavier got up to refill your drinks so that you can have more for the next film, which is another horror one.

"Wait where are you going?!" you grabbed his hand before he could start walking towards the kitchen.

Xavier almost laughed at your expression. "I'm just going to get us more drinks. I won't be gone for long. Just sit here and relax."

"You're not scared even a little bit?" you murmured, tightly hugging a pillow. Right now, your brain is imagining the killer in every dark spot of the apartment.

"I'll be fine~"

Five steps forward and he suddenly turns around.

"Are you really that scared?"

He uses his evol to shine a bright light on his face while pulling a silly expression, mocking the one that the killer from the movie wore.

"Ah!"

His plan worked a little too well because now, you can't sleep alone.

"Are you really that scared?" he asked, walking up to the bed, watching you hug Bunbun with your dear life. "We fought Wanderers that are much worse. If you were in the movie, I bet you'll make a good final girl that'll outlive the killer."

He sat next to you and smiled as he put a hand on the plushie.

"Bunbun can go now. I'm taking over his job in protecting you while you sleep."

You gasped as he snatched the plushie and threw him across the room.

"Xavier!"

"Ssshh, I got you."

After turning off all the lights, he laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, with your back against his chest.

The second you closed your eyes, your mind starts replaying the scariest parts of the movies you just watched, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You hear a faint gasp behind you, but you ignore it as you're trying to block off the scary images in your head.

"Ugh! It's no good! I need a distraction."

You turned around to get your phone on the nightstand, but then you come face to face with Xavier.

"A distraction?" he leans close to you so that your noses touch. "I can give you a distraction, if you want."

"....nope, I'm good." you turned back around with a huff. "Don't wanna make you sore."

Xavier laughs and nuzzles his face on your neck.

"I'll remember not to joke about something like that ever again. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"....are you also sorry for making me watch those really scary movies?"

"Well.... not really...."

They were excellent movies, after all. Aside from the scary parts, he could tell you enjoyed it overall.

"At least you're honest."

A few seconds later, Xavier starts to pepper kisses all over your neck and jaw.

"Do you still need a distraction? I can help you get your mind off of anything scary."

You let out a quiet moan as he softly pushed his hips against yours.

"Just focus on me."

From the moment he got on top of you, you forgot about everything — your silly scheme and the horror movies.

Right now, there's only Xavier.

[dante-mightdie]

Reader who finds out plug Simon very much has a girlfriend and has the sinking pit in her stomach Simon is just playing her like a fiddle for her money

Ohhhh this hurts sooooo good give it to me I can take it

c/w: mentions of weed

your friend off-handedly mentioning that they’re always at the local pub together every friday with a few of simon’s mates. the potential of him being taken shouldn’t burn but it does, especially when you thought he was beginning to show interest in you

and sure enough, you find them both there together. you watch them for a while before he finally spots you. watch the way she hangs off his arm in a way you’d be too nervous to do, and the way she whispers in his ear before he pulls out his wallet to hand her some cash for their next round

he only sees the back of your head darting out the door but he knows it was you, and he knows it’s all fucked up, that he’s scared you off proper now

he doesn’t hear from you for a while which confirms his suspicions that you’re upset, even when he goes out his comfort zone to reach out to you first. something he’s never found himself doing with another customer

need anything tonight luv?

got some more of that stuff you liked delivered. put some aside for ya, bird

running low?

if it’s really late, you won’t respond at all. if it’s earlier, you’ll give a polite ‘no thank you :)’ response. after two weeks of you brushing him off with the same three words, you finally give him a different response when he offers another drop off at 2AM

that’s okay, I actually got a new guy whose closer so you don’t have to burden yourself coming to me anymore :) thank you tho!

[thecoochiefairy]

thugga. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.3K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, boyfriend! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, exhibitionism, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 484848489 of liyah’s faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. come back to enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic ofc, just wanted to put something out while working on an upcoming full fic. aight, bye.

link. link.

YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS A DEMON. And the worst part about it? He didn’t even have to try. 

Those eyes—he gave them to you at the worst times, and this was truly bad timing. Your elbow leans against the pink of your desktop, slender eyes drooping against the screen of your alabaster IMAC. You’d been on a work call for the past hour, and you were already feeling irritable, tired—over it. The only upside was being allowed to have your camera off. 

Your fingers rake through the dark ocean of your curls, a huff blowing through your nose as you unmute your mic to respond to your boss. But before you could—Onyankopon entered the kitchen.

You knew him, loved him, seen him enough times to know what he looked like with your eyes closed. You just couldn’t understand why he looked so good right now. He’d currently been in and out of the living room as he was attempting to fix the sink, on the phone with one of his friends to pass the time. But he made something so simple look so—sexy. His deep voice carries within the ceiling as he sends a voice memo, his big tatted frame turning a deep caramel beneath the lights, grey sweats showing off the print of his bulge. Your eyes watch his full lips move, the shadow of his grill melting in gold, mouth surrounded by the facial hair on his sharp jaw as forest  green gloves cover his palms. 

You were supposed to be focused on the main speaker of the call, watching the mouse move along the shared PowerPoint for new renovations within your company—but your eyes can’t help but peer over your desktop, watching him work. 

He’d move to the left, his toned body contorted in a way that made your tongue dry, your thighs involuntarily squeezing into each other. His back flexed taut as he reached under the cabinets, heavy hands twisting the pipes below, continuously talking within his phone atop of the counter. 

It’s when he begins pacing throughout the kitchen, tool box now in his hand and his phone pressed against the shell of his ear, that he catches a glance of you—his eyes locking onto yours. Despite his neutral expression, it’s clear that he’s caught you, and your slender eyes glazing over his body tells him everything going on in your head. He knew you.

You almost forgot your boss had asked you something.

Your voice is soft as you mindlessly reply to the computer, “Uh—no questions, at this moment. Sorry.” 

Your boyfriend's gaze is now on your figure, taking in the soft slope of your waist, up to the thick swell of your thighs and hips beneath your loose shorts. He admired you just as much as you did him, if not more. 

“Come here.” 

That’s all you hear. 

You quickly mute the microphone, your voice soft as you reply, “Ony—not now, baby.”

An eyebrow raises at your words. Head now tilted to the side, his dark eyes roam your figure as you sit at the desk, taking in his jersey you wear, leering at the way he knows your body becomes tense underneath.

“You tellin’ me no?” 

There’a a pause, and your silence speaks for itself. There it is—his eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and that glare comes upon his expression. 

You tried. You really did. But listening might’ve been better than telling him no. The sound of the computer chair creaks beneath you, the tips of your toes just barely reaching the floor as your fingers clamp along the ink branded onto his bicep—your face screws into a pout, your whimpers gaining strength with each bounce on his dick. He’s watching, keeping you at one angle from the way he clamps his palm against the back of your neck, helping you come down.

Your boyfriend was strong, weighted in the right places. Every movement is calculated and precise—a machine. He knew your body better than you did yourself, knew what you wanted even if you didn’t say it—just by the way he’s got you pinned down, legs spread around his lap, one heavy palm against the side of your throat—he’s got ownership of you in moments just like this, when you’re at his hands—his mercy. 

Your brain registers the voices along the zoom call, but your sense is gone in the moment. His hand squeezes at the nape of your hair, your palms finding a resting space on his shoulders as you drop your hips down, a huffing whine passing your lips as your thighs ache in discomfort.

His eyes are glued to your face, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed, the way your eyes roll and thighs tremble around him like a vice— he’s proud about it. Onyankopon’s free hand comes under your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you. Plop, plop, plop—you’re light to him, almost effortless, and he moves you with ease, always. 

You’re his toy for the time being.

The sound your skin makes, clapping against his in a wet applause from the cream that mixes along his tip, has you burying your face within his neck as you quietly mewl, “U—Ughn…” 

It’s embarrassing with the way he can have you whining. There’s a low chuckle from him, the grip on your hip tightening as you can feel his breath against your ear. Your boyfriend's eyes are all over you, taking in the way you cling to him—the way he’s got you shaking in his lap. 

“You’ gettin’ tight, Mama.”

He murmurs to you, “Gon’ head and put your mouth by my ear.”

And you do—your lips drag along the brown of his skin, finding his lobe as one of your hands rubs along his facial hair. Your eyes roll back again as you whimper, “Oohshit,” your gasp sucking between your lips as you keep your body moving.

His hand comes down, a resounding smacking sound as it connects with the flesh of your ass— it’s loud enough that in that moment, you worry that they can hear it through your microphone.

“Don’t get loud,” he grunts, “You bein’ too good for allat.” 

His words were always worse than the pleasure he gave you. It ignited something within you, something filthy, something horny. Something that could have you forgetting you were on a work call. 

They make you bring your head up, pressing your hands along each side of his face, rubbing continuously at his ears—your skin resounds a loud secretion against his abdomen as you bounce yourself with more effort, eyes rolling as you rotate your hips, “Ohmyg-Ony.”

His face contorts into a snarl, and you can see the gold chains around his neck shift in a way that leaves you mesmerized.

He’s gripping your flesh like a vice, fingers sinking into the fat of your ass, pulling you down as he takes your own mouth, biting, biting, sucking on your bottom lip while he thrashes you onto his tip—your folds kiss at his balls every millisecond, your clit throbbing in return. 

“Youn’ even care, you’ goin’ crazy on this dick—my good lil’ bitch.”  

He’s holding you by your throat now, squeezing as he knows you’re unable to stop moaning. Your own palm comes over your mouth, trying to muffle the whimpers and cries that spill through as you can still hear the voices from the other side of that computer, though faintly. 

“Yeah,” he spanks you in reward, “That’s a good look on you, pretty girl. You listenin’.” 

“I love this dick, baby.”

You gasp into his ear, “I love it sooomuch…”

His grip on your neck tightens, and his eyes are on you now—completely. 

“That’s what I wanna hear. You love this big ass dick.”

You’re so horny. Your hands reach for the back of the chair to hold onto, placing your feet onto the sides of Onyankopon as you rock yourself down, eyes peering behind your shoulder to watch the way your ass claps on the way down. You groan, the sight making you go harder by the second.

Your boyfriend's eyes are focused on the way he splits you open, his gaze hungry, like a predator looking at his prey. His palm comes up, hand connecting to your face as he grunts, “Keep bouncin’ on my shit,” the sound loud and firm enough that the voices stop completely from the computer.

“Everything okay over there?” 

It takes everything in you to keep quiet, your hand clamping over your mouth as Onyankopon responds, “Everything’s cool. She ran to the bathroom.” 

“Alright…we’ll get back to it then.”

The other voices faded back into conversation, and the attention was now back to you, your boyfriend's gaze locked on your form.

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

The words are hushed, inaudible compared to the conversation taking place in your headset. He’s not being gentle with you, he never was, and he didn’t plan to start now. He’s just lifting and dropping you on his lap.

“Feels good, huh?” You can see the look on his face, “Soun’ like you wantin’ it.”

“Feelsgood,” you can only cry back in a whisper, you brain firing off babbles as you drag out, “Mmph-shit-ah—,” clamping your mouth shut as you watch yourself—you won’t stop, your legs shake each time the back of your thighs meet with the front of his.

His own thighs are tense to the touch, Onyankopon’s face flushed the same tone as your cheeks, his jaw clenched. 

“Oh—goddamn, look at you,” he’s watching you, too, the way your body slides against him, and the way his grip has your skin painted red. 

He’s groaning, and you can feel the way he thrusts up into you, his hand reaching up to your face, his thumb sliding across the side of your lips. 

“You bein’ good as fuck right now. Just takin’ this muhfuckin’ dick—I’ll kill a nigga behind this pussy.” 

He’s whispering the words into the shell of your ear now, each breath tickling the hairs along your skin. His face is close, so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off of him— you could taste it. 

You whimper so softly to him, “Keep sayin’ that,” bouncing, bouncing away.

He grunts, “You hearin’ me, huh? I’ll kill a nigga bout’ this shit.”

He’s saying it to you like a secret, his hand coming up to your chin, tilting your face towards him.

You frown, tears welling in your eyes as you warm, “Baby—I’m…” you moan to him, pressing your face back into his throat as your entire body vibrates. 

“You finna’ cum, I know. Stay here.” 

Onyankopon’s words are simple, but the command in them is clear. His arms wrap around you, nose pressed into your hair as he huffs, “Stay. Don’t be movin’.” 

It’s easy for him in this position, the way that his hips grind up into you, leaving you unable to move at all. Both hands are wrapped around your throat, keeping you in place as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your body shudders, throat vibrating a moan. Onyankopon’s grip is as strong as it’s always been, his fingers tight enough on you that it’s beginning to make your skin tingle. 

“You close.” 

He’s not asking a question, but telling you so. He can see that you’re on the edge, the way the tears are welling in your eyes, how your thighs are trembling against his. 

You softly sob, voice whiny as tears shudder your vision, “Gimme’ a kiss, Ony.”

“C’mere then. Like you ’suppose to.” 

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a slow, deep kiss. It’s enough to bring another shudder through your body, your own hands grasping at his shoulders in an effort to ground yourself. 

“You got it baby— I know this pussy all for me—Lemme’ feel that shit.”

He’s continuously murmuring against your skin, his hand running down the back of your neck, “Come on now, Mama. You’ right there, I know you’ is.” 

His lips brush over your ear, “Let it out. I’ll listen.”

You gasp, one so deep within your chest you nearly lose your breath. Your toes curl as your body vibrates in violent waves, knocking your face within his as you moan out your sobs, the sound dragging with each syllable of it. Your arms cradle his upper body, shaking so bad that holding onto him keeps you from becoming faint. 

Everything is hazy for a few moments. He holds you against him, arms wrapped tight around you as his lips brush over the side of your face. You’re drenching his tip, thighs soaked from the arousal that slicks along his dick, so wet that you can barely feel him anymore. 

His hands keep you from trembling as he whispers against your skin, “You makin’ a mess all over me, Mama. Pretty ass mess.” 

He’s watching you, taking in the way your face contorts, how your body spasms against him—the way all your words are reduced to nothing but soft sobs and whimpers.

You exhale as you feel your body coming down, keeping yourself held onto him regardless. Your breathing is softer, and your face flushes, a small—embarrassed groan pushing from your lips as you immediately bury your face within his throat.

He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him, a heavy hand running over the back of your hair, fingers brushing through the tresses of it. 

“You gon’ be all shy now?” 

“Ony,”  you pressed your face under his jaw, grunting as you could feel the vibration of his chuckle, “What if they heard me?”

“Then they heard you. Not my fault you’ loud.”

“Onyankopon.”

“You was’ on some typa’ time, girl.”

“Oh my god. I’m logging off.”

You quickly turn towards your computer, clicking on the exit button of the meeting. You slip off of his lap, “Consider yourself a stranger. I don’t know you! Goodbye!” 

You’re already walking towards the bathroom, ignoring his voice as he smirks, “Ooh, girl—Look at allat’ ass—I’m still feelin’ X—Rated! Come back!” 

“No!” 

Onyankopon chuckles, “Aight. Love you too, then.”

[dollbrbie]

thinking about criminal!sukuna’s chain dangling over your face whenever he fucks you ♡

꒰ criminal!sukuna m.list ꒱

it’s one of those nights where sukuna has you in missionary, fucking you with deep and passionate strokes, his hands entwined with yours as he pins them above your head. you get such a good view of his chiseled chest and abs like this with the thick black ink of his tattoos running down his chest and arms. you can really appreciate the beauty of him in this position.

but the one thing that catches your attention the most is the way his golden chain dangles in front of your face as his cock thrusts in and out of your pussy over and over, bottoming out inside of you. it’s so weirdly attractive and you can’t really explain why.

your boyfriend’s eyes meet with yours, his brows furrowed as your pussy squeezes him so tightly and sucks him in with such desperation, “fuck baby.. you’re squeezing me so tight.”, he says with a breathy laugh before reaching down to kiss your lips.

and when he pulls himself back up, that golden chain of his dangling back in your face with every deep thrust, you can’t help but feel your pussy squeeze around his cock again whilst your stomach swarms with butterflies, holding back a smile.

“shit-” he hisses, “you’re gonna milk me dry.”

his thrusts grow rougher and less precise than before as he feels his climax growing closer, your pretty moans egging him on as well as the look of euphoria painted on your face.

you start to feel that familiar hot white pleasure build up in your stomach, your moans growing whinier and needier with every one of sukuna’s thrust. he quickens the pace and his thumb finds his way to your glossy clit to rub tight, frantic circles as he watches your writhe beneath him.

“c’mon, cum with me, baby.”, he grunts, coaxing out that sweet orgasm of yours as your body tingles with pleasure and your back arches.

sukuna can’t help but smile, leaning down again to catch your lips with his as he feels his own orgasm hit him like a truck, continuing to fuck you both through your highs with your lips desperately attached together.

his hot white cum soon erupts against your fluttering, velvety walls, filling you up completely with that familiar warmth of his seed causing you to breathe out a heavy breath.

“you okay?”, sukuna asks through his own breaths, his chest heavy as he rests his forehead against yours.

you smile, nodding, “mhm, yeah.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[rowdydevs]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

new tag list

*new tag list as of 5/8/2025. Please sign up on the link on my pinned

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[uarmygguk]

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ . . . in which he learns you, in a way no other can. it's the intimacy of being understood. of having fate bring you together, and you hold on for eternity.

starring, CEO!jungkook x potteress!oc tags/warnings, an argument, work-time injury and everything in between, explicit content: fingering, use of nicknames like "baby", unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it up), kitchen sex, soft aftercare and confrontation. note, i'm not entirely sure how this is— it's prolly js a pwp, an old piece which i modified a bit. tell me what you feel! feedback motivates me to write more! :3 word count, 2k+ permanent taglist : @ggukivrse @bangatanily @koosluvss @hobiseightbracelet @seokjinthescientist* * - (not able to tag!)

masterlist • taglist

Another miraculously orange morning and you excitedly pace towards the small out-house where you spend half of every day at. You were a potter, one with immaculate skills and rated a whooping five-star among the customers who you attended to. You harbor signature styles and originality in each creation. 

A pretty smile danced across your face as you opened your workstation for the day, setting aside all the pieces that were ready for delivery, drawing the curtains that opened to a sunlit view of the backyard. You have a sip of some freshly brewed coffee, that tasted a bit off, but still the effort counts. 

Jungkook had made you some as soon as you woke up, unusually so, because every morning unfurls into a scene of either him following you around as you help find his keys, or even important files that he was supposed to take care of.

Despite these, he’s always trying to become better. Even the best for you. 

3 years since you vowed to be bound to him for life, under really unforeseen circumstances. Betrayal that still stung in your heart, embarrassment that was hard to wipe off. 

A mistake, or maybe something intentional, you don’t dwell anymore. His brother, Junghoon, who was arranged to marry you, backed out at the last minute and in a haste, Jungkook stepped forward, saving your family’s generational dignity. Binding the both of you forever.

“Good Morning!!” Your husband chimed and opened the door further with a tray of pancakes and maple syrup.

“I wanted to make breakfast in bed, but you wake up so early everyday.” He pushes the door shut with his legs, carefully balancing the food in hand.

You peek further into the tray only to find some pancakes that barely made it alive and the majority completely burned off. You shook your head at his failed attempt in cooking, which wasn't novel.

"Oh lord, you cooked?" You approached him after washing  the clay off your hands and drying them.

"You don't seem impressed.. Do they look that bad, your honor?" He carefully checked the tray in his hold, doe eyes that held the galaxy in them, stared at yours, waiting for a response.

"Okay okay, let's see how it tastes first, then I'll give you the verdict, yeah?" You picked up the fork and dug into the relatively good one.

"It's not bad, I see, you've definitely improved." He presses a kiss onto your temple, feeling victorious as you smile and set the tray aside.

—

"Bye __ !! I'm leaving, see you soon and please take care." His daily reminders pass through your ears once again, as you wave at him with those clay coated hands of yours, a result of the carefully designed pots you're crafting.

You watch him inspect the car, ensuring it's in good condition as always, as his gaze shifts to the window of your workstation, catching yours like a lover's caress, brief and fleeting before driving off.

Your eyes divert back to the small pots you've already made. There were five, but you needed two more to finish with an order. It was for decorating a baby shower venue, so you had extra flowers and ribbons prepared to adorn them once they’re done.

Somehow feeling overwhelmed at the workload and deadlines, you whisper a final “I got this” in attempts of hyping yourself up, before leaning forward and placing the measured amount of clay on the wheel.

The moment you started, however, its sharp blades wounded your hands, and you jerked them back in pain and reflex.

"That.. hurts… where's the first aid." You gaze around the room in such a hurry as it adds to the giddiness in your head along with the blood loss as you somehow manage to get the coffee and gulp it down quickly before tightly tying the cloth you use to wipe your hands, to stop the blood flow.

You did try to finish the order and barely pack them up, before finally deciding to retreat for the day.

___

Plopping down on the couch back at home, you stare at the clock, realizing the time, you quickly rush towards the kitchen in order to prepare something before Jungkook arrives. You were completely focused on work, forgetting to make breakfast in the morning, which ended up in Jungkook's burnt pancakes, so you needed to have something proper for dinner, but with those injuries, it was hard.

Weighing the condition and thinking about what to do snatched away the remaining time, as the sound of Jungkook’s car pulling up into the garage became evident.

"Crap, he's here, what do I do" Nevertheless, you rushed towards the door to open it, only to scrape your injured palm on the coat stand nearby as you hissed in pain, and Jungkook walked in on the sight of his wife holding her palm and wincing.

"Y/N?! What is this, there's so much blood !! Didn't I tell you to stay safe and take care? Is this what I get in return?!" He raised his voice, throwing away his suitcase aimlessly before cradling your hands in his.

"I'm guessing you injured yourself while working,, damn it Y/N why can't you be careful?? If you can't take enough care, then please don't do something you cannot." He blew onto your palm to soothe it down, but you jerked your hands off of his grip and stared at his eyes.

“I’m perfectly aware of what I can, and cannot.” Your glare pierced through his face contorted in a “oh shit I fucked up” expression as his eyes widened further seeing your figure walk off cutting his words, right in front of him.

He shut his eyes tightly in rage, before storming upstairs.

— 

You had to cook dinner anyways and there's no other alternative, thus you managed to set the pan and crack open some eggs, deciding to fry them and finish it off with some cup noodles and chicken.

"Damn this is so hard how do I stir them now" in the end, you had to use your elbows to try beating the eggs, uncomfortably bent over the bowl. Just then, a hand was placed on your waist, straightening your figure up, before taking the whisk in the firm hold of none other than your husband, Jungkook.

"I'm sorry, please let me do this. Go sit down." He apologized and tried to help you, but you wouldn't budge.

"If you wanna eat today, move. I'll manage this." You said, with a tint of hesitation. You needed a helping hand, but your ego was too big to let go.

His breath fanned over the subtle skin of your neck as he bent forward and placed a kiss there, a fresh floral scent wrapping around yours. Like the known, simple assurance of “I got you, baby.”

"Please." He rasped as your hands involuntarily left the whisk as he started with the eggs again, with you still trapped in his arms. 

He gets them perfectly fluffy and ready to be cooked, before pushing it aside as if to make space for something.

Or someone, as his hand comes around you, placing you on the counter with such practiced ease.

“This is why I said I’ll cook and you can wait.” You mumble, but he hears it sharp and clear. 

“Trust me baby, I don’t wanna wait. You know I was just concerned for you right?” He whispers with a genuine apology evident in his voice.

“I know you just wanted to help, Kook. It’s just that.. I just hate… feeling out of control. ” You look down, at his hands on your lap, holding it intact.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, ___. I’m here, and I just want you to be okay.”

“I think I overreacted, a bit?” Your lips morph into a grin, as he rubs his chin in mock-doubt.

A bit.. too much?” He joked, forehead colliding with yours, holding you close, neither of you moving, afraid that this moment would shatter and fade.

You break it, nonetheless into a million pieces and more, clutching the collar of his white shirt just enough to draw him closer. His lips onto yours.

You could feel how he almost stopped breathing, trying to comprehend your new found instinct, the atmosphere shifting heavily.

Regaining composure, his hands slowly began to trace patterns on the sliver of skin exposed through your crop top, yours gripping his shoulders in attempts to bring him impossibly closer. His lips hover over yours in a beat, like a question, as you close your eyes for a second, letting the thoughts sink in, giving him the green light he needed to continue.

He takes your face between his hands then lifts your hand up and places them flat onto the cabinet doors above — all in a frenzy. You don’t care how it might’ve left a mark that you’d have to wipe off later.

All of this, and he suddenly pulls apart, the distance established again between your faces.

“Do you want me to wait? We can take this slow.” He sounded so cocky, and annoyingly hot at the same time.

“Too late.” You bring your hands down, actions biting back on your words as his lips find yours again, like it’s gotten a will of its own, more so at your affirmation. His hands rake over your soft cotton shorts that sit just right on your thighs, slightly hiked up. Rough hands palm through them, just close to where you’re aching the most.

“Y’know, you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad?” The ends of his mouth trace the skin beneath your ears, finding the spot that makes you squirm.

“You’re pushing it, Kook.” You let out a small whimper, goosebumps igniting your senses.

“Hmm, I think not.” His head tips to the side, hands pushing your panties aside, dangerously close, but not touching.

Not yet.

“Pleas..e” You choke out, arching forth, hips twitching against his palm to find some kind of relief. Jungkook traces his fingers through your folds, excruciatingly slow.

“Uh-huh, now you wait, okay?” He brushes another hand through your top, lifting it up to brush the underside of your breasts. Your hands move south, tracing his sweatpants before stroking him faintly through the fabric.

He groans, dark eyes staring into yours, “God, do you wanna be the death of me, baby?” Nevertheless he moved his hands relentlessly, fingers slipping in with absolutely no trouble.

“Yes? I don’t know?” You couldn’t even bring yourself to register anything that’s happening. Desperately wanting to make a comeback but failing at each nudge of his hands between your thighs and the way they curl in, taking you then and there.

His thumb runs in circles on your clit, as the pressure builds in just right, your legs start to shake as you whimper something like “Oh, right there” and he hears it. Again.

“You do know now, huh? Right here? Fuck okay.” And oh how he curls his ring finger in, the cold metal of it adding to the tight knot forming in your lower belly.

And you completely shatter. Shake and thrash around, the sight of your wedding band on his finger that’s absolutely ruining you right now— almost tips you over the edge.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so fucking well.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, letting your orgasm take over, as he lets out a low guttural “uh” that descends to a groan, eyebrows furrowed as he watches you.

“Shit, is this all f’me, darling?” He looked dazed. As if it was all a dream. You falling apart on his hands, back arched, all for him.

“Mhmm” You owed him a better response but you were too fucked out to care. Straightening your clothes, his calloused hands lifted you down, the sudden contact with the cold tiles feeling foreign to your feet.

“Turn around, hands on the counter so I can fuck you better.” 

Your stomach flips at the tone, hands immediately gripping on the edge and in a heartbeat, shorts hitting the floor as he fumbles with his own pants, as you slowly look at him behind, helping him pull it off. 

The eye contact snapped through your spine like a bolt of lightning.

“What? I just wanted to help.” You shrug.

“Fuck, if you pull shit like this, I fear I won’t last long.” He shuffles closer, angling your bodies better, sweaty palms pressing onto the back of your neck.

“I should take you to bed, fuck you deep and slow,” you arch back, growing arousal becoming too much to handle, seeking some sort of friction on his cock that’s almost touching your wet folds.

“What’s stopping you then?” You reach back to palm him, from the tip, upwards as a broken chant of your name rumbles through his chest pressed against your back, the heat of the moment leaving your bodies sweaty and craving for more.

That was more than enough for him to come out of the daze your figure— sprawled out under him on the kitchen counter— put him in as hands covered in your slick from earlier pushed your torso down flat onto the counter.

“I’m so fucking glad I married you. I love how you’re always all ready for me, just like this.” He lines up behind you, sliding inside without friction.

“J-jungkook, you’re so-” He fills you up, raw and deep like promised, hips thrusting confidently, hands probably leaving a mark on your ass with a grip so tight.

“You’re soaked, love. So pretty, fuck.” He slurs, your cheek rubbing against the counter every time he fucks into you.

All of this puts you in a state of mind too unclear, hazy, your whole body giving in to whatever he’s doing to you, and you feel it, all too familiar. His hands reach forward, rubbing your nipples through the tank top still clad on you, the rhythm never faltering as he brings you closer to the edge again.

“I can feel you, baby, tell me how badly you wanna cum ‘round me.” He slows down a little, breath hitching with each slow brush of his dick in you.

“Please, Kook, More- I need to- fuck please let me cum please.” Your eyes shut close, squinting at the feeling of the high that’s approaching fast. This was something new… real, for you in just a year of marriage. Like you’re becoming one.

“Need it so bad, don’t you?” He picks up again, ramming into you with a force that has your hands almost bruising with the grip on the edge of the table. 

“Take it then. Take me, you’re d-doing fuck, wanna feel you, let go, ___” palming your ass, his thumb comes in contact with your clit, and all too sudden, “I’m- Jungkook I can’t ohgod- fuckk”  like he said, you let go, around him in the most intense orgasm of your life.

“You feel so f’good.” He helps you ride it out while chasing his own high, as you let out a weak shivering cry at the sensation.

“Do you want me to pull out?” His voice was fucked up, the sentence forming in a half-growl as you disapprove, making him mumble a string of profanities and a broken moan, which was all it took for hot ropes of cum to fill you up completely. 

“Oh my fuck, love, do you feel that?” He stills and exhales a shaky breath behind you, that hits the nape of your neck as he plants a few kisses there.

“Are you okay, __?” 

“Hmm stay, please.” You say, too tired, completely basking in the afterglow.

“I’m going nowhere, but we gotta clean up, yeah?” He pulls you up, holding you close to keep you on two feet, kissing your half-lidded eyes open.

“Stay awake, we’ll hit the bed soon okay? C’mon.”

____

The low hum of the aircon and the soft scent of your shower gel filled the room, head resting on Jungkook’s arm around you, as his other arm continued to soothe the wound in your hand with brief touches.

“I’m sorry for storming out like that, I couldn’t complete the order and everything was just out of place.” You intertwined his fingers with yours, which never seemed to leave the bandage on your hand.

“It’s okay, what matters is we learnt something about each other today.” His eyes, however, remained zeroed in on the wound as you shake your head with a light chuckle. 

“I’m fine, Kook. Don’t push it.” You look up at his face that now carried the same lopsided grin from earlier. Annoying, but yours.

“Yeah, sure, who was the one begging to cum on my- ouch!” You swat at his chest, narrowing your eyes at his laugh that echoed through the room.

He hovers over you, pressing a long kiss to your lips, the smile never fading.

“We’re just starting with this relationship, and I'm more than ready to learn everything about you. Are you?"

"Yes I am." You kiss him again, feeling whole. Feeling like you’re his. 

I'm ready to learn everything about you, was the new "I love you". 

[strkly]

honey

s.m: after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

robert ‘bob’ reynolds x fem!reader

w.c: 4.8k

c.w: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of drugs/drug addictions, reader (zero is your hero name) is apart of sam’s team with gravity related powers, bff bucky, you’re exes, the new avengers are chismosas, walker is an asshole, dialogue heavy, not proofread sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes!

a.n: i cried like six times writing this i love bob so much my chest hurts might make a part two but im not sure yet

"bucky are you fucking with me?”

you stare blankly at the tower you had thought was abandoned when you and the rest of the team basically disbanded but the new A sign and the construction trucks littered around the area and tower told you otherwise.

“shut up come on up you’re already cleared for entry.”

you couldn’t believe this was happening. the mission you were recently placed on just so happened to leave you disconnected from society for a few months. bucky, your long time friend, was the first person you were interested in seeing and he agreed. when he sent you his location you merely thought he was pranking you but as you walk inside the building and hit the familiar button to the top of the tower it dawns on you he’s really not joking around.

when the elevator door opens he’s waiting there for you putting away his phone and smiling at you. “look who it is huh” you grin, the sight of your friend warming your heart, you rush towards him and throw your arms around him happily, burying your head in his neck. “i missed you jackass.” “yeah yeah missed you too.”

what you dont notice is the four people all at the bar looking at the scene in what could only be described as horror. “what is happening?” yelena whispers to ava who only shrugs unable to take her eyes off of the strange display.

when you pull away and the two of you begin to exchange a few words the group notices walkers eyes widen in horror upon seeing you and he attempts to push himself out of your line of sight. before any of them could question him the seemingly peaceful conversation between you and bucky turns hostile as you punch him across the face.

“you’re gonna tell me what the hell is going on right now!” alexei ava and yelena all exchange a look before they continue to eat the popcorn they had been snacking on and watching the two of you silently.

“what the hell is this? new avengers? what the fuck are you talking about? and where the hell is sam?” bucky glares at you as he cups his cheek, “can you just listen to me?” you throw your hands up and walk past him standing in the middle of the space not even noticing the group of people as you keep your gaze on bucky. “once you start making sense i’ll listen! god forbid i leave for a couple months and suddenly you’ve join some newly formed avengers team without! sam! who even are these people anyway...” you turn away from him and face the bar without even knowing youd be face to face with the majority of the team.

you scan each of their face one by one as your confusion grows until you land on him. your face drops into a blank stare as walker forces a smile on his face, “zero! hi! so good to see you.”

you say nothing as your head slowly turns towards bucky whos face had already twisted into a grimace knowing what you were going to say. they watch as your hand goes up and buckys body flies towards you, your hands wrapping around his neck. “james bucky barnes you will tell me what the hell is going on, right now!”

the four of them can only stare speechless as the two of you talk over one another, the anger twisted all over your face as bucky attempts to defend himself in strangled breaths. none of them could believe the sight in front of them other than walker who seemed like he had expected this to happen. you had seemed familiar to yelena and now that she saw your powers it had clicked. code name zero, you had been working for the old avengers behind the scenes and was now an associate of the new captain america sam wilson after the two of you became good friends.

if the file she had once read on you was right you could manipulate gravity at your will, a truly dangerous ability. none of them decide to help him simply watching the two of you argue.

“whats going on?” yelena turns to the soft sound of bobs voice who looks concerned as he slowly made his was towards the bar looking back and forth between everyone confused. bob tended to hide up in his room some days but the noise must have drawn his attention to the point he felt the need to come down and see.

all four of them shrug and the now five of them watch as you verbally berate bucky. finally growing tired of him you toss his down and kick him ignoring the groan he lets out you turn to the group hoping you could get some answers from one of them but when your eyes land on the newest addition to the group your expression drops to something unrecognizable.

bob grows uncomfortable under your stare and grips his hands together in front of his as you tilt your head and stare at him.

“robert? bob… reynolds?”

“um,,, yes?”

he fiddles with his fingers as you say nothing for a few moments. the look at your face laced with shock and something he can’t recognize but a small ache grows in his chest for some reason.

“holy shit.”

all eyes turn to bob as he awkwardly fidgets in his place. nobody says anything for a good while until bucky groans as he stands up looking at you. “you know him?”

he asks the question everyone was eager to know you turn your head slightly to look back at him, your voice a lot softer than it had been before. “we um, we were friends, in middle school high school you know,” you turn back to him, realizing he clearly has no memory of you you try to mask how much it hurt. for him to look at you like a stranger. you force a smile on your face as you shake your head.

“it was a long time ago, i dont blame you if you don’t remember.” you watch his face twist as he clearly tries to remember something, anything about you but he turns up blank, “sorry..” its the only thing he can force out but you wave your hand brushing him off. “dont worry about it seriously.”

you let your gaze linger on him for a little bit longer before you turn your back to him and force yourself to talk to bucky once more. he’s changed so much but he hasn’t changed at all. you hadn’t forgotten about him even after all these years have passed, it was almost jarring to see the man you spent so many years with not even seem to remember your name should make you angry but you knew him, you knew bob.

he was never really in the right mental state, with the stuff hes been through and the path he had been down you dont blame him for not remembering. hell if you were him you wouldn’t want to remember that time either but it still stung in a way you didn’t know could sting.

bucky decided to drag you off to a room where the two of you could talk thing out alone, bob doesn’t know why he cant take his eyes off of you as you walk away and why it bothers him so much. as soon as the two of you are our of ear shot everyone turns to bob.

he has no clue how to answer their questions and they quickly grow bored once they realize he truly has no memory of you. as the rest of them engross himself in another conversation about who you were bob finds himself lost in thought. you clearly knew him but it was odd you seemed to think positively of him. you didn’t look at him with disgust your gaze was something more like, fond? no it couldn’t be, nobody would look at him like that.

ill always love you honey

the voice rings in his head and he flinches as his hands gripping the bar table tightly. yelena looks at him concerned but he puts a smile on his face and she looks away hesitantly. what was that? the voice had brought him an odd sense of peace it was almost eerie. his head started to hurt as he tried to think about it, the soft pounding that would hit is body whenever someone asked about his childhood or his past. the life he’s tried to forget, he grimaces as he chugs down the glass of water yelena had given him. he wouldnt think about it anymore no matter how much it was bothering him, maybe it was better forgotten.

an hour passed as the rest of the new avengers made conversation about random nonsense until the sound of a door slamming turned all their heads towards the sight of you with a furious look on your face as bucky trailed behind you. “i just can’t believe you barnes.” “you think i wanted this?”

ignoring bucky you look at all of them with an apologetic look and bow your head. “sorry you all had to see me like that, i promise im a lot nicer than that usually.” bucky scowls like he wants to disagree but one look from you closes his mouth and he looks away. you introduce yourself and everyone but bob replies in turns back at you.

you walk towards the bar and reach over, bob isnt listening to what anyone is saying he can’t seem to take his eyes off you, he watch as you pour yourself a drink, your mouth moving to converse with the other members, a light smile graces your face as you continue to foster your drink. his head hurts. “you should do it to walker next.” the man in question glares daggers at ava who smiles and shrugs back at him. “dont tempt me.” “hey!” you laugh and his chest starts to ache even more.

when you turn your head lightly to look at him he freezes, there's something so familiar about you, he finds himself subconsciously leaning towards you like he was freezing cold and you were a warm fireplace. when you lightly smile at him before turning away he feels his whole world stop. a sudden flash pops up in his head and its you, much younger than you are now grinning at him ear to ear and he flinches, closing his eyes as he tries to push the memory away subconsciously. so he really did know you back then. his memories from his time that long ago were spotty at best, he could remember some things but they were all blurry.

he finally tunes back into the conversation when it turns to him, more specifically you and him. “you have to tell us the story between you two.” yelena wags her finger back and forth between you and bob, a mischievous look on her face as the other agree. you shake your head frantically as you shrug, “i mean whats there to say…”

“oh come on he doesnt know anything you have to tell us everything.” you turn to look at bob expecting him to tell them to stop, he probably doesn’t want them knowing about his past but the look of anticipation on his face tells you what you needed to know. you sigh and try to think about how to word this without letting them know the real dynamic of your relationship.

“well we met during middle school, kept in contact after he had dropped out of highschool. he was always getting himself into some shit and i had to bail him out.” your tone lightens up as you fondly remember your youth, “whenever he was out too late and didnt come home i was so pissed i thought i was gonna have to walk down to the station.”

“home? you guys lived together?” you barely even noticed you let that slip out, quickly covering your wide eyes with a sip of your drink and a wave of your hand. “you know his home life wasnt the best so,,, you know he just stayed with me thats all.” you tried your best to make it sound as casual as possible but it was painfully obvious that wasnt the case.

bob couldnt wrap his head around this. he had no one during his youth or atleast he thought he did but why did your words seem so right to him. a couple more flashes appered in his mind. a warm quiet home, cozy to the point he was uncomfortable to be in there alone but he wasnt really alone was he? there was always someone by his side, sitting on the couch with him standing in the kitchen with him. something in the house standing out to him.

“the tapestry.” all eyes dart to bob who had been silent this whole time, your eyes widen in shock at his words. “it was so ugly.” your shocked face twists into mock anger as you cross your arms the smile on your face and the joy in your tone unable to hide how happy you were. “can you stop saying that? i worked really hard on that thing.” “it was so ugly..” “really? after all this time you still think its ugly,,,” you look at the confused group of heros and sigh, “when i first started to crochet i made a tapestry to hang on my wall in my apartment but this jackass always thought it was so ugly. i still have it you know.” “you should throw it out.”

he doesn’t know why he cant help but tease you, he doesn’t tease anyone but it seems like second nature. the affectionate look you have on your face as you fake glare at him fills his heart with a strange sensation.

“holy shit.” your face drops at walkers voice and you turn to glare at him. “you were his girlfriend werent you.”

your stomach plummets. everyone turns to look at you expecting you to outright deny it but when you are stuck frozen in shock staring at walker he starts to laugh. “no fucking way, you were his little girlfriend.”

he turns away, laughing like it was the funniest thing on earth as you stare daggers into his back. “shut the fuck up walker.” your tone has lost all the previous joy it once had as you stare at him with disgust.

as the group explodes in chaos bobs head spins, he can barely compose himself before you lean down towards him and whisper, “im sorry honey.”

honey. the nickname unlocks memories he had buried so deep down he had forgotten them.

he met you during 7th grade. you were desk mates, the overly friendly cheery girl who didn’t seem bothered by his lack of responses to your questions and shy demeanor. you sat with him during lunch, shared your notes with him, played with him during recess. you slowly became his whole world.

you ended up asking him to be your boyfriend in 8th grade at your middle school graduation and you started dating. when he dropped out of high school and left home had no clue what he was gonna do but you took him in, living alone in an apartment with your uncle who was never home made it easy enough for bob to move in with you. while you were at school he did things you didn’t like to think about but he always tried to be home by the time you go back from your after school job.

he was so happy. throughout his shitty life you were the only constant and good thing he had, he loved you so much he always cheered up when he saw you.

some particular memories stand out to him, one of them was when the two of you were at home. you were both 17. you had moved out of your uncles and bob came with you. it was a sunday your only true day off, his head was laying in your lap clearly he was on something but you didn’t seem you to mind.

you played with his hair and you read a book, his eyes were mindless on the tv show you had thrown on neither of you were paying attention to it. his eyes trailed off the tv and onto the wall. you had many different knickknacks and trinkets postered up on your walls. awards you won during school, gifts people gave you. but one thing caught his eyes and he grimaced.

“what is that?” you look down at him, following his line of sight towards your wall. “which thing honey?” he points to the tapestry you have hung on your wall. it was white, it looked like someone was in the middle but he couldn’t make it out. “its a tapestry.” “its ugly,” you punch him in the stomach and he groans, “i made that jackass.” he laughs as you wack him again, “sorry sorry its just wow that thing is hideous.” you huff in disbelief and cross your arms. “i worked really hard on it thank you very much.” “what even is that thing in the middle? a rat?” “its a flower you asshole.”

you throw your book to the side as you punch him and the two of you soon befall into a fit of laughter as he apologizes over and over and you keep on lightly hitting him. soon enough the two of you stop to caught your breaths. you lean your head to look at him and his heart swells at the pure affection in your gaze, he knows hes looking at you the exact same way. “i love you.” only after your bring your lips down to his and cup his face his heart calms down enough for him to be able to reply that he loves you too.

the next memory is the day before he had left you a few years later. he had been in jail for god knows what for the hundredth time. he always knows its you who bailed him out and he’s thankful for it. but as he’s walking out to see you the guard escorting him, it was a small town, you all knew each other, he had grown used to seeing this particular officer at the station but that day he had said something that bothered him. “shes such a smart girl. such a bright future ahead of her. such a shame shes stuck with you holding her down.”

it bothers him. it bothers him so much because its true. he cant even bring himself to smile or hug you back as you throw yourself to his arms. when you pull alway and cup his face concerned he tells you he’s fine and walks past you. its so clear you’re trying your best to cheer him up like you always did but he was so set in his plan not even you buying his favorite take out or cuddling him in bed could help.

it was later that night. the house was completely dark and quiet. the only sound he can hear is your soft breathing as you sleep and the whirling of the fan above you. he couldnt sleep, staring up at the ceiling, allowing himself to revel in your warmth one last time.

a few hours pass before he lets himself slip out of your arms. he gathers some things i had around your room and attempts to slip out but he freezes when he hears you groan. “honey what are you doing?” “just getting some water.” you hum and settle back down to sleep as he sighs in relief. right as he’s about to close the door he can hear you mumble loud enough for him to hear. “ill always love you honey.” he stands frozen. he almost just gives up, dropping all his shit and turning around and laying in bed with you without a care in the world. he cant. he knows he cant it would kill him. “i love you too.” he whispers to the air. you would never hear him say that as he closes the door and never turns back.

he leaves you a note, telling you hes leaving and not to look for him. by the time you wake up for college he’ll hopefully already be out of the state. he places the box he had made of all the stuff you got him on the coffee table in your living room taping the note ontop of it. he takes one long final glance around the room he would never see again as his heart breaks. memories run through his mind of every second you shared together, this is for the best he knows it is but it hurts. it hurts so much.

tears run down his face as he forces himself with the clothes on his back and the small stack of cash he gained from odd jobs you helped him get. it felt wrong to take any of the stuff you had given him, he didn’t deserve any of it he didn’t deserve you. he didn’t know where he was going just that he was going somewhere, somewhere far far away from you.

he could never stop thinking about you no matter how much time had passed. he cried so much he could barely do anything else. so he decided to forget. force himself to lock up the memories of you and the best years of his life, the only good memories he had forced away so he could try to do something else anything else with his life other than missing you.

“bob?” yelena leans in towards him concerned. he has no clue how much time has passed. you’re too busy yelling at walker as bucky holds you back. ava and alexei too entertained to notice him but yelena did. you turn back to look at him at the sound of his name and your eyes widen, throwing walker against the wall you rush towards him, ignoring the way walker groans and curses at you as you bend down to eye level with him. bob had tears streaming down his face, violently shaking, “i left you im sorry im sorry.” your face falls into a pout as you look at him, unable to say anything simply staring at him.

yelena stands up with one clap of her hands shes rushing everyone out the room. “everyone out lets go.“ “no i want to watch them.” nope everyone out.” it takes a minute but she quickly rushes everyone out of the room sparing you a smile before she closes the door leaving you alone with him. you silently thank her in your mind before turning you attention towards bob.

he covered his face with his hands as he sobbed into his palms. “bob?” he wouldn’t respond, too lost in his emotions so you sigh. standing up you grip his forearms and tug at them. “come on honey.” he atleast follows you this time, allowing him to pull you to sit on the floor with him, still not looking at you.

“i looked for you.” he twitches but doesn’t dare look up. “i spent the next week running around the city looking for you at every corner. i was so scared j was gonna find you laying on the ground in some alley way.” your words seems to make his crying worse as he cant stop mumbling over and over again how sorry he was. “even after that i spent so long looking for you in every person i came across. it was second nature to glance around the street to see if i would see you, hell i dont know if i ever even stopped doing that.”

“i couldnt be the one to ruin your life.” he finally allows himself to whisper the thing he’s always thought. you would have never been able to achieve what you have if he stayed by your side. he only would have dragged you down, you probably would still be living in that old run down apartment building in florida if he had stayed. your face falls and you look down at the ground, tears pooling up in your eyes. “bob.”

“you are so amazing, everyday i was in awe of you, i was the thing setting you back. i had to go but it hurt you im sorry.” you reach over and grip his forearm, you can feel him shaking under your grip and the tears begin to spill down your face. “im happy you left.“

he looks up at you alarmed. as if you had said the craziest thing ever but you looked beyond him to the window outside. “you were miserable.”

“no i was so happy with you-“ “but you were so unhappy with your life!” he flinches as you raise your voice, you quietly apologize and fix your volume before you speak again, you shouldn’t let your emotions take over you like that. “i could tell, every single day you were just so miserable, it made me so sad to think about when i went to school or work you were just sitting at home alone doing nothing but getting high or you were getting yelled at at some part time job. you deserved so much better, you think i was being dragged down by you i was the one dragging you down.”

he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. you had thought you were keeping him down? that was ridiculous. he was the one who was going to ruin your life. when he opened his mouth to stop you you continued to speak over him. “i would have been so content just staying in that stupid city in that stupid apartment with you because i would have been with you. if you stayed i probably would have graduated from that community college and get some job at some office there to support us but you never would have been happy. you deserved more than that. to go out there to go see the world leave that city you were stuck in.”

the grip you must have on his arm would kill another man but neither of you notice lost in your own world, “if you leaving me got you here im so happy you did. look at you, you’re a hero honey, just like you always wanted to be. “

he has nothing to say. his body still shaking, as more silent tears run down his face. he cant believe you had thought like this, your words feel unreal to him. he doesnt even know what emotion he’s feeling.

“im sorry.” its the only words he can force out of his mouth. his stomach pulled in knots as forces himself to look down at the floor. you know maybe it wasn’t the best decision to dump all that on him but you couldnt help it, the thoughts you had been thinking for over a decade finally spilling from your lips. you sit in silence for awhile. you know its not good to leave it off there.

“you know what the best apology you can give me is?” when your voice unintentionally cracks he weakly looks up at you, “if you can tell me you’re happy now, without the need to stick some needle in your arm or shoot some powder up your nose you’d make me so happy.”

he sniffs a bit, finally seemingly calmed down and nods. “theyre nice to me, um im happy. i haven’t even thought about that stuff in awhile, it feels so nice. im so happy.” you choke back the sob that builds in your throat, “then thats more than enough for me.” he places his hand on top of yours and the two of you just sit and smile at each other for a bit.

“hey you wanna go eat? theres this place i really like around here havent been in ages, you can even bring your friends ill call over some of mine too.” his smile grows larger than ever and happily nods.

you dont know what the future will hold for either of you, unexpectedly running into the man you could never forget was certain to stir up some feelings in you, but for now you were so happy to see him so happy.

[wosospacegirl]

If I'm allowed- Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia likes taking care of her girl, even if it means buying a flat and a puppy to make her say yes. Classic rich girl move.

Word count: 7.8k

Warning: (+18) SMUT: it's not very explicit, though. oral and fingering (r receiving)

a/n: Just giver!alexia in every sense of the word. aka rich!alexia and provider!alexia

@p0orbaby also has a trope like this <3 Go check them out if you like some rich alexia

Masterlist

..

It was a grey Wednesday when Alexia pulled up in her Cupra, the car rolling to a smooth, quiet stop in front of Y/n’s university building. 

She didn’t honk, didn’t draw attention to herself–just rolled the window down and lifted a hand, offering a soft wave and a smile that instantly loosened the knot in Y/n’s chest.

Even sitting behind the wheel in an old barça hoodie, Alexia still looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine; her blonde hair was down on her back, beautiful as ever.

Y/n clutched her bag tighter and jogged across the puddled pavement, rain soaking through her thin jacket in seconds. She yanked the passenger door open and slid inside, the car heater blasting out warm air.

Before Y/n could even get her seatbelt on, Alexia leaned over, catching her face gently in both hands and pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.

“Qué frío,” [It’s cold] Alexia muttered, voice low and fond. She reached over to crank the heater higher, one hand never leaving Y/n’s thigh. “You're freezing, mi amor.”

“No, I'm not,” Y/n said stubbornly, though her teeth betrayed her with visible chatter. She curled her arms tighter around herself, trying to suppress a shiver. “I got my good jacket on.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh, her nose crinkling. She glanced over, eyes full of that quiet affection that always left Y/n feeling seen in a way she wasn’t used to.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

“You seriously didn’t need to come,’ Y/n added quickly, ducking her head to fiddle with the strap of her bag. “I could’ve taken the bus.”

‘I did, though,” Alexia said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Her fingers squeezed lightly against Y/n’s thigh, warm even through the fabric. “I need to enjoy the moments where I’m out of training to be with you.”

Alexia made it sound so easy. Like it wasn’t some grand gesture.

Like spending time with her was something Alexia wanted, not something she was fitting into her planner between matches, press conferences, and everything else that came with being her.

A quiet kind of warmth spread through Y/n’s chest; it was fragile, a little overwhelming.

She forced herself to huff out a laugh.

“You're really bad at resting, you know that?” Y/n said teasingly.

Alexia just smiled, reaching over to tangle their fingers together on the centre console. “I rest better when you’re there at my house.”

And just like that, Y/n was undone again. She wasn’t sure how Alexia could be so…charming, loving, such a good girlfriend.

How was today?” Alexia asked, easing the car into gear as they pulled away from the curb.

“Bad,” Y/n said immediately, no hesitation.

Alexia’s head snapped briefly toward her, concern flickering across her face before she turned back to the road. Normally, she would have had to coax the truth out of Y/n, peeling it from her.

But today, it spilt out of her like she was too tired to pretend.

“Bad?” Alexia echoed softly.

"Uhum," Y/n hummed, slumping deeper into her seat. She pressed her forehead lightly against the cold window, feeling the vibration of the car.

Alexia’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, her voice low and careful.

“Por qué?” [Why?]

Y/n shrugged.

“Just... everything,” she said finally, her voice thin. “Lectures were shit. I bombed a presentation. The internship was chaotic. And then I realised I forgot my lunch, so I spent my last bit of cash on some gross sandwich that I didn’t even have time to eat.”

Alexia’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly—not at Y/n, never at her—but at the thought of her girl sitting through her day tired, hungry, weighed down.

She hated it.

Y/n must have felt the tension radiating off her because she rushed to add, “But it's fine. I'm fine now.”

“You don’t always have to be fine,” Alexia murmured, thumb brushing over Y/n’s knuckles. “It’s okay, now, sí? We're gonna go to my place, have some pasta, and watch whatever you want. No stress, no studying–”

And that’s when it hit Y/n.

“My laptop!!!” Y/n gasped, sitting bolt upright. “Shit. Shit, shit–I forgot my laptop at my house!”

“Will you need it this weekend?” Alexia asked, squeezing her knee reassuringly.

“Yes,” Y/n groaned, dragging a hand down her face in pure dramatic despair. “I have a paper due Monday. Oh, fuck my life.”

Alexia didn’t even blink.

“Don't worry, amor. We'll just swing by the Apple Store. Grab yourself a new one.”

Alexia said calmly, as if buying a macbook wasn’t a big deal. 

Like she was suggesting, she picked up a loaf of bread. Like buying a brand-new MacBook was as casual as grabbing a coffee.

Y/n whipped her head around to stare at her.

“No,” she said, way too fast. “No, seriously, Ale. It's fine. I just—I’ll leave your house early on Saturday or something, then I can go home, grab it, and finish it.”

Alexia frowned, glancing sideways at her like she was trying to piece together a puzzle.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said again, softer this time, like she thought maybe Y/n hadn’t heard her properly the first time. “If you need it, you should have it. Yours is ancient anyway. It doesn’t even have the keys S and P anymore.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue –and then immediately closed it, because, okay, that was technically true.

Alexia grinned a little, sensing she had her cornered.

“Do you remember when you had to email me your entire paper just so you could copy and paste it on my laptop?" she teased. “Took you thirty minutes.” 

Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that old.”

“It’s basically a typewriter, cariño,” Alexia said, her voice filled with laughter now. “I’m impressed you haven’t started using a chisel and stone tablets yet.”

“You’re so annoying,” she smiled, but even Alexia could feel the sense on her shoulders.

If Y/n wasn’t going to let her buy her a laptop, she had to do something else.

A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy enough to feel.

The windshield wipers kept up their steady, rhythmic swish. 

Swish. Swish.

Alexia’s fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, her mind clearly working. And then, without a word, she flicked the turn signal, cutting across a lane of slow-moving traffic to take the next exit.

Y/n twisted around in her seat, heart leaping into her throat.

“Alexia,” she said sharply. “Where are you going?”

Alexia’s mouth quirked, a stubborn little thing that was both infuriating and sweet.

“Let's just grab it from your place,’ she said, casually, like it wasn’t the single worst idea Y/n had ever heard.

Y/n opened her mouth to argue—to plead, to tell her no, to say literally anything–but the words caught, thick and useless, in her throat.

The only thing she managed to do was sink further into her seat, fingers tightening around the frayed strap of her backpack, as Alexia navigated the car toward her tiny apartment.

The one she had worked herself to the bone to afford.

The one she had never wanted Alexia to see. 

Y/n couldn't tell Alexia ‘no’, it would be too obvious she didn’t want Alexia there, maybe she could just tell her to stay in the car while Y/n could go up and get it.

Alexia had been to her apartment before, but she had never gone in. She only ever picked Y/n up or dropped her off; there was never a need for her to go inside.

Y/n wasn’t embarrassed by it, it was her little apartament, her little flat and she worked very hard to pay the rent on time, to buy little decorations to make it look like home.

No. embarrassment wasn’t the problem here–Alexia got together with her knowing she was a broke university student. 

The problem was: If Alexia really got to see the apartment, she would just straight up take her phone and talk to one of her assessors about buying Y/n a new one.

The rain continued to hammer against the windshield as the city blurred past outside.

Y/n wanted to groan, really groan, but she didn’t, instead, she watched as Alexia drove away, the slight smirk on her face.

She knew what she was doing, it was premeditated.

Alexia barely had time to shift the car into park before Y/n was already fumbling with her seatbelt, shoving the door open with frantic hands.

She didn’t get far. A firm hand caught her thigh, grounding her to the seat.

“Eh, calma,” Alexia said softly.

Y/n turned, heart thudding too fast, finding Alexia watching her with that familiar steady patience.

“I’m going with you,” Alexia said, reaching behind the seat for an umbrella. “Let me grab it, we’ll go up together.”

Y/n shook her head quickly, panic clawing up her spine. 

“No, no, don’t worry,” she rushed out. “I’ll just–I’ll go really quick, you don’t need to–”

But Alexia was already sliding out of the car, pulling the door shut behind her with a resolute thud.

“Mierda,” Y/n muttered under her breath, slumping back against the seat for half a second before forcing herself out into the rain.

Alexia was already there waiting for her–umbrella opened, tilted just enough to cover them both, an easy smile tugging at her lips. 

She looked infuriatingly pleased with herself.

Y/n swallowed down a thousand words she didn’t know how to say, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as Alexia leaned in and bumped their shoulders together lightly.

“Come on, mi amor,” Alexia said, grinning. “Let's go get your laptop.”

Y/n felt the rain cool against her skin, but it didn’t do much to calm her racing thoughts. They reached the entrance of her building, and she fumbled for the keys in her pocket, hoping Alexia would just… turn around.

But no.

Alexia stood beside her, umbrella still held high, a smile on her face.

“Amor…,” Alexia said, eyes soft but insistent. “You’re not getting out of this one.”

Y/n sighed, her heart skipping a beat. She was already out of excuses, but she had to try. She opened the door to the main building because, of course, they didn’t have a doorman.

They walked in, and Y/n quickly pointed at their elevator–maybe she could get out of this one, actually.

“Oh!” She snapped her fingers, pointing at the warning sign in front of the elevator's door “The elevator’s broken! It’s been like that or like… four months.”

Alexia glanced at the elevator in front of them, unimpressed. “Four months?”

“Yes”, Y/n said, voice pitching higher as she tried to backpedal. “Some people came in and tried to fix it, but it’s so old they said it would be a better fit at a museum–so we usually just take the stairs and–”

“It’s fine,” Alexia interrupted with a grin, tapping the umbrella against her shoulder. “I’m coming up with you.”

Y/n froze, a flicker of panic rushing through her. She tried again, her mind scrambling for a new excuse. “It’s the seventh floor,” she said, voice almost pleading. “That’s a lot of stairs. I can go ahead–”

Alexia shrugged, unbothered. “I’m literally an Olympian, Y/n.” Her smile widened, almost teasing. “I think I can handle seven floors.”

“Alexia," Y/n said, her hands beginning to sweat, “you don’t have to–”

Alexia’s patience thinned just a fraction. “Y/n, I’m going.” Her voice was light, but it carried a quiet kind of authority that made Y/n freeze.

There was no more arguing.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. The words she had prepared—the excuses, the defences—were gone in an instant. She let out a small sigh, her annoyance bubbling up, and without another word, turned on her heel, stomping toward the stairs.

Alexia was right behind her, effortlessly keeping pace.

Y/n clenched her jaw, focusing on the stairs beneath her feet as she started the climb. She refused to look at Alexia. Her frustration simmered quietly, but she wasn’t about to give in.

She heard Alexia’s soft footsteps behind her, unhurried, unbothered.

Y/n could feel the calm aura surrounding Alexia—it was like she didn’t care about the tension, or maybe she just didn’t see it. Either way, it was infuriating.

She huffed, crossing her arms tightly in front of her as they ascended. No words. Just the sound of their footsteps against the old staircase, the silence between them growing thicker with each step.

Alexia’s umbrella was still in her hand. Y/n could almost feel her smirking behind her, but she refused to turn around to confirm.

It wasn’t until they reached the fourth floor that Y/n finally broke the silence—not with words, but with a frustrated groan.

“Seven floors,” she muttered, more to herself than to Alexia. “This is ridiculous.”

Alexia, as always, was completely unbothered. She only offered a gentle chuckle from behind, her voice light. “It’s good exercise, amor. You should thank me.”

By the time they reached the seventh floor, Y/n’s legs were burning, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. 

The stairs felt endless, each step seeming to stretch farther than the last. Her entire body ached from the climb, and her frustration was bubbling over, though she refused to let Alexia see it.

She reached the top, exhaling sharply as she stepped onto the landing, trying to hide how out of breath she was. 

Her chest heaved with each intake of air, her face flushed from the exertion. She leaned against the wall for a second, hands on her knees, trying to steady herself.

Alexia, on the other hand, was the picture of calm. She was still holding the umbrella, her hair barely even ruffled by the rain, her breathing steady and easy. 

She hadn’t broken a sweat. She didn’t even seem winded.

“Finally,” Y/n muttered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and annoyance, though there was a flicker of something else,, a reluctant admiration for Alexia’s effortless grace.

Alexia looked over at her, eyebrows raised slightly, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “You okay, mi amor?” she asked, her voice light, almost teasing, as if climbing seven flights of stairs was nothing more than a casual stroll.

Y/n shot her a look, but it didn’t have the same fire it usually did. She was just too tired. “You’re not even out of breath,” she grumbled, her arms now crossed tightly in front of her as she tried to catch her breath. “You could’ve carried me up here.”

Alexia gave a soft chuckle, taking a step closer, the umbrella now resting at her side. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said, her tone gentle. “You made it.”

Y/n didn’t respond immediately; she was still trying to gather herself. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion, though; it was the nervous knot in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Alexia was seeing too much of her life.

The door to her apartment was only a few ssteps away, and yet it felt like it might as well be a mile.

When she finally pushed it open, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Alexia. She stepped inside, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

Alexia followed in after her, closing the door gently behind her.

“Okay, Alexia,” Y/n said, her tone a little sharper than she intended, as she gestured toward the sofa, “You. Sit there. I’ll just… find my.”

Alexia dropped down onto the well-worn sofa with a fluid grace, her eyes sweeping the space around her, taking everything in. 

Y/n barely noticed, her mind already spinning as she quickly moved across the small living room, she quickly found her laptop, but its charger was nowhere to be seen.

She pulled open drawers and rummaged through her cluttered desk.

She could feel Alexia’s gaze following her, even though she was trying hard not to look.

“Where is it?” Y/n muttered under her breath, tossing aside old notebooks and pens. 

She barely had the time to pack up in the morning, and now here she was, digging through everything to find a stupid charger for a laptop that was already on its last leg.s.

Suddenly, the soft sound of the sofa creaking caught her attention.

“Alexia, you better not be getting up,” Y/n called, not looking back, her voice sharp.

But Alexia’s response came easily, without a hint of worry in her tone. “That tone only works for you, bebé, not for me.”

Y/n gritted her teeth, but didn’t take the bait.

She turned her focus back to the mess on the desk, hands scrabbling for the elusive charger. “Where the hell is it…” she muttered.

Then, the silence was broken again by Alexia’s voice, this time a little more curious. “Y/n, is that black mould on your kitchen wall?”

Y/n froze for a second, eyes flicking over to the kitchen corner before her gaze snapped back to her search.

“Yes,’ she said. “It’s been there for a while.”

She could hear Alexia shift on the sofa, probably glancing at the kitchen now.

But she didn’t want to deal with this. Not now, not with her mind so tangled up already.

“We need to fix it then, bebé,” Alexia’s voice was soft. It wasn’t judgment, just a quiet sense of responsibility, like she wanted to share the load with Y/n.

Y/n, still kneeling at her desk, sighed in frustration, pushing papers aside. “I will. Eventually. When I get the time.”

“Right,” Alexia said, her tone lighter but with an underlying seriousness. “This thing like–eats brains, no?”

Y/n finally gave up on the desk, moving toward the small kitchen counter where she kept a few more things scattered.

“Given the state of my brain, it would be starving,”  she muttered, her tone sharp. 

She grabbed a few cables and pulled them open, desperate to find the right one. “Okay, I’m starting to belive some got here and stole my fucking charger.”

Y/n finally gave up on the kitchen, frustration building as she headed toward the bedroom. She could hear Alexia’s footsteps follow her, light and casual, but there was no mistaking the quiet curiosity in the air.

As she opened the bedroom door, Alexia leaned against the doorframe, her eyes scanning the room — it wasn’t exactly a pristine space, but it was comfortable.

“Y/n,” Alexia said, slightly worried in her voice,” I think I saw a rat running out of your window.”

Y/n stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to Alexia, her face was in a deadpan expression.

“Oh, yeah, him. He’s always around. Sometimes, I let him in for a chat.” 

She moved over to the drawer by her bed and pulled it open, her fingers skimming through old receipts and books.

Alexia blinked. “Oh... okay,” she said, the tone almost faltering for a moment as she processed what she just heard. “You—let him in?”

Y/n didn’t seem to notice her surprise, too focused on her search. 

“Yeah. He’s a good listener. Keeps me company,” She pulled out more cords and cables from the drawer.

The room fell into a brief silence, and Y/n, thinking Alexia had finally settled, started untangling the cables in her hands. 

Yay!! SHe found it!

She was about to pull the charger free when she heard the faint sound of drawers opening.

“Alexia,” Y/n said, voice flat, “stop going through my stuff.”

But Alexia wasn’t listening.

She was already rummaging through one of the drawers, pulling out an old T-shirt Y/n had shoved in there months ago.

“Oh, come on,” Alexia said with a playful grin. “You literally wear my clothes all the time. I think I’m allowed a little peek at your stuff.”

Y/n spun around, caught off guard. “Yeah, I do that, but you don’t,” she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “You don’t see me going through your wardrobe.”

Alexia paused for a moment, her lips forming an exaggerated pout.

“Well, maybe you should. Just for fair play,” she teased, and before Y/n could respond, Alexia took a dramatic step toward her wardrobe.

“No! Stop it!” Y/n shot forward, slamming the wardrobe door shut before Alexia could open it.

Alexia dramatically flopped down onto the bed, lying flat on her back with a heavy sigh.

“Por Deus…[oh God]” she muttered, “this mattress is horrible.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing in playful warning. “It's not that bad.”

“Oh, believe me, it is,” Alexia groaned, shifting her body a little to find a more comfortable spot. “It feels like I’m sleeping on a pile of bricks.”

Y/n rolled her eyes.

“Maybe you should sleep on the floor, then. Get a real feel for it.”

Alexia stretched out on the bed dramatically, tossing her arms wide. “I'll buy you a new mattress," she said, her tone full of playful determination. “Maybe I’ll even throw in a new sofa while I’m at it.”

Y/n didn’t even look at her, taking the laptop and charger into her hands.

“I knew this would happen,”  she muttered, walking toward the desk.

Alexia propped herself up on her elbows, frowning in confusion. “What would happen?” Completely innocent. “I just want to help.”

Y/n paused, glancing back at Alexia, a slight edge to her voice. “You come here, see my apartment, and start talking about all the things that are wrong with it, and then you want to fix everything. Buy everything.”

Alexia blinked, her brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Is that a bad thing, amor?”

Y/n froze, her hand tightening around the laptop as she tried to control the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. 

“Yes!” she said, the word coming out sharper than she intended. “I don’t need you buying me stuff, Alexia. I don’t need you fixing everything.”

Alexia sat up fully now, the concern growing on her face. 

“But I want to help,” she said softly, her voice almost... unsure. “I don’t want to make you feel like I’m forcing things on you. I just... want you to have what you deserve, sí?”

Y/n turned back to the desk,avoiding Alexia’s gaze. “I do have what I deserve, Alexia. I just... don’t need it all fixed.”

Alexia sat up fully now, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I get you don’t like it when I buy you stuff, but I hope you’re very much aware that you’re not living here anymore.”

Y/n froze, her eyes snapping to Alexia’s face, not sure if she heard that right.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice a little more tense than she intended.

Alexia’s gaze didn’t waver. “There’s mould. Black mould, Y/n. And rats. This isn’t a healthy place to live.”

Y/n’s chest tightened at the mention of the mould and the rats. She didn’t need Alexia telling her that. She already knew. 

“It’s what I can pay for, Alexia, the rent it’s not much” she muttered, voice small but defensive.

  She grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and handed them to Alexia, her hand lingering just a moment too long before she let go. “You can lock up when you leave.”

Alexia took the keys, watching her with concern. But Y/n was already walking toward the stairs, head down. “Rent?”

“Yes, Alexia, rent”, Y/n shouted, slowing down, her finger clenching the railing. “Do you think I live here because the landlord found me so pretty and decided to let me stay?”

Alexia caught up with her quickly, her hand resting on Y/n’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “Oh,” Alexia said, as if struck by a sudden realisation. “I forgot rent was a thing.”

..

They were back in the car now, the air between them thick with tension. Y/n sat with her arms crossed, the pout on her face unmistakable. 

She was clearly angry, her gaze fixed out the window, avoiding Alexia’s.

Alexia kept her hands on the wheel, trying to keep her cool. She didn’t want to make things worse, but she also couldn’t help thinking she was right. 

The silence stretched on, and the faint sound of rain hitting the roof was the only noise filling the car.

“Y/n,” Alexia started, keeping her tone soft, “we’ll find you a better place. Maybe closer to your university?” She glanced at Y/n, gauging her reaction.

Y/n let out a frustrated sigh, her eyes still trained on the window. “I don’t need another place, Alexia. I’m fine here.”

Alexia shook her head slightly, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. 

“You do need a better place. It’s not healthy for you to live in a place like that. I mean, come on--mould and rats? You deserve better.”

“I don’t need anything else, okay?” Y/n snapped, finally turning her head to meet Alexia’s gaze. “I can handle it. I’ve been managing just fine.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Why are you so stubborn?”

Y/n shot her a sharp look. “I’m as stubborn as you are!”

The words hung in the air, both of them now silent, each stewing in their frustration.

Neither of them seemed ready to back down.

Alexia’s lips tightened into a thin line, glancing at Y/n again before turning her attention back to the road.

Y/n shifted in her seat, but still said nothing. 

The car hummed on through the rain, their silence only deepening.

They pulled into the driveway of Alexia’s house, the rain still falling heavily, the atmosphere inside the car thick with the weight of their argument. 

Before the car had even fully stopped, Y/n opened the door, already stepping out.

Alexia’s jaw clenched at the sight. She didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make things worse, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“Y/n,” Alexia said, her voice low, a hint of frustration lacing her words, “how many times will I have to ask you to let me open the door for you?”

Y/n didn’t answer, simply stepping out into the rain, her back turned to Alexia as she moved toward the front steps.

Alexia exhaled sharply, letting her frustration out in a soft breath, but she wasn’t about to let Y/n walk off alone, especially in this weather. 

She grabbed the umbrella and followed, catching up to her quickly, slipping her arm around Y/n’s shoulders.

She pulled her gently toward her side, guiding her under the umbrella.

Y/n didn’t resist, but there was no warmth in the way she walked, just quiet tension, the kind that only came after an argument left unsaid. 

She didn’t look at Alexia, her gaze fixed ahead as they made their way to the door.

Once inside, Y/n set her backpack by the door, kicking off her shoes and placing them neatly to the side.

Alexia followed suit, dropping her umbrella and taking off her shoes, both of them still wearing frowns as they silently moved through the familiar space.

Alexia sat on the sofa, looking over at Y/n with a slight shake of her head. “Really?” she asked, her tone still holding a bit of that edge.

Y/n didn’t respond, choosing instead to sit on the opposite end of the sofa, her posture stiff, arms crossed. She stared at the floor, refusing to meet Alexia’s gaze.

Alexia sighed, her expression softening just slightly.

“Come sit here with me.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but after a beat of silence, she moved.

She sat down on Alexia’s lap, the action more out of necessity than any real desire for closeness. 

Her head naturally found its place on Alexia’s shoulder, her body still tense, but her breathing evening out as Alexia wrapped her arms around her gently.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, but at least it was quiet. 

The kind of quiet that filled the spaces left between them, neither of them pushing further, but both still aware of the tension that lingered.

Alexia kissed the top of Y/n’s head softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to upset you, cariño”

Y/n didn’t respond right away, but she shifted slightly.

“I know,” she muttered, the anger from earlier starting to drain away, replaced by exhaustion. “I just... I don't want to feel like I need everything fixed all the time.”

“I get that,” Alexia said softly, her thumb brushing over Y/n’s knuckles. “But I still want to help.”

Y/n didn’t say anything to that, simply closing her eyes, letting herself lean into Alexia’s touch.

Alexia’s hand slipped under Y/n’s shirt, her fingers grazing lightly across the warm skin of her back. 

The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if she were giving Y/n the space to decide how far she wanted to go.

Her lips, soft and patient, brushed against the side of Y/n's neck, placing a quiet kiss there.

Y/n shifted slightly, feeling the weight of Alexia’s body against hers, the intimacy of the moment deepening with every breath. 

Her hand instinctively rested on Alexia's chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of Alexia’s shirt as she leaned in closer.

Alexia’s hand, steady and firm, moved to Y/n’s hip, pulling her in just a little closer. The warmth between them intensified, but there was no rush, no urgency, , just a quiet connection that spoke volumes.

“It just makes me happy to know you’re being taken care of,” Alexia murmured against her skin, her voice a mix of affection and quiet resolve.

Y/n’s breath caught at the tenderness in her words, but she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You don’t have to do this, Alexia,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have my internship... I can take care of myself.”

But Alexia didn’t pull away. Instead, she kissed Y/n's neck again, a little deeper this time, her lips lingering against the soft skin.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Alexia whispered, her lips kissing the skin of Y/n’s neck with each word. “I’m here for you.”

Y/n let out a soft sigh, her hand resting gently on Alexia’s shoulder. “Ale, it will leave a mark.”

Alexia’s lips paused just for a moment, a soft chuckle escaping her.

“Don’t worry, amor,” she whispered, kissing the spot once more. “The mark will be gone by Monday, sí?”

“Arms up,” Alexia murmured, her voice low, and Y/n obeyed without hesitation, lifting her arms as Alexia eased the shirt off. 

There was something comforting about the way Alexia moved—slow, patient, almost reverent, as if every movement was meant to show Y/n how important she was to her.

Once the shirt was gone, Alexia paused for a moment, just looking at her, taking in her naked torso.

“Pretty girl,” Alexia whispered, her breath warm against Y/n's skin. 

She moved closer, her lips brushing gently against the soft skin of Y/n's collarbone, trailing kisses that were more about reassurance than desire.

“I missed you,” Alexia murmured. “Missed you so much.”

She pulled Y/n close, her hands resting on her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin against her own.

Y/n melted into her touch, her heart fluttering in her chest, both from the tenderness of the moment and the way Alexia seemed to know exactly what she needed. 

She closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh, her body relaxing under Alexia’s care.

“Let me take care of you,” Alexia said, her voice a soft promise, a plea to let her be there in every way, emotionally and physically. 

Her fingers traced along Y/n’s arm, her touch soothing.

Y/n nodded, her eyes flicking open, looking up at Alexia with a softness that was all trust. “Please,” she whispered, her voice full of longing.

Alexia smiled softly, a hint of reassurance in her gaze. 

“Then listen to me, amor,” Alexia said, her voice steady but full of a quiet, playful authority.

“Let me handle this.” Her fingers gently tugged at the waistband of Y/n’s pants, a teasing touch that sent a shiver down Y/n’s spine.

As the pants slid off, Alexia took her time, her hands brushing against Y/n’s skin, savouring the softness of her body.

She moved slowly, letting the anticipation build in the space between the.

When she finally placed her fingers gently on Y/n’s cunt, she felt the warmth of her, already so eager, and she couldn’t help but smirk.

“I think you need me,” Alexia murmured, her voice low, the words laced with teasing satisfaction. 

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something tender underneath, an unspoken promise that she would take her time with Y/n.

Y/n’s breath hitched at the touch, her chest rising and falling with every deep inhale.

Alexia was drawing out of her. 

“I do,” she whispered, her voice a mix of longing and surrender.

Alexia chuckled softly, moving with intention, but at a maddeningly slow pace, circling her throbbingclit very gently, very patiently, watching Y/n's reaction to every move.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Let me. You just stay right there, and I’ll take care of everything.”

Y/n’s breath was quickening, her body aching for more, but she obeyed, her eyes locked on Alexia’s. 

The teasing was a game, but in Alexia’s hands, it felt like more—it felt like devotion, like she was showing Y/n just how much she cared for her, in a way that only Alexia could.

Y/n's breath grew more ragged as Alexia’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements on her clit, teasing and coaxing her closer to the edge. 

She moved her hands too slowly; it almost felt like torture.

Y/n was hot against Alexia, trying to move her hips against Alexia's fingers, but the player didn't let her, holding her still with only one hand.

The warmth of Alexia's touch, so gentle and steady, made Y/n feel like she was losing herself in the moment. It felt so good, so good.

Her body responded instinctively, every part of her aching for more.

“Just like that, Ale”, Y/n gasped, her voice shaky but full of need. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her as Alexia's movements became just a little more insistent.

She started to circle Y/n's clit in eight figures, a little faster.

Alexia smirked, her eyes locked on Y/n's face, watching every subtle shift in her expression.

“Not so grumpy anymore, huh?” she teased, her voice low and filled with satisfaction, her fingers never stopping, always keeping that maddening rhythm on her cunt.

Y/n’s face flushed, her chest rising and falling as she fought to keep her composure. 

She wanted to say something witty, to hold onto her pride, but the pleasure building within her made it difficult to think straight. 

With a playful scowl, she managed a breathless, “Shut up, Alexia.”

Alexia chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead, the sound of their closeness filling the air. 

“I’m just saying,” she teased, her lips grazing the side of Y/n’s neck, sending a fresh wave of shivers through her. “You look much better when you’re not frowning.”

Y/n’s body finally gave in, her back arching off slightly, a soft cry escaping her lips as she reached her high. 

The moment stretched out, the intense pleasure taking over her entire being.

She couldn’t hold back the shaky sighs, the whispered gasps, as she surrendered to Alexia completely.

“See?” Alexia whispered with a soft, satisfied smile, her fingers still lingering on her clit, messing with the wetness of her pussy.

"Told you I could make you feel better.” Her words were playful, but there was something deeper.

Y/n opened her eyes, a shy smile on her face.

“You're insufferable,” she muttered, but there was no malice in her voice.

Alexia leaned down, kissing her softly, a promise lingering in the tender touch. “And you love me anyway.”

After a few moments, Alexia carefully moved Y/n from her lap, the warmth of the moment still lingering between them. 

After easing Y/n off her lap, Alexia laid her down on the sofa.

She kept her hand on Y/n’s thigh, her fingers gently stroking the soft skin there as she leaned in for a light kiss on her thigh.

Y/n, still a little dazed from everything, let out a soft exhale, her body still tingling from the orgasm.

But Alexia wasn't done yet.

She gently kissed Y/n cunt, beginning to lap at her clit and sucking it, but not desperately, rather in a very lazy, calm manner.

Alexia stayed like that, almost as if to savour a meal…almost as if to prove a point, to show that yes, Y/n needed her, at least for this.

She moved her tonge around, going from her clit to her wet hole, thrusting her tonge inside her cunt, feeling her taste--her favorite.

Y/n held down to Alexia's hair, bringing her closer to her cunt, especially after Alexia sucked hard at her clit, latching on it and sucking it desperately.

It didn't take too long. Not with how determined Alexia was in making the girl have another orgasm again.

When Y/n came again, Alexia smiled at herself, and then she cleaned her mouth on the sleeve of her hoodie and leaned over Y/n again.

Alexia kissed Y/n softly, her lips brushing against hers in a slow,, as if savouring the quiet intimacy that followed. 

The kiss deepened, just enough to leave Y/n breathless again, her hands resting on Alexia’s shoulders as she leaned into the touch even more.

Alexia smirked as her hand travelled higher up Y/n’s thigh.

“So, since you’ve got two orgasms,” she said, her voice warm and filled with a mischievous tone, “How about I buy you an apartment?”

Y/n barely managed to crack her eyes open, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. 

It was hard to focus on anything, let alone Alexia, when her senses were still overwhelmed by the warm waves that had just swept through her. 

“Huh?” she mumbled, her voice thick, still clouded by the lingering aftereffects.

“An apartment,” Alexia repeated, her tone casual as she kissed Y/n’s cheek, then her nose, her lips grazing her skin in soft, teasing touches. 

Her hand moved to Y/n’s ribs, gently caressing the curve of her body with such tenderness it made Y/n's breath hitch.

“A good one, for you,” Alexia added, her smile never faltering, her eyes glinting with affection and mischief all at once.

Y/n blinked, trying to clear the fog in her mind, but it was difficult. Her whole body felt like it was still floating.

“Y-you can’t do that,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

“Do what?” Alexia asked, pretending to be innocent, though the playful glint in her eyes gave her away.

“Use orgasms to keep me confused,” Y/n muttered, hating how small and weak her voice sounded, but oh god—she couldn’t process a single coherent thought right now, especially when she was naked, exposed, and Alexia was fully dressed, hovering above her like this.

Alexia leaned down, kissing her, her smile curling at the corners as she pulled away just enough to whisper.

“I don’t need orgasms to do that, cariño. But I do like seeing you like this—completely mine.”

Y/n's chest heaved, the teasing words sending a new wave of heat through her. 

She swallowed hard, trying to gather her thoughts, but Alexia’s touch, her presence, was making it impossible.. 

“Alright, let's go have a shower,” she said with a wink, her fingers still lightly grazing Y/n’s skin. “A nice, relaxing shower, yeah?”

She let out a small sigh,

“Just a shower, okay?” she mumbled, her voice quiet and soft, like she was already half-asleep. “I’m really tired, Alexia…”

Alexia’s eyes softened, but her smirk didn’t fade.

“Okay, just a shower,’ she agreed.

She helped Y/n sit up, her hands gentle as she guided her to her feet.

..

The night had passed, and Alexia hadn’t mentioned the apartment again.

Not once, not even a hint of it. 

Not during breakfast when Y/n had barely been awake enough to hold a conversation, and definitely not when Alexia had been lounging on the sofa, eyes glued to the Barcelona game, while Y/n buried her nose in her textbooks, trying to get some studying done.

It wasn’t even brought up during their workout later that day—Alexia had taken her to her private gym and they did their normal workout without even mentioning her apartment.

But Y/n was perceptive and could tell something was off.

Alexia wasn’t bringing it up.

And the more she didn’t mention it, the more Y/n started to get suspicious.

She had been on edge all day, her mind running in circles, trying to figure out what Alexia was up to. 

She knew Alexia was persistent—hell, that’s one of the things she loved most about her—but this… this was different. Alexia was too quiet about it. 

Too careful, too smooth.

After the workout, when they were both in the living room again. Alexia was watching football again, in perfect silence.

Y/n couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You’re planning something,” Y/n blurted out, unable to hide her curiosity any longer.

Alexia turned her head, eyes narrowing in mock surprise. “Me? Plan something? Never.”

She gave a little half-smile, the glint in her eyes giving her away, but she didn’t say anything more.

The Sunday came.

And when Y/n woke up, Alexia was gone.

She didn’t think too much about it, Alexia always went running during the most insufferable hours of morning.

A few hours later, Alexia walked into the living room, her face glowing with excitement, a small bundle in her arms. 

Y/n looked up from her phone, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the tiny puppy wriggling in Alexia’s grasp.

“Guess what I got!” Alexia said, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. 

She gently placed the puppy on Y/n’s lap, the little furball instantly curling up against her, licking her fingers with enthusiastic little nudges.

“Alexia?! What the fuck?” Y/n said as she stared at the small Labrador on her lap. “What–? Where did you get it? Oh my God?!”

The little furball was nestled into Y/n’s lap, snuggled up like it had always been there, and Y/n’s face was absolutely radiant with joy, but also with surprise.

"Do you like her?" Alexia asked with a soft smile, her voice warm but carrying an undertone of mischief.

Y/n looked up at her, beaming. “

Like her? I love her, Alexia! She’s perfect!” She held the tiny puppy close, completely falling in love with the little creature’s sweet energy. "But–”

Alexia’s grin widened. “Great!” she said, almost too casually. “Keep her, then.”

Y/n’s expression shifted, her joy turning to a slight confusion as she glanced up at Alexia. 

“Wait... you mean I can keep her? But—” Her words trailed off, a thought hitting her. “But my apartment doesn’t allow pets.”

Alexia’s face feigned shock, her hand flying to her chest in exaggerated concern. 

“Oh no, really? That’s so unfortunate.” Her voice was dripping with playful sincerity, but Y/n wasn’t fooled.

Y/n squinted her eyes, starting to piece things together. 

“You’re not seriously telling me you adopted a dog just to get me to move, are you?” she asked deadpanned.

Alexia chuckled softly, her grin widening as she rubbed the back of her neck, looking entirely too innocent. 

“Well, maybe I did consider that,” she admitted. “I thought maybe this would be the perfect excuse for you to finally accept my offer to buy you a new place.”

Y/n blinked, her mouth falling open slightly in disbelief. “Are you for real, Putellas?”

“Of course,” Alexia said, her tone completely matter-of-fact. 

“I knew you would never leave your place for just any reason, but a puppy? How could you say no to that? And besides,” she added with a wink, “if you’re going to have a dog, you need a place where she can actually live comfortably, right?”

Y/n just stared at her. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” she muttered, glancing down at the puppy, who was happily oblivious to the entire situation.

Then, she sighed dramatically, looking up at Alexia. 

“Fine. I guess I can’t say no to the puppy, or to you. But—” she wagged a finger at Alexia, “If I’m moving to a new place, I’m picking it out. It’s absolutely not going to be some big, fancy, chic place. No high-rise or penthouse or anything like that.” 

She shook her head, as if imagining it already.

“Just a very normal apartment. Nothing flashy. Just… one that allows pets and it’s big for Carmelita to run.”

“Carmelita?” Alexia asked. “Couldn't you think of a better name for her?”

“No.” Y/n said deadpan. “You gave me the dog, I picked her name.”

Alexia grinned, her heart swelling with affection. 

“Fine, I’ll find you the most normal, cosy place you could imagine,” she said. “But just so you know... normal doesn’t mean boring, it has to be a cool place for you and…well–Carmelita.”

..

a/n: if you read this far — first of all, ily. second of all, feel free to let me know what you thought!

i love hearing your reactions, fav lines, or just general thoughts 🫶 it really makes my day <3

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness @wosofavfanfics

[starmapz]

what you know - ch16: sleepless nights || r. sukuna

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 17.6k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

Slipping through the door on Tuesday morning to the lecture hall mere seconds before the professor shuts it, you mutter an apology as you jog up to your seat beside Kento. The blonde’s lips downturn at the sight of your rushed movements as you pull your laptop out, your chest heaving after having run through campus.

“May I ask what has you so rushed?” He questions in a hushed tone as the professor prepares for his lecture.

Letting out a breath, you shake your head. “I had a little bit of an existential crisis this morning, but everything’s good now,” you breathe, forcing a smile.

Kento’s brow raises. “Would this have anything to do with Sukuna?”

“No. Well-” you pause, hesitating as your fingers pause on your keyboard. “Kinda, I guess.”

Kento’s observant eyes flicker between your rushed movements and your expression. He scrutinizes the minute tremor in your fingers and the way you chew on your lip. Unfortunately for you, he’s entirely too observant, and more than willing to call you out for it.

“Have you been crying?”

Like a deer in the headlights, your head whips towards him, wide-eyed. Caught.

The blonde frowns. “Do you have a moment after class before your internship?”

You nod, sighing as you give in, frazzled nerves dissolving. You’re not sure why you bother trying to hide when it comes to him. He’s known you too long, and he’s always been perceptive.

As the professor begins the lecture, you dial in, doing what you can to give your full attention to the subject. You can’t afford another day of catch-up, not when you’re still behind.

When the professor dismisses the lecture hall, you lean back in your seat, dropping the back of your head onto the plastic backrest. With a yawn, you run your hands through your hair, before dropping them to hang at your sides.

Kento’s presence beside you remains steady as he allows you a moment to sort out your thoughts. Your gaze trails across the ceiling, resting on a water stain. You recall thinking those were coffee stains when you were a kid. In hindsight, that doesn’t make much sense.

When you remain unmoving for a minute too long, Kento finally gives you a push. “Care to start with the elephant in the room?”

Shutting your eyes, your brows knit together. “Sukuna?”

“In a sense. What happened with the trial? I didn’t get the chance to ask when I saw you on Friday.”

Shrugging in place, you shake your head. “His step-mom had the whole thing rigged. I don’t think it would have mattered what he did.”

“I see.”

“The kids were devastated,” you murmur, blinking your eyes open as your gaze finds more deformities in the otherwise uninteresting ceiling, “and really scared.”

Kento’s expression remains aloof as he hums in understanding. “And Sukuna?”

You finally tilt your head towards the blonde. You’re in a frazzled enough mood to question whether or not he truly cares about Sukuna’s well-being, but you have no right to be rude when your friend has only ever shown compassion for you. Sighing, you stare back at the ceiling, clasping your hands in your lap.

Hesitating, your lips purse. You’re in no position to be telling Kento the details of Sukuna’s life, but you’re also desperately in need of some support yourself. As much as you appreciate Toji and Uraume, what you really need is a girls’ night (featuring Kento), but you’re not sure whether you have the time to spare for that.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean- I know he’s doing bad. He didn’t sleep between the trial and the hand-off of the kids.” As your neck starts to get sore, you sit up, staring at your fiddling thumbs in your lap. “I haven’t heard from him since before the hand-off, though.”

“And you’re worried?” He confirms.

Nodding, you sigh softly. “I tried texting and calling.”

“Well, surely you’ll see him at work today,” Kento offers, though you’ve already considered that.

“Hopefully. I don’t know,” you admit. You have half a mind to think he might take some time off, or just not show up at all.

“And you?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as Kento turns in his seat to better see you. “I’m so behind,” you murmur. The dark circles underlining your eyes feel heavy with the admission. You’d only missed a couple of days, but the truth is that you’ve spent so much time concerning yourself with Sukuna’s affairs that even your time spent studying was wasted on zoning out.

Kento’s sharp auburn eyes flicker between yours. “I meant how are you handling what’s going on with Sukuna, but something tells me the tears weren’t shed over him. Would that be right?”

Your chest slowly rises in a long, exasperated inhalation. “Not this time,” you sigh. “I got some wires crossed and forgot to submit a paper last night. I thought it was due on Wednesday.”

Kento frowns. “I assume it was for your Copy Editing class?”

You nod.

“What was it worth?”

“Thirty percent,” you murmur, blinking your eyes rapidly as you feel tears of stress welling in your eyes. “I don’t know how I was so stupid, I usually have everything right in my calendar, and double-check and-”

“Hold on,” Kento interrupts before you can spiral as you begin to ramble and blame yourself. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Have you had the opportunity to speak with your professor about it yet?”

“Well- no, but he’s pretty strict, and I’m a scholarship student,” you mumble doubtfully, finding yourself picking at your nails.

The very best is expected out of you, you’ve had no issue upholding that until this semester.

“Strict or not, life happens,” Kento points out, not hesitating to wrap his fingers around your wrist and tug your hands apart to prevent you from picking at your nails. He pulls his hands back to his lap with a pointed stare, scolding you with only a look. “I think he would be willing to consider your perspective if you simply explain.”

“I can’t just tell him what’s going on with Sukuna.”

“You can’t allow yourself to fail to spare his feelings, either,” Kento points out evenly, crossing his legs.

Your gaze falls to your lap. “I guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I’ll try to talk to my prof tomorrow.”

Nodding in satisfaction, your friend nods at your side. “And your internship?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait- What time is it? I think I need to leave.”

Pulling his wrist up, Kento calmly recites the time from his wristwatch. “Ten.”

“I’m gonna be late.” You move in a rush to shove your textbook and laptop into your bag, pulling on your coat with one hand at the same time.

You pause for the briefest of moments as Kento catches your attention with your name. “What is it?” You ask, returning to packing up as you zip up your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

“You’ll be alright if you’re a couple of minutes late.”

“I-” you hesitate as you get to your feet. “- I really want to make a good impression.”

Getting to his feet, Kento pushes his belongings into his bag at a much more reasonable pace. “I can sympathize with that, but you also need to take care of yourself,” he points out.

Squeezing your bag strap on your shoulder, your brows draw together. You know all-too-well that you’ve been neglecting some much needed self-care time and relaxation, but life isn’t about to slow down and wait for you. You can catch up later.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

Nodding, you follow after him as he leads to way down the stairs of the lecture hall and out into the spring air.

The sun is peeking through the clouds, but a glum feeling still seems to cling to the air. Or maybe you’re just projecting your stress into the clouds, you can’t be sure. Either way, the chirping of birds and buzzing of the returning insects doesn’t carry the same welcoming feeling of spring that you’re accustomed to.

Falling into step with you, Kento takes the opportunity to gently pat your shoulder. “Breathe,” he soothes, remaining as a steady presence from your childhood. If there’s one thing Kento excels in, it’s his ability to assess a situation and act accordingly to find the best outcome, one of the many benefits of having a psychiatrist as a mother. He watches as you suck in a breath, taking a moment to slow down. “How are the rest of your classes going?”

“I- um-” you hesitate, stumbling over your foot and barely managing to catch yourself in the process. Attempting to walk off the embarrassment of tripping, you brush your coat off and stand straight once more. “Um-”

Kento moves to stand in front of you and stops, forcing you to slow down for a moment, to catch your breath and your spiraling thoughts. Tilting your chin up to look at him, you find his brow furrowed, the first signs of disquiet written across his features. “Take a breath,” he encourages you again.

Taking a deep breath, you force the thought of being late for work out of your mind for now, blowing air from your pursed lips in a sigh.

“Good. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

Chewing on your lip, you avoid Kento’s gaze. “I’m kinda worried about my scholarship,” you admit quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The blonde frowns. “Are you that far behind? How many classes did you miss?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shrug. “Not that many,” you shake your head. “But my Public Relations and Marketing class had a presentation that I didn’t know about from a publishing house and I don’t know how I’m supposed to catch up on that and I’m worried-”

“Hey.” Kento interrupts as you begin to spiral. “It’s okay. Have you had the chance to speak with that professor?”

“Well, no-”

“Then take a breath,” he urges. “One step at a time.”

You nod slowly, taking his advice.

“Has the Financial Aid Office or an Academic Advisor reached out?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you’ll be okay.” Kento smiles reassuringly, his cool and calm demeanor soothing your frayed nerves a bit. “I’ll help you work through it, how does that sound?”

Your shoulders fall in defeat as you nod, accepting his help. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks Ken. Are you sure you won’t fall behind?”

A chuckle rumbles within his chest. “I’m ahead,” he admits, not as a boast but to reassure you. “Besides, not everyone has a…” he searches for words, “dear friend in need of help quite as you do. I know you’re often busy.” His tone takes on a chiding edge, a certain knowing gleam in his eyes.

As your nerves begin to settle, you hide your face at his teasing, pushing past him to continue on your way to your car. “Don’t say it like that,” you groan, earning a chuckle from Kento. As aloof and stoic as he is, the man can be far too much of a smartass for his own good.

“No? Am I wrong?”

There it is.

“I- No- I mean-” You stammer over your words, giving him a shove.

He chuckles once more, his calm demeanor never faltering. “I see your feelings haven’t changed.”

You continue to avoid his gaze, walking a bit faster.

“I don’t dislike him, you know.”

You pause, turning to face Kento again. “Even after the whole-” you make a motion in the air, flailing your hands around pointlessly.

“Yes, even after the fight.”

You blink, eyes narrowing just a smidge as you wait for him to elaborate.

He continues walking as he replies. “Sukuna is many things. Dense, egotistical, and often careless, to name a few.” He casts a glance in your direction. “I do dislike how he treated you,” he states plainly. “However, I’m willing to look past that and let bygones be bygones if that’s what you wish. I know you care for him, and I trust your judgement. If you’re willing to give him another chance, then I’m not one to hold my personal thoughts against him.” Kento rolls his shoulders back. “I can certainly respect what he’s going through, and I’m willing to bet that a lot of his prior behavior can be attributed to unfortunate circumstances.”

You’re silent for a moment as you contemplate his words. There’s something incredibly heartwarming about the way your friend has the ability to cast aside his judgement in favor of your well-being. Hell, you aren’t even sure there are words to really put into perspective just how emotionally intelligent and mature he truly is.

His support is almost too much.

If you weren’t so busy processing the very genuine care behind his words, you might have teased him for sounding like his mother… Maybe another day.

For now, you’ll just bask in the warmth that his friendship brings, unable to help a genuine smile.

“I… Appreciate that, Nanamin.”

He winces slightly at the childhood nickname, though he chooses not to comment. “Of course. Which reminds me, how exactly are you handling the loss of his brothers?”

As your car comes into sight, you shrug, brushing off the question. “They’re not my brothers.”

Before you can get close enough to escape into your car, Kento grips your forearm to stop you. “Perhaps not, but it’s not that simple, is it?” He inquires, the deep auburn of his eyes flickering around your face as though he can read every little twitch of your features. “You see him as family, do you not?”

You avoid his gaze, staring at the ground as you attempt to put your thoughts into words. “Sukuna doesn’t feel that way about me, I don’t have any right-”

Dropping your forearm now that he has your attention, Kento shakes his head. “I’m stopping you there. I have my own thoughts about Sukuna’s feelings towards you, but you have every right to see his brothers as family. Would you not consider him one of your closest friends?”

Tilting your head at the way Kento mentions Sukuna’s feelings towards you, your lips purse. “Wait, what do you mean? What do you think about Sukuna’s feelings for me?”

Your friend takes a pause, weighing exactly how much or how little he wants to say in the case that he could be wrong. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so take this with a grain of salt,” he warns, “but he seems happy around you.” It’s not exactly the admission you were expecting, you know that much to be true. Still, he continues. “I think for someone handling as much as Sukuna is, the fact that he seeks not just your support in his time of need, but your attention outside of that, is worth a lot more than you realize.”

Your heart palpitates at the mere thought of Kento’s words being true. So much for a grain of salt. You’re practically clinging to the words like a lifeline.

You can’t even begin to count how many nights you’ve spent staring at the ceiling wondering if things have changed. Wondering if maybe the reason he so adamantly seeks your touch and company is because things have changed, but every time you’re reminded of one thing.

He rejected you.

And if you’re being honest with yourself, second-guessing his feelings now is easier on your heart than facing another rejection, no matter how much more resilient you’ve gotten over the months.

Kento brushes the words aside as though they don’t carry the weight of the world. “Now, wouldn’t you consider him one of your closest friends?”

You nod, not trusting your voice as Kento finally leads the way along the final stretch of campus between you and your car.

“Then, I think it’s reasonable to see them as family. You have every right to be upset.” He stops as he reaches your car. Robotically, you search for your keys in the front pocket of your bag, chewing mindlessly on your lip, lost in thought. “Hey.”

You whip your head around to face him, blinking as you return to the present.

“Get out of your thoughts. I told you to take what I said with a grain of salt,” he teases lightly, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that it’s okay to be going through a tough time, yourself.”

Willing yourself to stay in the present, here with Kento, you sigh. “You’re right.” Climbing into the driver’s seat of your car, you start the engine. “This helped a lot. Thanks, Ken.”

“Of course,” he nods. “Let me know when you have some time, I’ll help you study.”

“You’re the best,” you pout up at him. “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, though his hand remains on the door so that you can’t close it. “That reminds me, Satoru organized a dinner at the bar across from his place on Friday. You missed the discussion at lunch last week, but you’re invited. You should come, I think it would be good for you.”

Inhaling a long, deep breath, you nod. “You’re probably right. Yeah, I’ll try to make it.”

“Bring Sukuna.”

“What?” Your brow furrows as you regard your friend from where he leans over your car door. “But Shoko’s still mad, and Satoru doesn’t like-”

“They’ll live. I think it would be good for you to spend some time with your friends, and I know he’s a part of that for you.”

“Are you sure?”

The blonde hums affirmatively. “I’m sure he could use a distraction.”

Staring out your windshield at the row of cars parked ahead of you, you find yourself nodding. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Drive safe.”

“I will.” Before shutting the door as your friend stands upright, you shoot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Kento.”

He simply smiles as you make your way home to change before work.

–

You’re exactly eighteen minutes late when you barrel through the door of your office, earning a few stares as you pant when you collapse into your chair in Yuki’s office. She raises a brow at you, glancing at the time.

“Girl, how many times do I need to tell you that you can be late?”

Your chest heaves dramatically as you shake your head. “I need to make a good impression,” you breathe between heavy pants.

“No one’s counting twenty minutes against you,” she quips with a smirk, tapping the edge of her screen where her clock would be with her pen. “You’re still in school, anyway. Everyone knows you’ve got shit going on,” she shrugs, resting her elbow on the table as she leans on the ball of her palm.

Do you ever.

“I know, but-” you pause, unable to find a truly good reason behind your rush to get to work.

“Relax. Maya’s not here right now and I’m your boss, so-” she cuts herself off with a carefree shrug, picking up her coffee. 

Your eyes trail to the corner of your desk where, for the past month or so, your café order has been waiting for you, courtesy of Sukuna. The spot is empty, and usually on the days where it is, Sukuna wouldn’t be far behind, with the beverage in-hand or an invite to join him at the café.

Today is the second day since he began at the publishing house where that hasn’t been the case. The only other day was last Thursday, when he couldn’t be at work and chose to spend the day with his brothers.

Your lips purse at the thought and you twist in your seat to peek out the door. His office is shut, the window that offers a peek into his little nook of the office has blinds shuttered, with no way to tell whether he’s inside or not.

Yuki raises a brow as you turn your attention back to your desk. “No coffee today, huh? You two back to being ex-friends?” She teases, the reasoning behind Sukuna’s absence last week unbeknownst to her.

Your face falls as you open your laptop, sighing as you catch a glance at the clock. It’s not even eleven and it feels as though you’ve had a full day’s worth of stress already.

Though, maybe starting out the day with the realization that you missed a deadline and crying over it should have been the first sign that today would be a bad day.

“No, we’re good,” you assure Yuki. “It’s just been a tough few days,” you admit, omitting any further information.

Sensing your earnestness, Yuki sits upright, her expression morphing to one of sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you smile, grateful when she lets you put your focus into your work. It serves as a valuable distraction from everything on your mind. Between your missed deadline, your less-than-ideal pace of catching up in your classes, and Kento’s words echoing in the recesses of your mind like some sort of mantra you can’t escape, the moment of genuine focus doesn’t come without difficulty.

Still, you’re able to finish up some edits on your current work and send it along for review to Yuki, who pouts dramatically at you, before deciding to head to the lunch room.

Your heels click on the floor as you make your way out of the office, a bag filled with your lunch held within your palms as you find yourself pausing just outside of your destination. No one is in the lunch room just yet, and your eyes trail to the right where Sukuna’s office lies.

No sound comes from within, and you figure he likely isn’t there, but your curiosity gets the better of you. Twisting on your heel, you find yourself gingerly knocking at the door, hoping, praying, that your friend is within. Any opportunity to check on him that might ease even an ounce of your worries would go a long way for your mental well-being.

When there’s no answer, you chew on your lip as you stare down at the handle, testing whether the room is unlocked as you pull it down. The door clicks as it unlatches, creaking open with a squeak of its hinges.

You peer through the gap, blinking at just how dark it is within the office. The blinds are pulled shut not just in the windows that he shares with the interior of the publishing house, but the windows to the outside as well. The only hint of light is what peeks through the blinds, slivers of the outside world cascading over the surfaces within. The stillness of the air within offers a small corner away from the clacking of keys and scribbling of pens, but what you don’t expect are the soft snores accompanying it.

Pushing into the office, your eyes widen at the state it’s in, and who’s at the center of it all.

Paper is scattered across the floor, along with a couple of pens and some paper clips, but hunched over the desk fast asleep in the heart of the room is your friend. His soft snores penetrate the air, his head resting on his forearms, crossed beneath his face, a thin sheen of sweat slick on his exposed skin. His hair is disheveled and his shirt is wrinkled and pleated more than usual. He’s surrounded by a multitude of paper cups, enough to say he should probably be awake right now with the amount of caffeine he’d pumped into his system.

Your heart pangs at the sight. You honestly hadn’t expected him to be here at all, you’d figured that he would stay home and take some time to himself, maybe focus on his meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, but that isn’t the case at all. He must have attempted to bury himself in his work, unable to slow down for even a moment.

You shut the door behind you, careful not to make a sound as you set your lunch on the edge of his desk and lean down to pluck the paperwork off of the floor. You can just barely make out Sukuna’s writing scrawled across some of the pages, mostly detailing edits he wants to make on his own work, but one in particular catches your eye.

One of the pages is crumpled, it looks as though Sukuna must have had the intention of tossing it out, before he flattened it to use as a notepad. Lazily scrawled across the page is a variety of equations and calculations, with titles beside each total.

Groceries. Rent. Internet. Phone Bill. Lawyer.

The calculations beside the scrawl of ‘Lawyer’ are crossed out a number of times, each number higher than the last. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach as even the final number is scratched out. You can’t make out exactly how much it is, but it’s well in the tens of thousands at this point based on the amount of digits he’s scratched out.

Frowning, you tuck the page within the rest of the paperwork, uneasiness settling in your chest as you get back to your feet. Delicately setting the paper on the edge of the desk, you chew on your lip as you begin popping lids off of each of the empty cups of coffee, stacking the paper cups within one another and tossing them all out.

Gathering the pens and paper clips on the floor, you set those where they belong in a small cup on his desk as well while you contemplate whether you should wake him. On one hand, you want him to sleep, but on the other hand…

His poor back. And neck. He should be home if things are this bad.

Your throat tightens as you make your decision, slowly approaching the man’s desk. Setting your hand gently on his bicep, you shake him softly.

Sukuna groans, his face immediately twisting into a deeply grumpy scowl as he swats you away. You pull your hand back, grimacing as he shuffles and turns his head away from you. “Fuck off,” he mutters.

Good thing you found him and not your boss.

“You should go home and get some rest,” you try to encourage the mostly-asleep man, praying your voice may rouse him from his fatigued state somewhat.

He groans, letting out a breath as he peeks an eye open to see you standing over him. He squints hard as you pull him from his slumber and you swear there’s an almost cartoon-ish bubble popping over his head as his sleep is interrupted.

He pushes up into a seated position, leaning heavily on his forearms. The remnants of sleep remain indented in his cheek as the outline of the fabric of his shirt dimples his skin. Yawning, the man leans back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before pushing his long hair from his vision.

“What do you want?” He grumbles from behind his hands as he rubs them over his drained features in an attempt to wake up. He’s clearly bone-tired and very grumpy now that you’ve awoken him, you can’t imagine he’s intentionally throwing an attitude around with you.

“I came to check on you,” you express, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to get a better look at him in the low lighting. “I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning forward as he rests his forehead on his knuckles, propped up by his elbow. His gaze is trained on the wood grain of his desk. “What time is it?” He mutters out the question, casting your concerns aside.

“Almost noon.”

“Noon,” he repeats, unmoving. “Tuesday?”

“Um- Yeah,” you affirm, your brow furrowing at his reaction.

He lets out an exasperated huff. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Dazed, he raises his head, finally getting a look around his office as he begins to come to, though he’s still squinting, even in the low light. You can just barely make out tears on his lash line as he yawns.

Your lips purse as realization passes over you. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep here,” you mumble.

“You cleaned up,” he mutters, ignoring you.

“I- Yeah. Sukuna, you didn’t sleep here, did you?” You push again, taking a step towards his desk.

“It was just s’posed to be a nap,” he grumbles, tapping on the screen of his iPad and squinting harder as the time flashes up at him. “Christ.”

Blinking at him in shock, you can’t help but go back to the subject that he keeps on frustratingly brushing off.

“You didn’t go home last night?”

Finally processing your concern, he stares you down. “No.”

“Why not?”

Sighing heavily, he massages his temples, fighting off an oncoming headache. “Had deadlines to meet n’ needed money to meet with the lawyer tomorrow,” he mumbles out an explanation.

Blinking in horror at the immediate repercussions of losing his brothers, you feel your worries twist in your stomach and lurch up to your throat. Sukuna can play off as much as he wants that he’s just trying to catch up, but you can see within the crimson of his irises that he’s lost. Trying to find some sort of purpose, something to do.

And you get it.

It happened to you when the two of you fought. When you had to relearn your own hobbies and allow yourself to enjoy your spare time once again, but this is beyond that. This isn’t a few months’ worth of friendship and constant time spent together, this is a man who’s spent years with no spare time, skipping out on sleep in favor of providing for his brothers. This is a man who taught himself to thrive under pressure for the sheer sake of survival.

Now, the pressure remains, but his time is tenfold. How is anyone meant to unlearn a work ethic so ingrained into their system at the snap of a finger?

When you’re busy with life’s obligations, it’s easy to be willing to lose sleep to find time for yourself and your passions, but when that life is ripped from the fabric of your being, it feels downright wrong to spend any spare time indulging in oneself.

And for someone like Sukuna, someone who feels he’s failed everyone around him, that feeling only increases tenfold. It exists on the outer edges of his psyche, sticking to him like glue and threatening to pull him under. It’s a painfully suffocating way to live.

Swiping your tongue across your lower lip, your gaze falls to the blinds. “Can I open those?” You ask, pointing behind him.

He grunts, the barest of shrugs following it.

Moving past him, you pull the blinds open on his window, letting the overcast light pour into the room. Sukuna rubs his eyes behind you, squinting to adjust to the light.

Standing behind him, you frown. “Why don’t you go home?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?” You push, your brow furrowing with how painfully stubborn this man is.

“Missed almost a week. Gotta make up for it,” he replies almost robotically, rolling his neck. It pops as he picks up his iPad, not sparing a moment as he gets back to it.

Making your way back around to the front of his desk, you worriedly take in his features as daylight streams in, illuminating the surfaces of his office. The thin sheen of sweat remains on his skin, clinging to his forehead in a way that makes him look sickly. Paired with a gaunt and empty expression and dark circles under his eyes that resemble bruises, you can only imagine the pain he’s going through.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sukuna’s gaze rises slowly, before trailing to the side as he considers your question. Sighing, he rubs his forehead. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Dunno, princess. I had a protein bar at some point last night.”

Your gut twists in further horror at the revelation. “You’re gonna make yourself sick,” you mumble.

He lowers his hand from his forehead, staring blankly at you as he remains silent. His eyes flicker across your features as you stand your ground. When you don’t receive a response, you move to the edge of his desk, digging into the bag you’d left on the surface when you entered the room. Pulling out your lunch, you set it on the desk and slide it across to him.

“I’m not eating your lunch,” he gruffs, staring at the tupperware.

“You’re not. I packed it for you.”

Anyone else might present such a fact as defiance, but Sukuna knows you too well. It’s done out of the kindness of your heart, because you hate that he never brings lunch. Since the day you first shared your lunch with him, of course he’s taken notice that you always seem to conveniently have too much food, it’s only now that you’re acknowledging it not as too much food, but as a purposeful decision to bring extra for him.

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stares down at the tupperware. You plop yourself down in a chair in front of his desk, leaning back as you begin eating your leftover pasta salad, forcing Sukuna to sigh. Languidly, he frowns as he takes a hold of the tupperware, popping it open to leftover pizza. The smell alone is enough to make his stomach grumble, and he allows himself to give in, leaning back in his chair.

The room is silent aside from the sound of your fork against plastic as you eat. As hungry as his stomach made him sound, Sukuna struggles to find an appetite, eating in slow motion. You finish far before him, snacking on some fruit you’d packed alongside the two meals. You offer him some, but he shakes his head.

Between bites, you find yourself watching the uncharacteristic way that Sukuna moves. It doesn’t seem like he’s given up. He wouldn’t be working so hard even now if he had, but everything from the way he carries himself to the empty look in his eyes is worse than anything you’ve seen from him over the course of the past few months.

This isn’t distance, or being lost in his own head, this goes beyond that. It’s as though defeat is battering him down and even if he refuses to fall, his body and mind are still taking the brunt of the damage.

“How did yesterday morning go?”

Sukuna stops dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over another slice of pizza. He bites down on his lip as the memory of Yuji screaming out for him is enough to make him shudder. He sucks in a shaky breath, feigning nonchalance as he grabs the slice.

“Fine,” he gruffs, staring blankly at the desk in front of him.

You blink, taking in how tense his jaw is as he forces another bite of food into his mouth. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see through his lies. Either way, he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so you move on to your next concern. “Are you okay, Kuna?”

His chewing pauses as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He blinks, his gaze still trained blankly on his desk as memories flood his mind of the meaning behind the nickname so dear to his brothers, and now to you.

He grits his teeth, grinding them together hard as his expression hardens. He doesn't spare you a glance as his anger simmers just beneath the surface. As the pain and fear both caused by his loss clash within his mind, his grip on the pizza tightens.

His morphing expression and sudden frozen stance cause you to tilt your head at him. “Kuna?”

He knows it’s not intentional. God damn it, he knows.

But fuck if the continued use of his nickname doesn't poke and prod at that growing fear of losing his own identity. But if he doesn't let you call him that stupid nickname he used to hate (maybe even still does), then who is he, really?

Swallowing, he slowly returns to his meal, though his gaze never once moves from the desk. Trained emptily on the deep wooden grain beneath his forearms. He flexes his jaw, the tight muscles aching from the pressure he put them under. “I’m fine.”

The words almost sound as though they choke him. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you search for anything you can do to find answers, to find a reaction, to find any signs of life within him.

Your stare brings Sukuna’s crimson irises up from the table, his vision catching on the way you chew on your lower lip. He doesn't have the mental fortitude right now to consider the way his gaze hangs on the movement, or the way he has to forcibly tear his gaze away.

He grabs the last piece of pizza as silence continues to permeate the air. It’s not the usual comfortable one, either. It hangs as heavy and thick as the fog in his brain, clinging to you both with the weight of Sukuna’s situation.

There's more to it, though. You’re tense too, more so than usual, now that Sukuna can get a better look at you. Whatever it is that hangs over you, it goes beyond concern regarding his thinly veiled lie of how he’s doing. His brow furrows as his thoughts seem to stall.

He actually considers slamming his head against the desk in an effort to clear his thoughts, but even with the fog of weariness clouding his brain, he knows that’s stupid. 

Clearing his throat, he rests his arm against his desk, the remainder of the pizza you brought him held between his fingers. “You alright?”

“Hm?” Your brow raises, his words taking a moment to register when he pulls you from your thoughts. “Oh- yeah, I’m good!” You shoot him a reassuring smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you feign your own well-being. You don’t need to give Sukuna any reason to worry.

His eye twitches, but he drops the subject. Whether he believes you, or he’s too tired to argue, you can’t be sure.

FInishing up your fruit in silence, you cast a glance at the time, packing your lunch back up into the tupperware and tossing it into the tote bag you brought it in. “I should get back to work, but I’ll be back at five sharp because I’m taking you home,” you tell him in the most authoritative voice you can muster. He opens his mouth to retort, but you interrupt before he can get a word in. “See you in a bit.”

With that, you slip out the door before he can argue with you, leaving him in his office in silence.

On the walk back to your desk, you fall into step with Yuki, who happens to be returning from lunch at the same time.

“Hey, where’d you disappear to?” She inquires with a tilt of her head. Her blonde hair cascades to the side as she curiously regards you.

“I was having lunch with Sukuna,” you explain, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. “I went to check on him, he slept here overnight,” you grimace.

“You’re kidding.” Yuki casts a glance back at his office, the door slightly ajar from how you’d left it. “Was he really behind, or something?”

You shrug. “He didn’t give me much of an explanation, he just mentioned deadlines.”

Yuki shakes her head. “Poor guy. He didn’t even take that much time off.”

“Yeah… I’m gonna take the bus home with him.” You nod to yourself. “At least then I can make sure he gets some sleep in a bed.”

“Wait, does he at least have a couch in his office to sleep on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh my god, I can feel his back pain from here,” she winces in horror, rubbing her shoulder at the thought.

You chuckle quietly to yourself. “It’s not like he’d fit on a couch anyway.”

“You have a point,” she agrees, chuckling alongside you as you settle into your desk to work for the afternoon.

It passes quickly, even with a multitude of distractions, courtesy of your brain’s ability to cling to every concern like you owe it money. The amount of times you find yourself re-reading some of the paragraphs in an effort to actually understand the text laid out for you says a lot about your own well-being. It’s not exactly easy to edit when your mind keeps jumping back between Sukuna’s exhausted expression and the paper you missed the deadline for.

Still, you manage to make it through the day without falling behind, which is a relief because you’re not sure if you could handle falling behind on work as well as school.

Packing your laptop into your bag and shutting off your monitor, you wish Yuki a good night as you cross the office to get Sukuna.

When you push his door open, you find him hunched over his iPad with a concentrated expression and a multitude of printed pages and pencil sketches spread across the table. You tilt your head to get a better look at some of them as Sukuna works away, not even acknowledging you.

None of the art strewn across his desk is in a style you’re used to seeing from him. Most of his art for the covers that you’ve seen tends to be in one of two different styles. Either a character with rounded features and bold lines, similar to how he draws for his brothers to color, or in a painterly style reminiscent of old children’s novels. What lays across his desk, however, is a variety of different styles.

“Trying out something new?” You query, finally gaining his attention as his eyes flicker up to you, before he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen.

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles out in reply. “Gimme a moment.”

You nod, peering over his desk curiously to catch a glimpse of his current piece. You can’t decipher what project the cover is for based on what he’s done so far, but it’s also a far stretch from his usual art. Bold lines and equally bold colors come together to make a heavily stylized car on a stretch of road with cacti dotted along the background.

It’s gorgeous, but unusual.

“Nosy,” Sukuna mutters, meant to be a playful dig at your curiosity, though it lacks any lilt that could be seen as teasing, coming across more like an irritated grunt.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back.

“I’m kidding, princess. I don’t care if you look,” he sighs, shutting his iPad off and tucking it in his bag.

“Oh,” you frown, having a tough time reading him as he stands up to pull his jacket on. Raking his fingers through his hair, he pushes it back to the best of his ability, though it still lays in a disheveled manner on his head.

Without another word, Sukuna comes up behind you, nudging you along to lead the way to the bus stop. He remains close behind you as you reach the stop in silence, hands in his pockets as he stares at nothing in particular on the horizon while you take a seat on a bench as you await transit.

“What’s got you trying so many different styles?” You query, peering up at the nearly seven-foot-tall man.

He scratches at the stubble dotting his chin, shrugging. “Just felt like time, I guess.”

You catch the distant glaze that shimmers in his eyes, the way his pupils shrink as they flicker aimlessly from side to side, taking in the buildings across the road. There’s more to this, more to his weary expressions and empty replies, but he’s made it clear you aren’t getting anything out of him.

He’s strangely put-together in comparison to the state you had expected to find him in.

Sure, he’s not all there and unwilling to talk, but you had honestly expected mania. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for monumental anxiety and anger, converging into one horribly pissed off man.

But he just seems exhausted. You can sympathize with that, but you have yet to decide whether this version of Sukuna is more or less worrisome than the man who hides his emotions behind anger.

Moving along, you continue to try to create conversation. “Hey, do you want to go out on Friday? A group of us are going to the bar, you should come.”

“Nah, I’ll just-”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” You attempt to encourage him. “I got sent the details earlier today. Toji, Uraume, and Atsuya will be there.”

“I’m good,” he declines again.

“Please, Kuna,” you plead as you get to your feet at the sight of the bus in the distance.

He spares you a glance, his chest rising and falling as he silently sighs. “Your friends won’t want me there.”

“Kento invited you.”

His brow twitches as he eyes you, boarding the bus and heading to the back where there are two available seats across from one another. Sukuna leans against the bus window, inadvertently tangling his legs with yours as you take a seat in the tight space across from him.

“Since when does he want me around?”

You understand Sukuna’s uncertainty regarding Kento’s motives given that you’d shared the same question. “He wants you there since you’re my friend. It’d be nice for you to get to know one another.”

His chest slowly rises before he puffs out a breath. The window gains a layer of fog for a moment, clearing when Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side. He stares out the window silently as he weighs his options. Giving your knee a nudge with his own, he gives in with a huff. “Fine. Text me the details.”

It doesn’t matter how shitty he’s feeling, or how little he really wants to go, the way your expression relaxes and your eyes light up helps to ease his pain. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but his lip quirks up into a hint of a smirk before his temple hits the window as he turns his attention back to the blur of trees, concrete, and passing vehicles.

Sukuna’s never been particularly enthusiastic or energetic- but it’s rare that he simply won’t entertain any conversation. You know it’s been an exhausting few weeks, especially as the world keeps on moving- with or without you both- but it’s equally clear that Sukuna needs a break.

Hell, maybe you both do.

Chewing on your lip, you find yourself watching the passing vehicles, as well. You can’t help but wonder what’s going through Sukuna’s mind, what he’s thinking about, how he’s feeling- you want to ask, but the only type of communication he seems even the slightest bit responsive to is touch.

Your gaze trails down to the space between you, where your legs are leaning against one another. Moving your foot closer to him, your calf brushes his. His gaze doesn’t move from the window, but he does pull his leg back to tangle it around your extended foot.

Maybe he’s at wit’s end, but it brings you solace to know that he still finds comfort within you.

The silence grows comfortable as you find your place within his world, watching passing cars. As your stop approaches, Sukuna lazily lifts his arm to hit the alarm for your stop.

You tilt your head at him. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.” It’s more of a statement than an offer, catching Sukuna’s attention as he sits upright across from you, his gaze trailing your expression.

“Cute,” he hums lowly, “but you should go home.”

Apprehensively, you search for the words to convince him otherwise, but his mind’s made up. As the bus slows when your stop approaches, he lifts your bag from under your seat, setting it on your lap.

“Go home, princess.” He encourages hollowly as he unravels his leg from yours.

As the bus halts and the doors open, you can only frown as he gives you a nudge, practically shooing you out the door. “See you Thursday?” You ask hopefully, pausing just before you hop onto the concrete outside.

He grunts.

–

Time seems to pass… differently.

You can’t say for sure what it is that gives you that feeling, but you swear everything is either long and drawn out with no signs of speeding up, or everything passes in the blink of an eye. Classes drag on, but honestly you find yourself thankful for it given that you’re actually grasping some of the material now. No longer do they pass before you can really focus with only thoughts of Sukuna, Yuji, and Choso to fill your time, but in place of those thoughts come a dozen other worries.

You hadn’t found the empathy you were hoping for in your professor, who deemed that you would simply need to take a zero on your delinquent paper for what he claimed was your own doing. It meant pouring more time into Copy Editing, on top of what you already had missed.

Your days are long, your nights longer as you study and attempt to make up for lost time with your scholarship potentially at risk.

Work is equally stressful between having another thing to manage and the fact that every time you enter Sukuna’s office, you’re pretty sure one or two more empty coffee cups have miraculously appeared out of thin air. He was going home every night now at the very least, though if you’re being honest with yourself you don’t think that’s because he feels the need to.

After the meeting with his lawyer, he’d grown infinitely quieter. It doesn’t matter how hard you push, it’s damn near radio silence from your friend. He’s not receptive in the slightest to any attempts to appeal to him. You can see it taking a toll on him. You know him well enough to know that each empty cup of coffee is another worry thrown to the wall and another wound he’s forcibly bandaging. It shows in the way his demeanor dulls every time you see him.

If this is what it takes for him to cope, then you suppose it’s better than a world where he’s alone on the washroom floor. If you’re honest with yourself, that image keeps you up at night. You wonder if his nights alone are spent that way now, but he simply refuses to reach out, too caught up in the hollow feeling that surrounds him.

You thank whoever above will listen that he doesn’t bail on your Friday night plans, even if you find yourself feeling as though you should bail. As much as you’re worried about Sukuna, you’re drowning in your own worries now too, which is why Friday night manages to take you by surprise.

Your nose is buried in a textbook when your phone goes off.

5:38 PM Kuna || you taking the bus to the bar

5:38 PM Kuna || ?

It takes a moment for the time to settle in. Shit. You should be leaving right now and you’re sitting in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie with books stacked to your shoulders piled on your desk.

Pushing up from your desk to run and get ready, you type out a quick response.

5:40 PM You || That's the plan!

In a rush to be at least somewhat on time, you miss the message he leaves you that he’s planning on taking the bus with you and that he’ll be there in a few minutes. So, when he texts you that he’s at your place while you’re in the middle of doing your makeup, you’re running to the door with mascara done on one eye.

Swinging it open, you find Sukuna staring down at you with his signature frown, his expression stoic as ever. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, a silver chain laying across his collar bones. If it weren’t for the fact that his demeanor screams exhaustion and his hair is fairly windswept, you’d almost take him for being at ease. Those who don’t know him well may even assume he is.

He raises a brow, his gaze flickering between your eyes.

“Think you missed a spot,” he comments dryly, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as though he can’t see the mascara in your hand.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you step aside to let him in. “Sorry, I missed your text. I’m running a bit behind.”

Sukuna quietly shrugs, crimson irises trailing after you as he watches you head back to finish your makeup. His gaze never falters as he watches you lean over the sink to get a better look in the mirror. Slowly, his vision drops, following the arch of your back until he’s openly staring at your ass.

Catching himself before he can think too much of it, he blinks, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, I’m almost done!” You call out at the sound. He grunts, though he doesn’t mind waiting.

You’re ready only a few moments later after changing into a skirt and a small, red sleeveless collared shirt, moving in a flurry as you gather your phone and belongings, tucking everything into place before leading the way out the door.

Taking the bus together finds you in a familiar position across from Sukuna, who naturally- or maybe even subconsciously- tangles your legs together.

It may be him who usually finds comfort in you, but you find your shoulders relaxing as you smile down at your intertwined legs. For once, you let yourself enjoy his presence too. With everything Sukuna’s going through, you can’t bring yourself to wallow in your own worries around him, but even if he’s unaware, his company does wonders to ease your stress.

Relaxing into the seat, you smile softly at the hardened man whose attention hasn’t left you since you barely made it to the bus in time.

He clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he mutters, “you look good.”

Your cheeks warm, heat rising to the tips of your ears as you tilt your head with a sweet smile. “Thanks, Kuna.”

His brow twitches, but he remains otherwise aloof as ever.

“You look good, too,” you return his compliment as butterflies burst within your stomach. In the moments that follow sweet interactions with Sukuna, there’s usually a wistful feeling that accompanies your longing. One that you know all-too-well as the telltale reminder that he doesn’t return your feelings, but as your heart pounds a little bit faster in your chest, you’re met with something different.

Uncertainty. Maybe even a little bit of hope, no matter how delusional the thought may be as you cling to Kento’s words from earlier in the week. You know better than to cling to what could be nothing more than a dream, though.

“Who’s gonna be at the bar?” Sukuna mumbles across from you, although you’re already only a couple of stops away.

“Shoko and Kento for sure, Satoru organized it, so Suguru and probably Toji will be there-”

“Toji? What does he have to do with Satoru?” Sukuna hums, confusion written across his features.

“Oh-! They’re really close now.”

He snorts. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head, continuing to list attendees as some sort of pang thrums in Sukuna’s chest. He scowls down at his lap, something akin to hurt, or maybe even jealousy at the thought that Toji’s found someone to take Sukuna’s place. But who is he to judge who Toji spends his time with? It’s not like Sukuna’s been around in almost four years, there’s no one else to blame but himself.

He inhales a long, deep breath, grateful when the bus lurches to a stop a couple of blocks away from the bar and your train of thought comes to a close before you can ask for Sukuna’s thoughts on whatever you’d been talking about. It’d be a lost cause, he had stopped listening after hearing Toji’s name.

The bar is a couple of blocks away from Satoru’s frat house, Sukuna recognizes the neighborhood. Last time he was in the area was the night that the two of you headed to Strip Joint (the chicken place, of course), after leaving the party.

It feels like years ago, yet he thinks that may be the moment when it really sank in just how fucked Sukuna really was. Not just with the weight of the lawsuit and responsibility, but with you, too.

You lead the way to a sports bar, the neon sign shining brightly over the pavement below your feet, illuminating the lot in a red and blue glow. Sukuna holds the door open for you, revealing a bustling bar with the latest pop hits playing from the overhead speakers, while a number of TVs line the walls. Each one is playing whatever games are on, though it seems as though most of the focus is on some football game.

If you had to guess, this was probably Toji’s choice. It’s not as nice as Satoru’s usual choices,  but that just means your wallet gets a break for once.

Bottles of various liquors from around the world line an array of glass shelves across the back of the establishment, a pale and worn counter spread in front of the bartenders. They push drinks across to various patrons, each bottle replaced with a clink as it hits the glass shelf.

Tucked in the corner is a large ‘U’ shaped table with a larger group than you had originally expected.

Suguru, Satoru, Toji, a man you don’t recognize, Uraume, Atsuya, Yu, Kento, Shoko’s friend Iori, Shoko, and finally space for you and Sukuna, last to arrive thanks to your inability to tell time. Your tattooed friend signals for you to slide in first beside Shoko and across from Satoru and Toji. It’s a tight squeeze, leaving your thighs and shoulders brushing.

As you greet your friends, Sukuna silently evaluates the table. He knew his friends began to merge with yours at some point, but even then he hadn’t realized to what extent, as Uraume and Suguru happily converse from across the table as though Toji, Satoru, and one of the business students Sukuna scarcely recognizes as Shiu aren’t sitting between them having a conversation of their own. That feeling from earlier twists within his stomach again as Toji barks a laugh at something the business student says.

Shoving the feeling down, he picks up a menu, scanning it for the cheapest drink with the highest alcohol content.

While most of the table share surprised glances at the sight of Sukuna, Satoru doesn’t hesitate to make his feelings known, much to your dismay.

“I don’t remember sending an invite out to you,” the frat boy pointedly glares across the table, challenging Sukuna’s presence.

It doesn’t matter how many pieces of Sukuna have vanished. It doesn’t matter how many are scattered across the floor, bent, broken, and not worthy of fixing.

Sukuna doesn’t back down from a challenge.

“You gonna cry about it?” His words don’t even have venom, there’s no real ill intent behind them. He’s not having fun rising to the challenge of a fellow student like he would have so many months ago. His words are meant only to keep up the reputation that even at his lowest, he refuses to tarnish.

Satoru, on the other hand, takes the bait. He wants the challenge. You’re pretty sure to some extent they enjoy egging one another on, but there’s no gleam in Sukuna’s eyes this time. He leans back, slumping in the seat with crossed arms as Satoru scoffs.

Ignoring Sukuna’s hollow taunt, he continues. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you think you get to treat everyone like shit and still show up unannounced.” His voice rises enough that it pulls the rest of the table from their conversations, all eyes on a charged up Satoru and drained Sukuna.

Red irises flicker down to the menu once more as Sukuna prays the waiter arrives soon. He needs a drink to handle Satoru on a good day, but now?

He’s not even angry with the man across the table from him for putting him on the spot in front of everyone. He’s completely devoid of any real opinion over whatever Satoru has to throw at him, because Sukuna knows.

He knows he treated you like shit. He knows he treated Toji like shit. Satoru’s reminder doesn’t open that wound any further, it’s already bleeding at the sight of Toji replacing him (rightfully so).

But Sukuna can’t let Satoru know just how low he’s gotten. He’s too prideful for that, still. “Yeah, lucky me,” he neutrally replies.

Satoru’s brow twitches into a furrow. Sukuna’s replies, although exactly what Satoru was fishing for, aren’t filled with the bravado he’s come to expect. Unfortunately, the frat boy just never knows when to drop something.

“That’s it? Lucky you?”

“Satoru-” Suguru attempts to interrupt, with a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he’s shrugged off as the white-haired man continues.

“No, fuck that. You think you get to parade around and piss everyone off, then drop out and we’ll all just- what? Forget about it?”

Sukuna’s eyes zero in on Satoru again, a nerve struck at the mention of dropping out. His lip curls into a snarl as he replies. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“You made it my fucking business when I had to start placing bets on whether or not she’d be crying every day at lunch!” Satoru snaps back, bringing the table to a deathly silence as he points in your direction.

You shrink in on yourself as Sukuna pushes up from the end of the table. “I should go,” he mutters under his breath. Anything else, god, anything else and he might have a retort, but with you sitting beside him as proof of his errors, he doesn’t have it in him to disappoint you by fighting with your friend anymore.

“Satoru, that’s enough,” Kento’s authoritative voice rings out across the table. He fixes the frat boy with a glare, locking eyes with Sukuna who’s one turn of his heel away from leaving. “Sukuna, I invited you. You’re welcome here.”

“What the hell, Kento-”

“Shut up, man,” Toji grunts beside Satoru, nudging him. Fire rages behind his eyes as he watches Sukuna’s gaze round the table, before landing on you. The table’s attention shifts, all pairs of eyes watching a silent exchange.

You stare up at him with a pretty pout. Regardless of Satoru’s (somewhat) good intention to protect you from Sukuna, he’d still called attention to something that you can’t deny. Sukuna had hurt you. Regardless, there’s a plea behind your eyes.

“Stay.”

Sukuna’s never been particularly good at denying you. His gaze flickers to Kento, who gives him a minute nod, and Sukuna takes a seat once more, ignoring Satoru’s glower.

The table returns to chatter after a moment as both men quiet down. You reassuringly nudge your friend beside you, but his attention is given in full to the menu beneath his fingertips as he leans over the table, his forehead on the ball of his palm.

As a waitress pops by to take orders, everyone gets a variety of different cocktails and beer. You order a Moscow Mule, while Sukuna just shrugs and says he’ll have the same. Before the waitress can leave, he stops her and requests Everclear in place of whatever smoother Vodka they may have used.

You may not drink often, but you recognize the name well enough to know what the intention of Everclear is. It tastes like shit, at the cost of being just about one of the most alcoholic drinks you can get in a restaurant.

You blink in surprise at his request, lips parting. “Are you okay?” You whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel your breath fanning his collar.

“Peachy,” he grumbles, clearly still frustrated over the debacle with Satoru.

Shoko, likeminded, leans over to ask you whether he’s okay as well, keeping her voice low as she mutters the question in your ear.

You shrug, sharing her worried glance.

It doesn’t matter that Shoko still isn’t thrilled with Sukuna, ordering Everclear at a friendly get-together after getting into it with Satoru is enough to make anyone’s warning bells sound. “How’s he been lately, anyway?”

Casting a glance at Sukuna, who’s turned towards the TV behind the bar, away from the table, you hesitate. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, you know. I don’t think he’s slept in a week, I watched him break down multiple times, and- oh! How could I forget? He lost custody of his only family’.

That’ll go over well.

Turning back to Shoko, you lean in close enough to keep yourself out of earshot of the rest of the table. “If you mean towards me, he’s been…” you pause, searching for the right word, “sweet.” You’re not sure if it’s exactly the descriptor that’s the most fitting, but as far as Sukuna goes, he’s been sweet to you.

“And in general?”

It’s a dumb question and she knows it as she sees his Moscow Mule get set on the table, watching in horror as he downs at least half of it without so much as blinking. It could be water for all you know based on his reaction, or lack thereof.

“Scratch that. What the hell happened?” She changes her question as Sukuna leans back against the table, his eyes trained on the football game.

“What didn’t?” You groan as Sukuna drowns his shortcomings in alcohol.

“That bad?”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse.”

Shoko raises a brow. “Well, shit.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, contemplating his well-being. Setting a hand on your forearm, she turns her attention to you. “How are you doing? I feel like you’ve been dodging my texts to hang out.”

Groaning, you lift your gaze to the ceiling as your voice returns to a normal volume. “I’m so sorry about that. I missed a deadline on a paper and I’m super behind.”

“Shit,” she hums thoughtfully, pulling an olive from her drink and popping it in her mouth. The toothpick it was skewered with rests between her lips as she continues. “How behind are we talking?”

“Enough,” you chuckle dryly. “The prof won’t let me make up the paper I missed, so I basically need an eighty-five or higher on the final if I don’t wanna hear from an Academic Advisor about withholding my degree or making me pay for the semester for violating the scholarship’s terms.”

“Asshole,” she scoffs in reference to your professor. “Eighty five, huh? Guess it could be worse.”

You nod. “At least this is my last semester.”

“Lucky,” she quips with a wry smile. “Doesn’t your scholarship help with job placement, too?”

“Mhm. The company that sponsors it has a lot of connections, it’s probably how I got my internship in the first place.”

“I thought you just applied there normally.”

“I did,” you affirm, taking a sip of your drink. “But my applications mentioned that I have a Kamo Corporation scholarship, so they probably just chose me because of that,” you shrug.

“That’s a bleak way of looking at it,” she mutters, shrugging as she downs the first half of her drink. “Do you like it there?”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you grin. “It’s great, wait- I need to catch you up on the office drama,” you excitedly tell her, launching into conversation.

The table begins to mellow as alcohol flows through the blood of everyone at the table after the first round of drinks. With the first sip of his second drink of what may as well be disinfectant, even Sukuna loosens up somewhat as you find him leaning a bit closer, his demeanor calm as listens in to your explanation of your shitty coworker Reggie and his antics. He even chimes in every so often to offer a detail about the office, earning the occasional laugh from Shoko and Iori, who joins the conversation as well.

Midway through his second drink, Sukuna even finds himself feeling okay for the first time this week. The haze of liquor enshrouds his mind and blocks out shitty memories, bringing with it a comfortable buzz that allows him to relax. The pain dulls, sedating the voice at the back of his head screaming that he’s a failure, until it’s nearly mute, and with each sip he finds himself chasing the quiet that it brings him.

It’s funny, that in the far corner of a noisy sports bar with some top forties hit blaring over the speakers, he finds a slice of tranquility. By his third drink, he’s even comfortable.

As the conversation shifts to Shoko’s odd classmates and Kento and Yu end up chiming in, you turn to Sukuna.

“How are you feeling?”

Hazy eyes shift towards you as his chin remains leaning on his palm. “Okay,” he replies simply, though it’s the first time he’s sounded convincing in a while.

You inspect his features, but there’s no crease between his brow, no slight downturn of his lips, and no anger hidden within his eyes. He looks at ease. Whether or not that’s something to be happy about, you have yet to decide. Of course you want him to be able to relax and you had figured a night out would do his mental health good, but something tickles at the back of your mind.

Like an itch you can’t scratch, the reminder that he’s casually sipping on Everclear remains there no matter how hard you try to shake it. It’s not exactly something you can ignore, not when he orders his third drink. You eye his glass, uncertainty and concern brimming in your chest.

That’s the equivalent of, what? Six normal drinks? Seven, maybe even eight? All within the span of an hour, and you’re barely halfway through your second.

“Are you sure?”

Sensing your unease, he swirls his cup momentarily, sitting up and nudging you with his thigh. “Positive, princess.”

You can’t help but feel as though he’s chasing answers at the bottom of a bottle. Either that, or he’s searching for a way to cope that doesn’t leave him hollow.

Though, looking at the way his eyes don’t leave you for a moment, you wonder if there’s something deeper to it. Like he’s not just searching for a way to cope without leaving him hollow, but also way to cope without stretching you to your limit. Like he’s trying to spare you from being pulled under by his ocean of problems.

You’ve watched him tear himself apart and offer pieces to those around him until he has nothing left to give, is this the culmination of it all? A man who seeks sedation in order to hide from the fact that there are no pieces of himself to pick up at the end of this all? Because the man who used to only know how to take has given so much that there’s nothing left?

You and Toji hold the last two pieces left of himself. You protect whatever is left of the Sukuna you’ve grown to love, and his connection to Toji remains tense, at the end of the day.

Worst of all, he won’t allow you to give it back, like it’s easier to simply observe what happens around him while he slowly fades away.

Trauma shaped him into a man who reacted with anger out of fear in order to protect himself. At the end of the day, it never mattered how tired he was, he would fight to protect the care and joy he still carried within. When you came along, you provided respite, allowed him the chance to take a breath and relax.

But new trauma tore that away, and as it tears and rips at the shreds of him that remain, you can only watch as the man filled with joy and care disappears, leaving only the anger, the anxiety, and worse still, complete and utter lack of- well- anything at all.

You should be happy to see him relaxed. Hell, you are. It was your first thought upon seeing the tension in his shoulders dissolve, but somehow, this is worse.

Chewing on your lip, you set your hand on his wrist, sliding your fingers beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket. He’s warm, even more so than usual, his eyes sliding down to the feeling of your hand on his skin, smoothing along his tattooed skin. His pupils are so blown his eyes are almost completely void of the familiar crimson.

You know he won’t talk to you about what happened when he lost the kids. No matter how hard you push, he’s locked that memory away and refuses to bring it to light, as though if he dares to let it out, it might hurt him again. But there has to be something going on that you aren’t privy to, because you don’t know how to navigate a world where Sukuna still seeks your comfort, but you don’t know how to provide it.

“How are things going with Ms. Harte?” You query, brow drawn together in concern for your friend as you try to pull answers from him.

Foggy eyes meet yours, flickering down to your lips that are drawn into a frown. Tearing his eyes from your lips by force, he casts a glance around the table to make sure no one is listening. Still, his answer doesn’t give you much to work with.

“Fine.”

It sucks. Everything about his completely numb responses sucks. There’s no bigger, wiser word to be used.

It fucking sucks.

How many times has he brushed you off, this week alone? You can’t say for sure, you lost count the day you found him asleep in his office. But even then, he gave you more to work with than this.

So, what really happened with his lawyer?

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, causing his drunken numbness to falter. A crease forms between his brows as he evaluates your expression, filled with concern.

His jaw clenches before he takes another sip of his drink. Whatever he’s wrestling with mentally, it dissolves as Everclear numbs him. “Things… don’ look good,” he admits, his words slurring as he stares straight through you. He’s clearly even more drunk than you realized.

“What happened?” You push.

He checks again that no one is listening in. “‘S hard t’ guarantee a fair trial,” he shrugs. “We got three weeks t’ submit a retrial ‘r whatever, but-” he cuts himself off, shrugging again. “Not like we got any new evidence.”

Keeping your voice low, you lean closer to Sukuna. “Are you okay? Like, really.”

He tilts his head to the side, his judgement clouded by enough alcohol to sedate a bear. His eyes take no time in locking onto your lips. “‘M fine.”

Fine. Fine. Always fine.

“God, Sukuna,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat and breaking him from his stupor. “You’re so frustrating. I just wish you’d talk to me.”

His expression doesn’t change as he watches you. You wonder how much of this he can even make sense of in such a state, a slight sway to his movements as he rolls his wrist over the table to motion to you.

“‘M talkin’ to you now.”

Your brow raises at his- well- stupidity, for lack of a better word.

Sighing, you shake your head. You figured his lips would be a bit more loose given how drunk he is, that maybe he might let some sort of detail spill, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

He’s completely and utterly plastered, and- oh. Oh, great. He’s waving the waitress over to order another.

What would that put him at? The equivalent of ten shots within an hour?

This is dangerous, even for a man of his stature, and it;s clear he’s not thinking straight.

“Sukuna, stop-” you tug on his bicep before he can get the words out, shaking your head at her. “Water, please. He’d like water.”

“What? No, I-”

“Water coming right up,” the server nods, catching your drift.

“What th’ hell?” Sukuna growls, turning to face you with a frustrated scowl.

Grabbing a hold of his forearm, you cling to the leather of his jacket. “Sukuna, please. Just have some water in between,” you plead.

Whether it’s the look of concern on your face, or the way he’s completely and utterly distracted by your lips again, he backs down.

You’re not a fool either, you’ve noticed. You’ve noticed each and every time, and your heart stutters and jumps and your hands shake as you try to convince yourself that he’s just drunk. Some part of you, deep down, no matter how much you try to bury it, knows that he thinks you’re attractive. That’s why he kissed you in the first place last year. But that’s not what you want, and you’re not about to let yourself get caught up in those thoughts.

You can’t cling to Kento’s assumptions about Sukuna’s feelings.

Especially not when he’s this drunk.

Begrudgingly, Sukuna sips on the water placed in front of him, finding himself staring at the table as conversation continues on around him. Half of the table is discussing future plans, which he has no desire to contribute to, while the other half is discussing how Satoru is about to become a godfather.

He has even less of a desire to discuss kids, mostly tuning out everyone around him.

“You? Excited to be a godfather?” Suguru quips, amused. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s not like I’m having my own kid, I’m not ready for that!” He retorts, chuckling behind a glass of something that looks outside of your budget. “But I’d be a good dad,” he nods assuredly.

Toji snorts, amused. “You’re a fuckin’ frat boy,” he points out.

“I mean, yeah, I said I’m not ready yet,” he agrees with a shrug, “but I’ll be a great dad. Better than you,” he teases snidely.

Toji, unaffected, just shrugs. “Yeah, probably.”

It’s not your business, but you’ve seen glimpses of what Toji could be like, and you actually disagree. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.

“I think we can all agree Yu would make a great parent,” Shoko pipes up, directing attention to the blushing man who’s waving his hands dismissively through the air.

“Yeah, and this asshole would be the worst,” Satoru sneers, directing attention towards Sukuna.

The tone of the table drops very suddenly as Sukuna lifts his head from where it rests against the ball of his palm, fixing Satoru with a deathly stare. Half of the table knows. Half of the table is completely unaware.

And the half that knows have eyes wider than a chasm, horror plastered across their features.

“The hell’s that s’posed t’ mean?” Sukuna growls lowly, a newfound venom returning to him, like even alcohol can’t numb him from Satoru’s offensive words.

“C’mon, you’d be the worst here by a-”

Satoru is cut off with a cough as Toji hits him in the chest hard enough to make the frat boy reel back, bewildered. “Toji, what-”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Toji warns, deathly serious.

Satoru, confused, rubs the spot where Toji smacked him.

“Nah, let ‘im continue,” Sukuna hisses, only leaving Satoru further disoriented.

Unfortunately for the table, the frat boy’s a lightweight, and he’s already had too much to think clearly. Rather than heeding Toji’s warning, he take’s Sukuna’s bait. “It’s not that deep, he’s just an asshole and he’d be just as bad of a dad as he is a friend,” Satoru affronts, having no clue what exactly he’s walked into, even as Toji and Uraume both warn him to stop. But this is Satoru, when does he ever listen?

“You don’ know th’ first thing about me, you prick,” Sukuna barks, his words horribly slurred under layers of inebriation. The table shakes as he stands suddenly. “‘Nd you don’t know th’ first thing ‘bout being a father,” he adds, earning more eyes on your table as he raises his voice enough to garner the attention of other bar patrons.

Suddenly, the football game doesn’t seem nearly as interesting to the onlookers as the giant tattooed man about to square off with the overly cocky and confident Satoru Gojo.

“Sukuna, it’s okay, let’s just-” You ignore the pounding of your heart as you rise to your feet and earn a number of stares yourself, but Sukuna’s burning in his own rage.

The implication behind Sukuna’s words goes right over Satoru’s head as he rolls his eyes. “Oh, and you do? Puh-lease,” Satoru dramatically groans in an effort to get a rise out of Sukuna. “You couldn’t even finish college, how are you supposed to provide for a-”

“Satoru!” You call across the table, placing a hand on Sukuna’s chest to prevent him from lunging across the table and strangling your arrogant friend. “Stop, please.”

For once, Satoru actually listens, if only because he’s somewhat stunned that it’s you stopping him.

“Nah, he’s right,” Sukuna growls, a twisted smirk crossing his lips. He presses against your palm as he leans in, his skin burning with warmth through the thin material of his shirt. You can’t be sure whether it’s from the alcohol or the flames that dance behind his eyes. “Say what y’re thinkin’ since you’re so much better,” he pushes, eyes narrowing. “‘M a womanizer, got fuckin’ daddy issues, can’t stay ‘n school, strapped f’r cash, right?”

Satoru’s lips part, the fun in pushing Sukuna’s buttons dissolving as things become a little bit too real. His gaze slides between the brute and you, searching for answers.

“Kuna, come on,” you plead, pressing harder against his chest, but he either doesn’t feel it or simply doesn’t care in his furious state.

“That’s what y’think, isn’t it?” He hisses, completely ignoring you, blinded by rage. The patrons that surround you have gone deathly silent as even the ambient clinking of glasses and laughter dies from the air. “‘Nd maybe y’re right,” he tacks on, relieving the pressure on your hand as he stands up straight, some form of disdain crossing his face. “I’d be a shit dad.”

Bewildered, Satoru can only stare, his eyes whipping wildly between everyone at the table as though he might be the only one who missed the memo, but there’s a variety of confused stares tucked within your group of friends. Uraume, Toji, Shoko, and Kento all share horrified expressions, but no one else is privy to the turmoil raging within your friend.

Hell, even Shoko doesn’t know the full extent, though you’re sure three shots of Everclear was enough to tip her off to something going on.

“I, uh-” Satoru pauses, shocked into uncertainty. “I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spits with the most clarity you’ve heard in his speech all night, turning on his heel as he fishes for a cigarette in his pocket and slams the bar door open like it owes him money.

Your jaw hangs ajar, heat searing the skin of your cheeks as you flip around to face the table. You’re met with an equal amount of concern and confusion, but Toji seems to be the only one accustomed enough to Sukuna’s outbursts to bring some sense to the table.

“Way to fuckin’ go, asshole,” he grunts, smacking Satoru on the arm.

“What the hell?” The frat boy recoils, his shoulder knocking into Suguru, who seems to come to.

“What just happened?” Suguru voices what everyone is thinking.

Chewing absently on your lip, you cast a glance back at Sukuna, who you can barely make out against the dark background of the night sky outside the door. “I, um-” you stammer, turning back to the table.

“Go after him,” Uraume urges. They give you a reassuring nod when you hesitate. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Nodding gratefully, you grab your jacket, shrugging it over your shoulders before jogging out the door.

Your friend doesn’t bother to cast you a glance as he leans against the outside of the bar, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. The embers sputter out on the concrete below as he takes another long drag, exhaling deeply into the air overhead.

“Are you okay?”

Another drag of his cigarette. Another “fine”.

“Don’t give me that. You’re clearly not,” you push, an air of exasperation to your tone. You can’t help it anymore, of course you would get frustrated when he just won’t talk to you.

His eyes flicker down to you now, hazy with the effects of liquor.

“I know things are hard right now, but how many times do I need to tell you that I’m here for you before you listen?”

His gaze shifts down slightly, settling on your lips. When your words begin to sink in, his vision rises again. He takes another drag of his cigarette, holding his breath as the nicotine soothes his frustrations. Between the nicotine and Everclear, he finds himself oddly at ease, unbothered by the events that went down mere minutes ago.

The wounds are already bleeding, Satoru can’t push the knife that much deeper.

He just shrugs, brushing you off. “I feel fine, princess,” he mutters.

“Yeah I bet,” you scoff, staring out at the parking lot. “You’re just drunk.”

His brow furrows, too inebriated to make sense of this whole ordeal. Shouldn’t you be happy that he’s okay? That even after his blow-up with Satoru, he’s calm? So, why the hell are you so upset?

If he was in his right mind, he might get it. He might see just how frustrating he’s being.

But all he finds when he searches for answers is a sea of confusion.

“‘S that so bad?” He grunts. “Y’wanted me here, didn’t you?”

Turning back towards him, you rub at your temples in an effort to calm down. “I did. I do! but I thought…” you trail off, chewing on your lip as you compose yourself, straightening as you face him. “I thought it would be good for you- for both of us- to spend time with friends and have some drinks-”

“That not what’s goin’ on?” He interrupts, smoke coming out in puffs from his lips with each word.

You stop yourself in your tracks, blinking. Last time you saw him drunk, he’d still seemed in tune with his surroundings. His drinks were likely spread out over the course of multiple hours, watered down by a reasonable amount of soda. You’d be willing to guess he hadn’t had the equivalent of eight or so shots that night, though. He’d probably paced himself. Tonight, though, the liquor hit him hard and fast.

“You’ve had like three times as many drinks as the rest of us,” you point out, hoping he’ll read between the lines of your statement.

“So?”

But he’s far too drunk to be expected to do that. “So, you’re gonna black out if you don’t slow down!”

He’s undeniably very drunk, but even in his current state, he knows better than to say what he wants to say.

Which, in case you’re wondering, is another ‘so?’ but he holds his tongue.

Pushing himself up off the wall, he wobbles slightly as he drops his cigarette on the pavement, stomping it out beneath his boot. Like clockwork, he moves to his pocket to light another one, but your nimble fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him before he can get the cylinder out of his jacket. He stares you down now, his expression unreadable behind droopy lids and the slight flush to his skin.

Your grip on his wrist tightens as you examine his features. He’s so painfully calm now that you find yourself questioning if you imagined his fight with Satoru. Could this even be the same Sukuna?

Day-to-day, you find yourself wondering how different Sukuna will be lately.

Hell, maybe even moment-to-moment.

You know he’s struggling to find himself amidst the maze of his complicated relationship with failure, but it’s like he’s fallen apart and in an effort to put the pieces back together, he’s been left with gaps.

Whatever version of him it is that stands before you now, he’s bitter and detached. Chewing hard on your lip, you smooth your thumb over his tattooed wrist. His muscles tense for an instant before relaxing under your soothing touch, as though he needs it more than he could even know, himself.

Even if it’s barely a sign, you see him then. Somewhere beneath the facade of indifference and haze of liquor, is your friend, terrified to his core over something that he can’t bring himself to talk about.

“What happened back there?” You ask, your entire demeanor softening.

His mind is stuck in a slog, slowed by his inebriation. It takes a moment for your words to settle in his mind.

“He just…” he trails off, his gaze never leaving your face. “Pissed me off.”

You can understand that, you know those two get under each other’s skin. But there’s more to it, and you know that.

“He didn’t know, Sukuna,” you point out. “He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Again, a pause as he thinks. “Yuji called-” he trips over his words, running his tongue over his lower lip as he steadies his mind. “- called me ‘dad’ when ‘e left.”

The air stills. The stars don’t twinkle overhead. The rumbling of distant engines comes to an unsettling halt as Sukuna’s muscles tense beneath your fingers. His hand balls into a fist, but whatever mix of anger, fear, and devastation it is that he feels is fleeting. He has nothing left to give. No tears to cry, no anger to let loose.

He’s tired.

Your lips part as horror shakes you to your core. Your grip on his wrist tightens, the air hanging heavy with his confession as it settles in just how much Satoru had accidentally gotten under Sukuna’s skin. Of course, he’s always struggled separating his duties as a brother with his duties as a guardian, but Satoru hadn’t just gotten under his skin.

He’d accidentally pushed the knife deeper.

That’s why Sukuna had blown up, even in his currently indifferent state.

“Kuna…” You breathe, giving him a small tug towards you until you can wrap your arms around his broad frame. He doesn’t move for a moment, blankly staring at you as his mind catches up. That extra moment allows your warmth to envelop him and his shoulders fall as he melts into your embrace, his eyes flickering shut as he holds you tightly.

Time stills around you as Sukuna shifts, his arms snaking tightly around your waist as he leans down to your level. His breath fans your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a long breath. Heat blooms at the base of your neck where his breath tickles you, rising to the tips of your ears. 

You’re sure he can feel, maybe even hear the way your heart races, but he’s too drunk to make heads or tails of it.

“I’m sorry, Kuna.”

He stiffens slightly as he hears his brothers’ voices in the back of his mind, calling out for him. Calling for Kuna. “‘S fine.”

“It’s not,” you pull back and his hands fall to your waist, resting as if they belong there. It certainly doesn’t do your heart any favors to have him holding you so tightly and painfully intimately. Worse still is the way his gaze holds heat that you’d recognize a mile away, but it’s also twisted with confusion. He’s staring at you with brows drawn together as though you’re a puzzle to figure out, but clings to you like you’re all that keeps him from the abyss he’s trapped in.

Feeling nothing is better than feeling everything at once. The intensity of his own emotions drove him to order Everclear in the first place as he struggled to keep up the mask of being okay. While he’ll take the haze it offers over the tumultuous water he’s been treading all week without help, you offer an escape from both.

It’s subconscious, the way he leans in closer, the way his eyes flicker to your lips as his body tells him what he wants so badly, but hasn’t had the guts to do.

And how can you not pick up on the signs? His lips part, his fingers curling into the plush of your skin as he yearns for nothing more than to let his eyes flutter shut and capture your lips with his own.

All these months, and your taste never left his tongue. He always pushed the thought away, figuring it was a figment of his imagination, but his yearning is real. Painfully so.

What is it that they say about these sorts of emotions? Drunken words are sober thoughts? Does it apply to actions, too?

But even at the brink of being blackout drunk, he can't.

Why is it that he's frozen, inches away from what he wants so badly?

Your eyes widen slightly at the close proximity, instinctively taking a step back when you feel the warmth of his chest against your own.

He’s just drunk, he’s just drunk, he’s just drunk-

The thought repeats itself in your mind like clockwork and you hesitantly place your hands on his chest, using enough pressure against the muscles to keep some breathing room between you.

His lips twitch downwards slightly at the pressure, trying to figure you out.

One moment he swears you’re in love with him still, and the next, he’s wondering if he’s read every sign wrong and Uraume led him astray. Maybe this isn’t what you want at all, and he can’t bear to step into another mistake he can’t come back from.

Fuck, he’s too drunk for this. So, he lets you press against his chest and put space between the both of you before anything can happen.

“Sukuna?” You barely whisper his name, a slight tremor to your hands against his broad chest.

His adam’s apple bobs, his tongue swiping across his lower lip as his mind races to catch up to his flurry of thoughts, but before he has a chance to reply, the door to your side swings open to reveal Uraume.

Their lips form an ‘O’ as they pause at the door, which swings shut behind them. Their gaze sweeps the position they’ve found you both in, before taking in Sukuna’s confused and hazy-eyed scowl and your shocked and confused blinking.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, you’re good!” You squeak, stepping out of Sukuna’s grasp with little resistance. You exchange a glance with him, but can’t deduce much from his expression under the influence of entirely too much liquor.

They nod slowly, taking a step out towards the both of you.

“What happened back there, Sukuna?”

Frustrated as the same question is thrown at him again, he drags his hands down his face. His answer is largely the same to them as it was to you. “He pissed me off.”

“I gathered that,” Uraume replies sarcastically at his half-assed response, taking a step forward to stand at your side. “Are you alright?” They address you.

You nod, shooting them a smile.

Their attention returns to Sukuna again. “I know you’re upset with the loss of your brothers, but you mentioned a meeting with your lawyer. Things should be alright, no?”

Sukuna huffs dramatically, shaking his head before throwing his arms uselessly through the air. “‘T doesn’ fuckin’ matter anymore,” he mutters, instinctively reaching for another cigarette. Your skin itches to stop him, but you fear it’ll only make things worse if you do.

The chemicals pounding through his bloodstream keep him comfortably numb in the cool night air. The temperature is nearly freezing, preparing to leave behind a layer of early spring frost on the grass overnight, but none of you notice thanks to the blanket of warmth the shots you’ve all downed provides.

“Got no cash left,” he shrugs with one shoulder. “Doesn’ matter anyway. Lawyer thinks ‘s useless,” he tacks on with a puff of smoke.

Thinking back to his office on Tuesday morning, you think a part of you already knew he was broke. You’d seen the signs, but you’re sure the money can be scrounged up somehow. You’re more worried about the latter half of his statement as you finally get some answers out of him.

“What? What did she say?” You push, your own anxiety clawing at your chest as your breathing wavers.

Flicking ash to the ground, Sukuna exhales loudly, wracking his clouded mind for some semblance of the legal explanation she gave. “Courts c’n deny appeals, so she-” he pauses, narrowing his eyes as he recalls the conversation, “- she’s worried wi’out new evidence ‘r proof of some sort o’ bullshit in the trial, they might toss th’ case.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette, staring out at the parking lot blankly. The way he’s emotionlessly rattling off words makes you think that he might just be reciting what he heard in his own words, barely considering how either of you might react.

Your blood runs cold at the thought of the boys being alone with a mother they don’t know, without their anchor. The same goes for Sukuna, clearly adrift at sea without his own anchors as he slides headfirst into poor coping mechanisms.

“You need to fight, Sukuna,” you push, frantically glancing between him and Uraume. They may both remain calm, but you see through their silence. Sukuna is at wit’s end and Uraume simply knows how to keep a straight face.

Sukuna puffs smoke above him, languidly watching it swirl above him.

Your throat tightens as tears gather at your lash line. You attempt to blink them away, wrapping your arms around yourself at Sukuna’s signs of defeat. Your voice breaks when you push again. “You can’t give up, Kuna. They need you.”

“What d’ya want fr’m me?” He growls, exasperated as he turns to face you. “I tried!” He insists, throwing his hand through the air as smoke spirals around him with the action.

You chew on your lip, a warm tear spilling down your cheek as you stare at your feet. Sukuna backs down, turning towards the parking lot again as he takes another desperate drag of nicotine.

He just wants to forget. Forget about everything. The trial, his brothers, this moment. He wants it all gone. It’s easier.

Just once, he wants to take the easy way out.

“Have you looked through your files again for more evidence?” Uraume presses, remaining a beacon of calm as they set a hand on your trembling shoulder in reassurance.

“No point,” he huffs.

“Why not?”

Sukuna bristles, the constant questions getting under his skin. Is it too much to ask for a single day where he can let himself forget the bullshit? “‘Cause I did!” He barks, finally turning to face the both of you. “I fuckin’ did ‘lready!” He lets out a dry laugh. “I can’t- not again.” He grows quiet, jaw clenching as anguish seeps through his impassivity. “‘M tired,” he admits, barely audible over muffled laughter from within the bar.

You ache to reach out to him, but Uraume knows you both better than you seem to know yourselves.

“You don’t need to go through the documents alone.”

Sukuna’s empty gaze meets Uraume’s, before his eyes slide back to the parking lot.

“Go inside,” they urge you quietly, squeezing your shoulder. “We’ll be in soon.” You open your mouth to protest, but they cut you off. “Please. I’d like a moment.”

Solemnly, you finally find it in yourself to nod, wiping your tears as you turn towards the door with an uncertain glance at Sukuna. As the door shuts behind you, Uraume takes a moment to take in just how far gone any semblance of the Sukuna they know is.

“Why didn’t you say anything after your meeting?”

He grits his teeth, his grip on the cigarette between his fingers tightening. Three shots of Everclear had him thinking he’d escaped this strangled nightmare, yet here he still is, still floating adrift at sea.

When his head simply hangs as he remains silent, Uraume continues pushing. “Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“B’cause ‘m done!” He barks, whipping around to face them with only half as much fury as he musters on a bad day. He shrugs dramatically, his arms making a plop! sound as the leather of his sleeves makes contact with the sides of the jacket. “Jus’ leave me-” he swallows suddenly, forcing the lump in his throat down as nausea rocks him a step forward. “Christ,” he moans as the urge to vomit comes over him.

He can’t pinpoint the cause in this state, but he doesn’t want to feel the Everclear coming back up.

He can keep a straight face as it burns his throat on the way down, but he doesn’t want to think about that taste coming back up.

“What happened to the man that wouldn’t give up for his brothers?” Uraume pushes.

Holding his head, Sukuna groans again. “Dunno,” he replies simply, not taking any real time to consider their words.

Uraume frowns, crossing their arms over their chest. “I’m taking you home.”

“‘M fine, fuck off.”

Ignoring him, they turn back towards the door. “Wait here. I’ll go pay for our drinks.” The ambient laughter and clinking spills out into the open night air as Uraume holds the door for a moment, pausing before they head back inside. “By the way, figure your feelings out for her,” they jut their chin out in the direction of the table where you’re seated with your friends once again. “Don’t mess with her just because you’re drunk.”

With that, they leave Sukuna outside to mull over their words, knowing fully well nothing will sit well with him in his current state.

The table is in a general state of confusion still when Uraume reappears as Satoru attempts to make sense of what the hell he’d just unraveled. His array of questions are met with an overall frustrating silence as those who’re aware of Sukuna’s situation struggle not to give out too many details. Tough, when the cat’s now out of the bag. It doesn’t take a lot to figure out that Sukuna, to some extent, has kids.

Uraume’s reappearance brings all eyes to them.

“How is ‘e?” Toji queries.

“I’m taking him home. I don’t think he should be alone, I plan on staying the night,” they explain, digging through their wallet to pull out some cash and set it in front of you. “That should cover him and I.”

You nod, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ as you wipe your tears. They shoot you a sympathetic smile.

Sniffling, you do what you can to ignore your own devastation. No matter how much you love his brothers like family, you don’t get to call the shots. You can’t fight for them, and you can’t force Sukuna to fight.

It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

The idea of Yuji losing the only person he knows as his guardian forms a lump in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. As silently as possible, you sharply inhale a shaky breath.

It hurts. It hurts and you’re helpless, unable to do anything but cry, which feels painfully like defeat.

Even if he gives up, you’re not ready to give up. But what are you supposed to do? You can’t pull new evidence out of thin air. You can’t find evidence of an unfair trial when Kaori made sure her arguments were airtight.

You’re lost, too. In your own way.

You take another deep breath, steadying yourself as best as you can, even as anguish pushes the knife deeper and deeper, with no plans on leaving your heart unscathed.

Sukuna’s going through more, you remind yourself. You can’t let yourself break when he clearly needs you. No matter how thin you spread yourself, you need to remain strong for him. Because no matter how lost you feel, you can only imagine he feels worse.

Maybe it’s the wrong way of looking at things, but you want to be his rock. You’ll figure out your classes, your paper, your exams. You’ll figure it all out while you’re still there for him. He needs a hand, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, and you’ll be there with your hand out when he’s ready to accept that.

Even if he isn’t ready to accept it.

So you steel yourself, unwilling to fall to your own issues. His are greater, you can’t allow yourself to crumble under less.

“Let us know when you get to his place,” Atsuya chips in, chewing on a toothpick.

Uraume nods solemnly. “Got it. I’ll text you.”

Your heart drops as they turn to walk away, concern twisting your puffy features. Shoko’s arm wraps around your shoulders as she pulls you into a side hug. “Have some drinks. Have fun. He’ll be okay. You deserve to have fun tonight.”

You want to believe her, you really do.

But you just find yourself wondering how long Sukuna can last like this, lost in a battle with his own demons.

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❦ a/n ; everyone is struggling :')

i know i say it a lot, but thank you all so much for all the support, from the bottom of my heart <33 it really does mean the world and all of your kind words constantly have me itching to keep writing.

i'm really, really looking forward to working on and sharing the next chapter too, we'll get a lot more insight into sukuna's life before reader and just how much kaori absolutely sucks (as if you all didn't already know that LOL)

anyway, thank you sm as always, ily all <33

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[attalew]

how robert reynolds quietly shows you that he’s in love with you

robert reynolds x thunderbolts!reader

authors note avengers tower fics are so back baby

it’s hardly intentional at first

you two were bound to grow closer when you began working on the same team, living in the same tower

it begins platonically, though very very shyly, as he is still trying to grow used to not being so lonely all the time

there’s small things you don’t notice

how he tidies your shoes in the hallway when passing your room, places your lost items somewhere where he knows you will see them, stocks the pantry full of your favorite snacks

his only intention, originally, was to be a good friend

you and yelena were now the closest people to him, he wasn’t going to risk messing that up by not looking out for you in the only ways he knew how to

then he started to notice things about you that not only warmed his heart with friendship, but made it drop in a way he couldn’t recognize

how you blinked slowly like a kitten after a long, tiring, mission

how you would reach an arm over to massage your own tense back, while he silently wished he could relieve all your aches and pains

and how his fingers would itch to patch your wounds when they were revealed by the lifting of your shirt

his platonic care turned so quickly into something that he didn’t want to put a name to

something he was terrified of

he became stealthier with his acts of service, he wanted to go unnoticed, he was worried that he would scare you away

but, eventually, you did notice

it was game night in the tower. the whole team crowded around a coffee table that had monopoly sat atop of it, the 7 of them nearly reaching the player limit

bob was trying to stay focused on the tense game unfolding in front of him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how your knee kept brushing his own, or how defeated you looked when you landed on john’s property, handing over more than half your money

so he cheated

he wasn’t winning this game, and he didn’t really care too

he had never been the competitive type

so, naturally, he slowly split his stash, and snuck it into your lap without anyone but you noticing

your widened eyes shot up at him in shock while his cheeks burned at your attention

you looked around carefully before leaning closer to be better heard by him

“bobby, are you done playing?” there was a slight concern on your face

“i’ll stick around, just thought it’d be nice to see you win.” he shrugged and avoided eye contact while your features softened

he nearly jumped out of his skin when you placed a hand on his knee and squeezed it in gratitude

and, of course you won

a grand sweep that had john slamming his head down onto the table in front of him, and had you pulling bob into your arms so tightly that he could feel your heart beating against his own

he decided then that maybe a little anxiety was worth being a bit louder with his actions towards you

and maybe one day he would notice why his laundry was always washed when he swore he forgot to bring his hamper down

why his books were always mysteriously bookmarked when he fell asleep with them laying on his chest

and why he was always the first one you looked at when you walked into a room

thank you for reading! requests are open!

[r3ynah]

DANNY NO—

Despite popular opinion, Danny and Paulina did become good friends after graduation, with Paulina not going to college but instead becoming a famous model and actor loved and adored by everyone in Metropolis, and Danny being able to study Aerospace engineering at Gotham passing with flying colors a real contrast when they were in junior high and while also interning at Wayne Enterprises, and it was working unbelievable well for the both of them.

They would try to meet up once a month, with being miles away from their hometown Danny was the only person she could rely on when something went downhill, they floated towards each other in search of any sort of comfort and normality—well what they consider normal that is.

They would pick between Gotham or Metropolis just to meet in a cafe and just chat about anything, Paulina asks about Sam and Tucker, but mostly Sam (the both of them had enemies to friends to lovers to enemies phase and no one can change my mind bout that, and the both of them are still yearning for each other).

after all these years she sees Danny more as a brother rather than a dorky weirdo who is uncharacteristically obsessed with space, but she loves him—but don't tell him that, and Danny also loves and sees Paulina as family, he knows that even when she complains about how he dresses she will always be there to accompany him shopping( with the excuse that'll she'll die if she's seen by anybody near him, in her words she said that he looked like he dressed himself in the dark, which is fair) and keeping him sane by forcing him to sleep when Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were too busy with their jobs and studies.

Most importantly Danny is there to protect her, sometimes she even offers to pay Danny to be her Bodyguard at galas which he refuses, this is also the reason why she sometimes gets protective of Danny, because if you won't let her pay then she'll just do the same but tenfold— she knows Danny can protect himself but the amount of time she gets emergency calls from the man when he gets injured by the GIW really puts her off.

And it certainly doesn't help when one of there meet ups at Gotham, vigilantes seemed to be around every corner and overly nosy 'civilians' who at first she thought they were there for her, well they did use her as an excuse to get close with the request of signing an autograph but she knew better.

with the way their gaze are fixed on Danny, and their stances always stiff like they're prepared to attack if the skinny man in front of her pick up a butter knife, this was the same in metropolis it bothered her that they were eyeing her friend with such skeptical stares, but at least she knew that the heroes that resides in metropolis won't do anything rash after all, she is famous and with one bad tweet of them from her on twitter she can definitely turn half of the population against them.

But in Gotham? she doesn't really know how the people and economy work, she has supporters there she knew that but they weren't so keen on turning their backs on their vigilantes which were the only ones that really tried protecting them, she's just an actress from another city she knew that she won't have the upper hand here, so she just keeps her head low and make sure that Danny is safe and doesn't get harmed.

It's not like Danny is some sort of rogue, yes his parents are mad scientist and all— but Danny knows better than to follow their steps, for Ancients sake Danny was the beloved vigilante of Amity Park he was there when it all went bad, when no one was there to save them he was there, he was the hope of their town—their god.

So she will rain hell upon earth if ever one of the people that named themselves 'heroes' try to lay a finger on Danny— Fuck her reputation she couldn't care less.

So why? Just Why did he get the attention of vigilantes? and the bats nonetheless, she couldn't keep her curiosity at bay, so she asks.

"Oh them? well, I kinda made my way to their watchlist when I decided to pass my half-assed research all about: 'travelling different alternate universes with the usage of Lazarus waters' " he causally uttered as he picked off the cherry tomatoes out of his plate and onto Paulina's

"did you know ectoplasm here is more commonly known as Lazarus waters? cause I didn't, and when I tried to research more about it online I was stopped by a fire wall, which was embarrassingly easy to get through, and you know what was more embarrassing? it wasn't even worth it, the collected data I gathered was not even 1/4 of the things my parents researched, and I'm speaking about the scientifically correct things"

WHat. Paulina looked at him speechless, "Danny no…"

"Danny, yes.." he cheekily answered, amused by Paulina's stunned face "Boy— you better be joking because I will actually call Jazz"

"Please don't—" poor Danny he looked like he was one second away from passing out and sleeping on the table, who knew being watched by vigilantes has a much bigger toll on his body than when he died.

A/N: Oh noo… Danny being seen as a god by overprotective and devoted Amity Parkers, Oh no…. Guys— I didn't know what happened i was just listening to random things and then Hozier started playing, and now we have this.

[dante-mightdie]

im back and im back with Simon who deals weed

plug!simon who only responds to customers with a ‘👍’ and ‘outside’. makes them meet him halfway and doesn’t respond past a certain time unless you’re really making it worth his while. ballied up face, stone eyes striking a nervousness in every new customer. his regulars know he’s reliable and his shit is good

but then you pick up from him for the first time and suddenly he forgets his whole code of conduct. pretty thing picking up a few grams of weed to ‘help you sleep’

gives you the number he only gives to his most trusted number, dwarfing your phone in his giant hand as he taps a ghost emoji into the contact name (bc you’re pretty but he’s still a criminal babes) tells you to message him again here if you want more from him

drops you right where you request, different to his usual routine of dropping customers off on some random street to avoid the feds

actually responds to your messages with words

‘what do you need luv?” when you message at three in the morning

“downstairs darlin, don’t bring a jacket I’ll drop you back” when he arrives ten minutes later instead of just showing up when he feels like it, if he feels like it

if you actually weighed your stuff, you’d see he actually gave you more than what you ordered. don’t forget the samples of his new strains that he gave you, shoving the extra cash you tried to give him back into your hands

tattooed arm resting over the back of the passenger seat when he reverses out of wherever he picked you up, his aftershave heavy on your nostrils

[followthestarliight]

you get jealous (LADS Men)

featuring - Xavier x F!Reader, Rafayel x F!Reader, Sylus x F!Reader, Caleb x F!Reader, Zayne x F!Reader

a/n - really struggled to think of a circumstance for the one that wants to lock us up...

XAVIER

It was just not your day today.

Not only did you come back from a solo mission completely exhausted, dirty and emotional, but you also learned that Xavier had been tasked with helping another Hunter after their partner went down.

A female Hunter.

Now, normally that wasn't a cause for alarm. You trusted Xavier more than you trusted anyone - your life had literally been in his hands a few times. It was the female Hunter you didn't trust; Xavier was a very, very attractive man and it was no secret - you'd often caught women staring at him.

Nonetheless, you stayed at the Hunters Association building until they got back, only for your stomach to churn unpleasantly when you heard his voice followed by her laughter, before you saw them.

She was pretty, you'd give her that. But that wasn't what made you feel insecure - it was the fact that she was unharmed. No scratches, no wounds, not even dirt on her face. And there you sat, dirtied and bloodied like you'd fought a war.

Embarrassment filled you, your face burning as you hastily got to your feet. You made a swift and quiet exit, not wanting to draw either of their attention.

When you got home, you sat in the shower for what must have been an hour. You just curled up on the floor, letting the hot water cascade over your tired body, your eyes sullenly watching the droplets hit the tiles and slide down into the drain. You'd never had any reason to feel insecure before, but today was just not your day.

You heard the apartment door open and close, signaling Xavier's return. Your frown deepened, and you didn't make any move to get up and greet him. But he must have heard the shower running, because he stopped outside the door and knocked, calling your name softly.

"Hey, Xavier. I'll be out in a minute."

That brought a frown to his face. You were typically happier to see him, and your voice didn't normally sound so...sad. But true to your word, you opened the door moments later, wrapped in a towel with your damp hair sticking to your skin.

Xavier's breath caught. He always thought you looked beautiful, but something about seeing you like this, now, made his heart flutter. The sun was setting, just barely peeking into your apartment, but the soft light made your skin glow, and your hair shimmered like strings of diamonds had been weaved between the strands.

"How was it?" Your voice cut his daze short, bringing him back to reality.

"What?" He blinked, momentarily confused.

"The mission," you answered, though a hint of annoyance could be heard in your tone.

Xavier frowned, "It went well."

"Yeah, I see that."

Then you sidestepped him and walked into your shared bedroom, still not even offering him a kiss or even a smile. He trailed behind you, his shoulders sagging, looking and feeling like a kicked puppy.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked, his voice soft, tinged with hurt.

"No," you shook your head, pulling on an oversized t-shirt - one of his. That at least bode well.

"Then what's wrong?" He pressed, settling beside you on the bed. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, slowly trailing down before his fingers met yours.

"She looked good," you spoke barely above a whisper, voice coming out weak and vulnerable. "Better than me, at least."

"What are you talking about?" His frown deepened. "You mean (Other Name)?" You flinched, and he immediately realised his mistake. "I'm sorry. I just wonder...what makes you think that? She is not better than you, in any way." His hand grasped yours, holding it tightly.

"It's just..." You took a deep breath. "I waited for you, but I didn't look very...presentable. I was dirty, covered in blood-" he stiffened but you ignored that, "-and exhausted. But when you guys walked in...she looked fine. No dirt, no blood, no sign of exhaustion..."

Xavier thought about this for a moment, then gave you a straight answer, "That would be because I mostly dealt with the Wanderers. And you were given a harder assignment, if I recall correctly."

"Still," you whined lowly, "It made me feel...weak."

And then Xavier realised - you weren't insecure about your looks. Because of course not, why would you be? You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - and he'd lived a long life.

"You're not weak," he softened his tone, bringing your hand up to his lips, "I would know. I have seen you face odds that even worried me a little bit. And you faced them head-on, and came out stronger because of it." He kissed your knuckled again, "And, might I add, you have done so without me, sometimes."

Your face burned, a smile slowly forming on your lips, "How do you always know just what to say?"

He smiled, "That's you, again. You taught me all of this - how to love, how to comfort, how to just...be. You don't ever have to worry about anyone being better than you, because you far outshine anyone else in every single aspect. And...I'll make you realise it, eventually. I promise."

You smiled brighter, tears brimming in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him. He held you close, keeping you against his chest, continuing to whisper sweet words into your ear until you were completely relaxed.

RAFAYEL

The temptation to smack your silly fish boyfriend upside the head was becoming too overwhelming to ignore.

You were at another one of his art exhibitions, arms crossed over your chest as you stood alone before one painting. The purple-haired man was a few feet away, deep in conversation with another woman. An actress.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and turning your gaze to one of the art pieces on display. You refused to let that sight get to you, but the longer he spoke to her the more antsy you got. And it was not for lack of trust in Rafayel, because you trusted him (how could you not when 90% of the time he was glued to you), but you didn't trust other women.

Especially not the ones who were so versed in the art of flirtation, just as he was. Every laugh, every seemingly innocent touch, every flirtatious smile...your blood was boiling.

It would have reached a tipping point, and you would have most likely shoved yourself between them, had the realisation that their professions were much more similar not hit you square in the face in that moment. You and Rafayel were very different, polar opposites if you will, and your jobs couldn't be any more different.

And acting was a form of art, too. Well, some would argue so. It was definitely more related to painting than hunting and killing Wanderers.

In that moment, it felt as if the world was a spinning top. Nausea bubbled within you, your stomach twisting in the most unpleasant way. You had never paid much attention to how different the two of you were, until now. It had never seemed important, because all that you two cared about was who loved the other more - which made for fun arguments.

But now...

You turned away from the scene, the sound of your heels clicking against the smooth marble floor drowned out by the buzz and excitement of the crowd around you. Your exit going unnoticed because of how many people were in attendance.

When you finally found a space outside to breathe, the nausea had subsided enough for you to feel like you were not going to empty your stomach onto the pavement. It still lingered, but didn't bother you as much.

"There you are!" Rafayel's voice met your ears not even two minutes later, "I'm questioning my bodyguard's careless decision to leave me in a gallery full of strange people." He meant it jokingly, but when you didn't laugh, when you didn't even turn around to look at him, his playful grin dropped.

"Sorry, I just needed some air," you replied, voice uncharacteristically monotonous and flat.

"What's wrong?" His scent filled your nostrils a split second later, his hands coming up to turn your body to face him.

"It's-"

"Don't say nothing," he cut you off, "I may sometimes be oblivious to how you feel, but I can see something is wrong."

"I don't want to ruin your night," you gestured to the gallery.

He shrugged, his arms looping around your waist, "I'll have many more of these. They're not special." He nuzzled his face against your neck, "You, on the other hand, are."

You sighed, a heavy sigh that really caught his attention, "Rafayel, have you ever noticed how different we are?"

His entire body went rigid, before his arms somehow tightened around you, cocooning you in his warmth, "No. Don't. You can't do that." His voice shook for a moment. "Don't break up with me."

"I'm not," you reassured him, "I just...you paint for a living, I hunt Wanderers. You're into art, I know nothing about it. You know how flirt, you charm your way through everything, and I just...don't." You took a deep breath, then, "And acting is so much closer to your profession than being a Hunter."

His eyes narrowed, the gears in his head turning slowly. When he finally realised what this was about, his grip loosened and he let out a laugh, "Cutie, are you serious? You were jealous of that woman with the crooked nose? Who laughed, no wheezed, like she had just run a marathon? That lady?"

"Rafayel!"

"I'm serious! I could barely hear what she was saying, her nose was directing me another way!"

"Oh my God," you laughed, unable to help it, shaking your head.

He grinned, relief flooding him at the sight of your smile, "Feel better, cutie?" He cupped your cheeks in his hands, "Or should I tell you that she had the forehead of a baluga whale?"

You laughed even harder, playfully smacking his arm, "She looked prettier from the back!"

"Well, she wasn't," he pulled you against him, hands resting on the small of your back, "Believe me when I say this, you are the most stunning, gorgeous, badass woman I have ever seen, and you always will be. I could paint a thousand pieces, but none of them will ever hold a candle to your beauty." He kissed your cheek, "And I quite like having a Hunter girlfriend; I can brag to anyone I meet about all the Wanderers you've killed."

Your shoulders immediately lost all the invisible weight they were carrying, "Sometimes, you can be so utterly sweet. Thank you, Rafayel." You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Sometimes?!"

SYLUS

Sylus was breathtaking. No one could contest that. He was not only physically intimidating, but he was so handsome that sometimes even you felt intimidated. He was the kind of handsome that had women blushing and talking in hushed whispers, fanning themselves while trying to keep their knees from buckling.

You'd never had trouble keeping Sylus's attention. In fact, when you were around, anyone else with him struggled to keep his focus on them. You were always the center of his attention, and always would be.

But of course, you had your moments.

You'd always thought that next to such an attractive man like Sylus, you were inadequate. Or average, at best. That was far from the truth in his eyes; he felt like he wasn't worthy of your beauty. Not even just the physical kind - the kind of person you were was beautiful, pure.

It was a special night for the two of you. It marked a year since you'd admitted to being in love with him, a year since your relationship had began. But he was away, securing loyalty from another gang that ran rampant in the N109 Zone. He promised he would be home soon, and he usually kept his promises. He never disappointed, and he certainly never hurt you on purpose.

So you were fine with it, as long as you got even a few minutes with him.

But then your phone buzzed, and a photo popped up on your screen, sent by an unknown number. You would have immediately disregarded it, had it not been a picture of Sylus sitting across from the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen. He was leaning forward, making it look like he was saying something inappropriate, but you couldn't tell because his face was obscured.

You really should have just deleted the photo and moved on. But then the next message came.

Not with him this time? I guess he feels embarrassed bringing you along when he's talking to someone like that.

They didn't have to elaborate. You could guess what they meant even if you didn't know who she was. She was beautiful, she looked powerful, and she was probably a lot like Sylus. Not his equal, he had no equals, but a perfect match.

You felt sick to your stomach. Sure, only Sylus himself could clear this whole mess up by telling you the truth behind the picture, but you still couldn't stop yourself from assuming the worst.

You didn't hear the door swing open. You didn't hear his heavy footsteps. Your eyes were glued to the screen, the message, the photo...all of it swirling around you like a hurricane. You were frozen to the spot, feeling sick, dizzy, upset...a dozen different emotions that made your head spin.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?"

Your phone slipped from your hand, the clattering of metal against the ground the only sound that filled the room.

Sylus was kneeling in front of you the next second, his fingers closing around your chin. He gently tilted your head up so you were looking at him, his other hand reaching down to pick up your phone.

"Before I look, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

When you didn't respond, instead shifting your gaze away and rubbing your arm like you were hiding something, he took a look at your phone. And his eyes hardened.

"I get it," you blurted, "Really."

"What?" He looked at you. "You think I-"

"She's gorgeous," you cut him off. "Probably resourceful. She looks powerful and influential. And she's in your line of...work..."

Silas was about to answer, but then you sniffled.

The sound caused his chest to constrict painfully, and he set your phone aside to firmly grasp your hands in his, "Sweetie, look at me." He only carried on once your eyes were on him, "Have I ever lied to you?"

You shook your head, "No..."

"Have I not said you're beautiful enough?"

"You have, but-"

"There you go," he squeezed your hands, reassuring you, "You're so beautiful that if you were put into the night sky, all the stars would look dull in comparison." He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. "That woman? She serves under me. You work with me, as my equal. She is nowhere near your level."

"And even if she was, I would choose you in this lifetime and every other."

The minute your shoulders relaxed, Sylus smiled. He got to his feet, pulling you with, his arms snaking around your waist. When you looked up at him, he didn't give you the chance to thank him before his lips were on yours, kissing you so fiercely that your knees buckled. Even then, he held you firmly against his chest, kissing you like he wanted to steal the air from your lungs.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

"You're even more beautiful when you're flustered," he murmured into your ear, one of his hands sliding up, fingers tangling in your hair as he cradled your head.

Later that day, when you were sleeping, he summoned the twins, handing them your phone - he would replace it, he wanted that picture erased from your mind.

"Find out who sent this. And bring them to me."

CALEB

The new Caleb was shrouded in mystery, so you figured you would be in the dark about the people he surrounded himself with now. It didn't help that he tried his hardest to keep you away from the Fleet, which had the opposite effect.

Because you were stubborn.

Under the guise of simply wanting to give him lunch, you approached the imposing building that towered over Skyhaven.

For someone who was supposedly not allowed near the Fleet, no one bothered you. No one even looked your way twice - one look and they averted their gazes. Some even lowering them. You'd never gotten this reaction from anyone in Linkon before, so you assumed it must have something to do with your beloved Colonel.

Approaching the room you'd been told he was in, your footsteps slowed once you heard a woman's voice - an unfamiliar one.

"-too reckless," she was saying, "I'm worried about you."

You stopped just outside the door, frowning. Of course, you knew the rational thing to do was not jump to conclusions, and confront Caleb about this later. But you didn't feel like being rational today, your blood boiling as you dropped the lunch bag with the food you had so lovingly prepared for him. The voices in the room went quiet, and you turned and made your exit just as the door swung open.

Not hearing Caleb, now irritated, tell the woman to leave him alone.

Caleb had always been obsessed with you - that much you were certain of. His behaviour, his actions, his words...were all an indication of the deep love and devotion he had for you. It was actual obsession, far from being an exaggeration.

So you knew you didn't have anything to worry about. Or rather, you thought you knew. Because his unwillingness to divulge information about the Fleet, his need to keep you far from that part of his life, was now spawning some ugly thoughts in your mind - thoughts you would rather not have to voice out loud.

Caleb got home before you. Somehow.

He was standing a few feet from the front door, waiting. His hand running through his hair nervously, his foot rapidly tapping the ground - a far cry from the cold, stern man who commanded the Farspace Fleet.

Your eyes drifted away, struggling to maintain focus on him. You quietly hung your coat, then made an attempt to walk past him which was instantly stopped by his hard chest.

You didn't feel like looking at him. You didn't feel like hugging him or holding his hand or touching him in any way. You just wanted to get to your room and put some distance between the two of you. Though you knew very well he would never let that happen.

"Caleb, move."

Your voice was shaky, a testament to how emotionally unstable you were. Your eyes remained fixed on the wall, even as you uttered the command, refusing to even glance at his face.

"Pipsqueak, I-"

"I said move," you repeated, voice trembling even more. Your bottom lip was too, though you were trying your hardest to keep your emotions at bay. "I'm tired."

His eyes narrowed, "You came today."

"I did," you finally pushed past him, and he just let you. "Only to find out that you don't need me worrying about you." You laughed humourlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. "You already have someone to do that."

Caleb feels himself dying a little inside at the sight of your tears. Usually he'll chase them away with a stupid joke or by doing something silly to make you laugh, but he knew right now that was not what you needed.

"It's not what you think," he took a step towards you, cautiously, afraid you might back away from him. That thought sent him spiralling into fear that he might lose you.

"Then what is it, Caleb?" You turned to face him, exasperated and upset, "Because you won't tell me anything!"

He remained silent, and you scoffed.

"That's what I thought."

"No, no, no, wait, pipsqueak!" He grabbed your wrist before you could walk away. "She's no one important okay? Actually, she's no one at all."

You crossed your arms, not quite believing him.

"I've..." He sighed, his hand moving from your wrist to intertwine with yours, "I've been working on something. It's, ah, a little embarrassing." His cheeks turned slightly pink. "But I swear, it does not involve any other woman."

"So then what is it?" You asked, tears drying as you became more curious than upset.

His blush darkened, "I may have been...trying to make my virtual assistant speak with your voice...That's why you heard her say that. It was a short clip of a voice note you once left me, but the stupid thing is struggling to incorporate your voice into its system."

Your jaw literally dropped.

"So you're telling me..."

"Yep." From the way he said that, you could tell he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Don't laugh!" You whined.

He burst out laughing, "You were jealous of yourself, pipsqueak! Or, well, my virtual assistant that's supposed to sound like you."

"Stop!" You cried, smiling as you covered your burning face with your hands.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, "Between the Farspace Fleet and trying to keep up with you, I don't have time to entertain other women, pips. Even if I wanted to, which I definitely do not. So get that out of your mind." He playfully flicked your temple.

You yelped, "Caleb!"

He grinned, "That's for thinking I could ever look at anyone else the way I look at you."

ZAYNE

You never had any reason to question Zayne, or any of his late night shifts. Or any shifts at all. You always waited for him patiently at home, sometimes ending up asleep on the couch or in your shared bed. But you would usually wake up with him there, which made everything okay.

A few minutes in the morning and a few minutes throughout the day were better than nothing at all.

But then the new doctor came into the picture. Or rather, an assistant the hospital had assigned him. A transfer who had, if the nurses were to be believed, specifically asked to work with Doctor Zayne.

She was beautiful, sure, but you weren't intimidated by that. Zayne himself did not care much for looks, and he always made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world anyway. He may be busy, but he never forgot to cherish you.

No, she was intimidating because of how intelligent she was. Being in the same field as your boyfriend, she knew a lot that you didn't. And she took his advice when you didn't (mostly). In fact, she craved his advice, sought it out even. And even though you knew Zayne would never do anything, and that he loved you, keeping your thoughts to yourself and bottling it up just worsened the sting.

You didn't notice your hands shaking until you knocked on his office door, cursing because now he was going to scold you. You stayed up late, and might have consumed one of those energy drinks he'd told you to stay away from.

"Hey, I brought you-" You stopped after opening the door, seeing his assistant doctor sitting across from him. "Oh, sorry, I'll-"

"Come in, (Name)," Zayne's voice softened, as it only ever did for you.

You stepped into the room, but his sharp eyes caught onto your trembling hands before you could even raise the lunch packet.

"Why are your hands shaking?" He frowned.

"I-"

"Did you sleep late again?" He asked, "You had one of those energy drinks."

You cursed the universe, because why did he know you so well?

"I...may have..."

"If I may," the female doctor cut in, which you found a bit rude, "Those energy drinks are incredibly bad for your health. Even just one contains enough acid and caffeine to digestive issues, and-"

"Yeah, thanks," you cut her off, "Didn't know you had a twin, Zayne." You dropped the lunch bag on his desk before swiftly exiting, without letting him speak. For added dramatic effect, you slammed his office door shut behind you.

At home, you slumped into the comforting arms of your couch, your body sinking into the soft cushions like it was trying to swallow you whole. You almost wished it would, just so you could be put out of your misery.

Curled up on the couch, you didn't hear Zayne enter. Nor did you hear his footsteps, too lost in your own world of insecurity and sadness. You didn't even realise you were crying until Zayne tapped your shoulder, and you lifted your head, and something wet rolled down your cheek.

His brows furrowed, "Why are you crying?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?" You snapped at him, then sniffled. "Sorry, I didn't mean...I just..."

"You're worried about my assistant," he concluded, then sat down on the couch next to you. "If it's any consolation, I did not want nor need an assistant. It was...a surprise."

"I know," you wiped your face, only to be stopped by him, and his fingers replaced yours in brushing your tears away.

"Then what is it?" His hand settled on your cheek.

"She's just so...intelligent," you frowned. "And she listens to you better than I do. She even asks for your advice, and I...I always ignore it."

He let out a heavy sigh, but brushed his thumb across your cheek, "I have come to find your ignorance of my advice quite...endearing. It wouldn't be you if you listened to me, right?"

Those words earned a small smile from you, "Yeah."

He nodded, "Exactly. And I want you. No one else. You, with your deplorable sleeping habits, and even worse eating habits. You, with your obliviousness to health risks, and your blatant ignorance of them even after learning-"

"Is there anything good?" You grumbled, but your smile grew anyway.

He chuckled, "Yes. You, with your spontaneous in-office dates, you with your silly pranks that often raise my blood pressure, you with your innocent but wonderful outlook on life." He squeezed your hand. "And most importantly, you, who reminds me to step away and have a little fun now and then. I cannot imagine being with anyone other than you, because I have come to adore everything about you - the good and the bad. And the stressful."

Your face burned, but you let out a soft laugh, "The stressful?"

"As I said, you've raised my blood pressure on many occasions."

You laughed more, "I'm glad to be of service."

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that he only ever let you see, "I'm glad you feel better. Now that I'm home, let me cook you dinner and we can do whatever you'd like."

"Perfect," you smiled.

[botanicsoul]

Eyes Up Here

Aged up | Possessive!Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

-> This one’s for my bigger chested babes🍈🍈

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

It’s sunny, warm, and perfect for walking hand in hand down the street with your boyfriend. You’re dressed for the heat—light denim shorts that hug your hips and a yellow low-cut tank top that gives just the right amount of bounce and peek.

You’d noticed his mood shift about three blocks ago.

He was quiet, more than usual, walking half a step behind you. But you knew Bakugou, and you could practically feel the heat of his glare every time someone else’s eyes lingered on you too long. His grip would tighten around your hip whenever that happened, thumb pressing into the waistband of your shorts.

So naturally, you played it up. A little extra sway in your hips, a stretch when you reached for your drink, a smug little smirk when you heard him grumble under his breath.

“Katsuki,” you sing-songed as you reached a patch of flowers blooming by a café wall. “We need a picture. The light is perfect.”

He snorted, lips curled. “Seriously?”

“Come on, plus you look hot today.” You dragged him in beside you and held your phone up. “Smile, babe. Just once. For me.”

You flipped to selfie mode, adjusting the angle. Your tank dipped low with the way your arm was lifted, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your cleavage. You looked damn good, and you knew it.

But before you could snap the picture—

A warm hand slapped over your chest. Then, in one swift, unapologetic tug, Bakugou yanked the hem of your tank up, covering the curve of your breasts with a grunt of pure annoyance.

“Katsuki!”

“You’re not fuckin’ posting that,” he growled into your ear, hand still fisted in your shirt, keeping it high.

You twisted to glare at him. “It wasn’t even that bad!”

“The hell it wasn’t,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face—then your chest—then the street, as if daring anyone to be looking. “You think I didn’t see that guy over there just now? Mouth open like he was starin’ at a damn dessert menu.”

You burst out laughing. “So what? I am dessert.”

He grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, but you’re my fuckin’ dessert.”

“Oh my god, Katsuki—”

He leaned in, crowding close, hand still gripping your tank. “You’re walkin’ around with your tits half out like you want people lookin’. You tryin’ to start somethin’? Hm?”

“You’re so dramatic, it’s not my fault their big—”

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped lower, hotter, lips brushing your ear. “You don’t wanna know what I’d do if you actually posted that. let people see what’s mine.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at the tone, at the way his fingers lingered at the top of your shorts like he was one second away from slipping them in, right there on the sidewalk.

“You’re so possessive,” you whispered.

“You fuckin’ love it,” he replied, smirking when your breath hitched.

And the worst part? He was right.

He let go of your tank only when it stayed put, satisfied with the new, more “modest” arrangement. You snapped a photo anyway, catching the moment: your lips parted in shock, his hand mid-grab, his eyes narrowed like he’d just claimed territory—and dared anyone else to try.

“You’re insane,” you murmured, grinning as you looked down at the photo.

“Keep testin’ me,” he muttered, brushing a possessive kiss to your temple. “Next time I’m makin’ you take the picture with my hand down your shorts so they really know who the fuck you belong to.”

Your breath caught. “Katsuki—”

He shot you a wicked smirk. “Go on, post that, sweetheart.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

[buckysouvenir]

bucky’s new uniform got you feeling all types of way. warning: 18+ content! ps.: (thunderbolts* spoilers… kind of. idk marvel spoiled everything already)

The low hum of the coffee machine and the scent of strong roast filled the apartment, but neither of those things held your attention.

Bucky Barnes—your boyfriend, your weakness, your absolute problem—was standing in the hallway, zipping up the sleek new suit that hugged every inch of him like a secret weapon.

You’d seen him in a lot of things: bloodied fatigues, loose cotton shirts, towels (God bless towels). But this?

This New Avengers suit?

It was practically rude.

“You’re doing it again,” Bucky called over his shoulder without looking. “That thing where you stare like I’m the last slice of cake.”

You didn’t even try to deny it this time.

“Cake doesn’t make my thighs clench,” you muttered, not quite quietly enough.

That got his attention.

Bucky turned, his vibranium arm glinting faintly in the morning light, and smirked. “Clench, huh?”

You sipped your coffee, legs curled under you on the couch. You were in one of his shirts—big, soft, still smelling like him—and not much else.

“You look good,” you said, voice calm even though your heart was picking up pace. “Like… absurdly good. That suit should come with a warning label.”

He chuckled, walking toward you with lazy confidence. “You think the New Avengers want a guy who’s late on his first day?”

You leaned back slightly, resting your coffee on the table as he stopped in front of you.

“I think,” you said, tugging on the front of his suit, “they’d understand if you had to deal with… an emergency at home.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his voice had dropped a note lower. “What kind of emergency are we talking about, doll?”

You grinned, fingers sliding down his chest, tracing the grooves of his suit. “The kind that involves a very, very turned-on girlfriend… who woke up extra needy today and really wants to make out with her super-soldier boyfriend before he goes off to play hero.”

His breath hitched, subtle but noticeable. “Make out, huh?”

You were already pulling him down by the collar before he could tease you further.

The kiss started deep—hot, urgent, greedy. The kind that made your toes curl and your mind go blank. He tasted like peppermint and coffee and the kind of safety that still managed to get your heart racing.

His gloved hands found your waist, gripping tight even through the thick fabric of his suit, and you arched into him with a soft moan.

“I just finished getting dressed,” he murmured against your lips.

“You can get dressed again,” you whispered, already fumbling with the belt at his waist.

“Babe…” he warned, half-hearted at best.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” you smirked, slipping a hand between his armor and the waistband of his pants. “Use them wisely.”

His lips crashed back into yours.

In a blur, he had you laid out on the couch, his armored body hovering over yours like he was afraid to crush you—but desperate to be close. You could feel the heat of him through his suit, the tension in every controlled movement. It was sexy. Too sexy.

He kissed down your jaw, across your throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin just beneath your ear as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You really like the suit that much?” he murmured against your skin, voice gravelly with want.

“I like you in anything,” you gasped. “But this? This is some next-level roleplay fantasy come to life.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Remind me to wear it next time we’re actually alone for more than five minutes.”

You arched your back, pressing your body against his. “You’ve got five left.”

He groaned, rocking against you, clearly debating whether to keep his pants on or risk it.

You didn’t give him a chance to decide.

Your hand slid down, confidently, tugging at the waistband of his suit pants with enough urgency that it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” he rasped, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch beside your head, his body taut with restraint. “You really want to do this right now?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown wide, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“I need you,” you said simply. “Like this. In the suit. Right now.”

That was all it took.

With a muffled curse, he pulled back just enough to shove his pants down, his cock already hard and leaking at the tip. You reached for him, wrapping your fingers around him in a slow, practiced stroke that made him curse again, louder this time.

“Shit—doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ll make it quick,” you teased, pulling him back down for a kiss, deep and hot, while you hooked your legs around his waist and guided him right where you wanted.

“Wait—” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye, breath ragged. “Are you—?”

You nodded, voice thick with need. “I’m good. I want you. Please, Bucky.”

He groaned again, and then he was pressing forward, sliding into you in one smooth, perfect thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my God—” you gasped, arching under him.

He filled you so completely it was dizzying, and for a moment, neither of you moved—just breathing, tangled, shaking with restraint.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first, deep and steady, each thrust sending sparks shooting through your veins. The cool metal of his vibranium hand gripped your thigh tightly while his flesh hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could mouth at your throat.

You raked your nails down the back of his suit, helpless to stay quiet as your hips rocked up to meet his.

“Faster,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Don’t hold back, Buck. I can take it.”

Something in him snapped at that.

He growled low in his throat and obeyed—his pace increasing, his thrusts rougher now, deeper, desperate. The couch creaked under the rhythm of your bodies, and the sound of skin against skin, broken only by breathy gasps and whispered curses, filled the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “So warm. So perfect.”

You tightened around him at the praise, a high whimper escaping your lips as your body started to tremble.

“Bucky— I’m close—”

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, angling his hips just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out.

Your orgasm crashed over you with a blinding intensity, your back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure tore through you in waves. You clenched around him so tightly he nearly lost control right then.

“Fuck—gonna come—” he choked out, slamming into you once, twice more before he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like your name.

He collapsed against you, panting, both of you sweaty and shaking and completely wrecked.

For a long moment, you just lay there—tangled, trembling, hearts racing.

Eventually, he shifted enough to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back with the softest touch.

“Well,” he murmured with a grin, “guess I’m really gonna be late now.”

You laughed breathlessly, cupping his face. “Totally worth it.”

He kissed you again, slow this time, tender.

Then he glanced at the clock and winced. “They are never gonna let me live this down.”

“Tell them your girlfriend has needs,” you said with a smirk.

He stood reluctantly, tugging his pants back up, adjusting his suit—and shooting you a look that was part exasperated, part adoring, and entirely his.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered.

You winked. “Only for you, Sergeant.

[randominchident]

from friends to this

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max verstappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you've been friends with max for as long as you can remember, it takes a redbull engineer asking you out for both of you to realise you want more. (so much softness and longing)

alternative ending possessive version can be read here

You couldn’t remember the exact day you two had become friends. It was some day in middle school, you were sure of that. But the details had blurred over the years. It felt like you had always known each other.

Max had always been in your life.

You had always been in his.

Sitting in each other’s orbits just felt natural—though entirely platonic. That was the part others struggled to understand.

It was laughable the amount of times waiters had brought candles to your dinner table, 'for the mood', assuming the two of you were on a date. You'd stop correcting them after the third time it happened. Besides, it was fun to laugh about. To joke about how much you'd annoy each other if you really were a couple.

"You snore like a bear," you said, laughing over a glass of red wine, "I pity your future girlfriend."

"Doesn’t seem to bother you too much."

“For a free hotel room, I’ll put up with anything.”

He laughed.

After all these years of sporadically sharing hotel rooms, late night drives, unlimited paddock passesand crude jokes—you two had stayed simply good friends. He'd held you through bad break ups and you had held him through every DNF and every crash. You knew eachother like the back of your hand. Friends for life, that was what you always said.

Until things started to shift. Slowly. Subtly. So gently that neither of you really noticed.

It was Free Practice.

Rain had settled over the city days ago and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. The paddock was chaos—engineers scrambling to keep tires warm, trainers trying to keep drivers from catching colds.

Max stood calm in the middle of it all. You watched him, helmet in hand, exchanging quiet words with GP. It was always a strange sort of magic, how he could look so at home in the storm—like it was made for him.

You smiled to yourself.

He’d be fine today. You knew it.

“So, how long have you been together?”

The voice broke you from your thoughts.

You blinked, turning to find Marcus—one of the newer engineers—looming beside your seat. Tall, a bit cocky, but charming in a way that probably worked for him.

“What?” you asked, unsure if you’d misheard.

“You and Max. Been together long?”

You snorted. “Oh. No. We aren’t together. Just friends, y’know?”

It wasn’t the first time someone has misunderstood your relationship with Max. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time someone from Red Bull had made the mistake. Marcus glanced back toward Max, then returned his gaze to you with a slow smirk.

“Damn. And here I thought I had no chance.” He grinned. “You free tonight? I’d love to take you for a drink.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your brain fumbled for an excuse, but none came fast enough.

“Sure,” you found yourself saying. “Why not.”

Barely a few minutes later, Max is by your side, throwing a tyre blanket over you to keep warm.

“It’d be unfortunate if you died of hypothermia before you saw me win on Sunday.”

“Yeah, what would you do without your only supporter cheering in the crowd?” You joked, burrowing into the blanket and sighing from the sudden warmth.

“I’d be lost without you,” he said, mock-solemnly. But there was a warmth in his voice that caught you slightly off-guard.

Max had told you to wear an extra jacket this morning. You had ignored him. He was pretty smug about it, but it didn’t stop him from trying to warm you up—even going as far as to offer his own jacket. As if he wasn't also standing out in the cold.

“Dinner tonight?” He asked, sipping on his water bottle and moving to sit beside you.

“Uh, I’ve got plans actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Plans? With who?”

“Marcus,” you answered, feeling a strange knot form in your stomach. “He asked me out for a few drinks.”

“Oh.”

Max didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze flickered briefly to Marcus, cold and stiff, before returning to you. There was something unreadable in his expression.

“Well,” he said, his voice casual but slow, jaw tight and face still, “He seems… nice. I guess.”

You smiled slightly, though it didn’t feel true. You were unable to keep the small flicker of guilt from beating in your chest.

That night, as you found yourself in the dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of wine with Marcus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Not with Marcus, exactly. He was a decent guy—charming in that way that could probably win anyone over—but the whole time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

Suddenly a text came through. You knew who it was before you even checked.

Going ok?

Marcus leaned over to see the message. He scoffed slightly, “I thought you weren’t together?”

“We aren’t.”

“Then why is he checking on you? Need his permission to go out?”

“Of course I don’t. He just…” you weren’t sure how to phrase it. “He just likes to know I’m ok.”

Another text came through, you angled your phone towards your chest so Marcus wouldn’t see:

I can pretend to be sick if you want to leave.

Then another:

I can see you reading these… is he that boring?

You laughed slightly and put your phone away.

It was ridiculous. You were here with someone else. Yet Max’s face kept slipping into your thoughts, his teasing smile, the way he always seemed to have your back without even trying. The way he cared so effortlessly. Always checking to make sure you were safe, you were happy.

When the evening ended and Marcus walked you back to your hotel, you could tell he wanted to kiss you. But a pit formed in your stomach at the thought of it. So you just smiled, thanked him for a nice night (not a great night, but a nice one) and quickly walked into your hotel room.

Being alone again was a breath of fresh air.

The next day, quali day, you found yourself wandering the paddock, watching the flurry of activity around you as everyone prepared. Max was in his element, once again, focusing completely on the task ahead. But when he saw you, that familiar, soft smile curved across his face.

“Survived last night?” he asked, walking over to you, his voice a mix of teasing and genuine concern.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at your lips.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite your best effort. “Barely. I think I hit my lifetime quota of polite smiles. I can only listen to guys explain their workout routine for so long.”

Max let out a low laugh. “Sounds fucking borning.”

You bumped his arm with your elbow, the familiar rhythm of your banter helping smooth the awkward edge that had hung in the air since last night. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

He tilted his head, eyes steady on yours. “Maybe you just went out with the wrong guy.”

The words hit you in the chest harder than you expected. You opened your mouth—half to laugh it off, half to challenge it—but nothing came out.

Max seemed to catch himself, blinking once, then glancing toward the garages like he hadn’t said anything at all. “Anyway,” he said, softer now, “Glad you survived.”

“I always do,” you replied, your voice not quite as light as you meant it to be.

Another pause. A quieter one.

Then he asked, “Did he try anything?”

You looked up at him, surprised by the question—not because he asked, but because of the way he asked. Not teasing. Not brotherly. Just… careful. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No,” you said. “It wasn’t like that. I don’t think I wanted it to be.”

Max nodded once, but didn’t say anything. His jaw ticked slightly. You noticed.

Before you could decide what it meant, one of the Red Bull crew called his name from across the paddock, breaking the moment in two.

He started to walk off, then hesitated. “You’ll be watching?”

“You even have to ask?”

He smiled at that, something warmer than victory flickering in his expression.

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with a hundred unsaid things heavy on your tongue.

Max dragged the car to pole, of course.

By the time the final times were locked in, your voice was hoarse from cheering and your heart felt like it had been running laps alongside him. You waited until the press was done pulling him in every direction before slipping backstage near the motorhome.

He spotted you instantly, eyes lighting up under the brim of his cap. “There she is.”

You didn’t hesitate. You threw your arms around his neck and held tight, letting him feel the full weight of how proud you were. “You killed it out there.”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You think?”

“I know.”

When you pulled back, his hands lingered at your waist, grounding you. The smile on his face softened as his gaze dipped lower, hovering somewhere near your mouth.

You swallowed. He didn’t say anything else—just gave your hip the lightest squeeze. You thought he would step back, like he always did after a celebratory hug. But instead he stayed there. His eyes remained locked on yours.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.” His eyes flicked to someone behind you, then back to you.

“Nothing,” Max repeated, but there was a flicker of something in his voice. Something restrained. “Just… you’re here. That’s all.”

You huffed out a small laugh, though your heartbeat was climbing at a concerning rate. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer that. Didn’t need to. You both knew where he was thinking of—across a bar table from a different guy, smiling politely, checking your phone too often.

Someone called Max’s name again—sharper this time. He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, then slowly stepped back. His hands dropped from your waist. You tried not to feel the loss of warmth too acutely.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, already backing away.

You nodded, watching him go. The moment, so suddenly, over. The warmth of his hands on your hips lingering after he had gone.

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the hallway outside Max’s hotel room, quietly debating whether or not to knock. He had texted earlier—Movie? My room? Just us?—like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But it didn’t feel casual.

Not anymore.

You knocked.

The door opened almost instantly. He must’ve been waiting.

He stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Your gaze dropped instinctively to the nape of his neck, the clean skin of his collarbone and familiar freckles.

He stepped aside without saying a word, and you moved past him into the room.

It was quiet inside, dim and warm. The curtains were drawn, a movie already paused on the screen—some familiar, ridiculous action flick with explosions every other minute. You smiled.

“Got snacks,” Max said, moving to the side table. “But no wine. Sorry.”

“Guess I’ll survive,” you said softly, taking off your jacket.

He sat on the bed, remote in one hand, and gave you a small smile that was all shyness and something a little deeper. “You coming?”

You joined him, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched.

The movie played.

You tried to focus, really, you did. But the warmth of his leg against yours, the way his fingers occasionally brushed the comforter close to your hand—it was pulling all your attention away from the screen.

And then it happened. Slowly. Like everything else with him.

Your head dropped to his shoulder.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just let you stay there. Like he’d been waiting for it to happen. Hoping it would. You felt, more than heard, the breath he released. It ghosted across your hairline.

“I missed you last night,” he said, barely a whisper.

Your heart stuttered. “You knew where I was.”

“Doesn’t mean I liked it.”

You turned your head to look up at him. He was already looking down at you.

A beat of silence stretched between you. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

So you reached first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him a little closer.

“I saw you walking back with him last night,” Max went on, his voice rougher now. “And all I could think about was how he got to be the one beside you. Even if it was nothing. Even if it didn’t mean anything. I hated it.”

The silence stretched out.

“I didn’t kiss Marcus,” you said, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel if it were you.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to your mouth. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

Another breath. Then, finally, his hand rose to your cheek—tentative at first, almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way. His thumb traced just below your cheekbone, and his eyes were full of something deep and aching.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Careful. Like he’d been dreaming about it for so long he didn’t want to get it wrong. His lips moved against yours with a kind of quiet desperation, like he was pouring years of longing into the space between you.

You melted into him instantly.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and heart thundering, Max rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”

He opened his eyes, and they were softer now. Unshielded. “Please tell me this isn’t just for tonight”

“It’s not,” you said. You knew then, as you think you knew years ago, that this was it for you. Max was always where you were meant to end up.

hope you enjoyed <3 i've never written this trope before so apologise if it dragged a bit! as always requests are open!