#thoughts run wild while missing him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ikeuverse · 6 months ago

Text

dual life | sjy

pairing: mafiaboss!jake x fem!reader genres: smut, angst, slight fluff wc: 10.8k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : swearing, mention of drugs and illicit things, mafia stuff, jake implicitly jealous, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected sex (do it safely, please). lmk if i missed anything else.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : being a serious and respected businessman was the only side of him that jaeyun wanted you to know, afraid that he would let you into his life and, over time, you would get to know not only sim jaeyun, but also sim jake, the mafia boss.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : idk how, but i thought about it for a day and just wrote it down. i let my mind run wild and wanted something completely different for jake, so here it is. i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 part 2 | masterlist ꒱

The corporate environment could be challenging and misogynistic when a woman holds a position of great power. At first, the fear hit you hard when your name was molded onto a plaque and, below it, the title of the boss was stamped. But alongside all this, you found yourself supported by your colleague and partner Sim Jaeyun. The first man who saw you with respect, who treated you like a boss and a partner, who handed you demands with the same intensity as he handed demands to other men in the company.

He was incredible when he signed the contract to share that company with you. And it was a good deal because once your name was linked to Jaeyun's, everything inside that building seemed to be moving perfectly toward success. Numbers and shares grew faster and faster, and meetings were shared late into the night where you and Jaeyun reviewed what you had done so far, whether you needed to change any strategies in your approaches, and how you two could take the next step.

You were surprised every time because even though he was there for everything, his word was always final. Jaeyun seemed to want your approval even if his vision was the opposite of yours. It was as if your permission was worth more than his, even though you saw him think for a while before making any decisions. Carefully and cautiously when he asked you about shares and employees, about investments, and what he should do, he was careful and very intelligent, but in his view, you were so much more. So having your approval before his was more important.

This meant that the two of you shared more time than necessary, apart from being in the office. Jaeyun constantly calls you to have dinner and go over some papers when, in reality, the two of you did everything but go over papers. Or when he called you for coffee in the middle of the day to de-stress from an annoying client in question, you gladly accepted because the combination of his company and a hot coffee was all you needed after a moment like that.

What started as routine things became a little different when Jaeyun became warmer towards you at work. It was hard to tell at first since he was always very professional and the looks you got from him were either approving ones or small smiles after a good idea in the corporate environment. You never noticed anything more than that. Until that moment. Where he made a point of touching your hand when he sat next to you, reaching for your pen while he was resting on the other side. Or when Jaeyun would gently rest his hand on your lower back so that you would enter the rooms before him as if he would lose sight of you at any moment even though the room was quite large and there was no way he could lose sight of you.

Dinners no longer had the excuse of work stuff, Jaeyun just wanted to go out and talk to you about everything other than shares, money, and boring investors. He wanted to know more about you, he wanted to hear you tell stories and he wanted to share his too. However, in this respect, you could feel him wavering a little as if he was afraid to talk about something he shouldn't have.

In your mind, Jaeyun had something difficult he was dealing with, so he tended to be more reserved about it, but you learned enough about him as the dinners became weekly. Every detail about his life – which he managed to share with you – and every quirk you picked up on as the two of you spent more time together. Jaeyun was a little box of surprises that you were trying to unravel little by little.

But as things naturally grew closer between you and him, something about the boy's behavior caught your attention. From time to time Jaeyun seemed more scattered at meetings, as if his mind was anywhere but on the words of an old, gray-haired man talking about work. Or how dinners between the two of you became the company cafeteria, him refusing – politely – to go out with you with the excuse that he was too tired. But at the same time, he didn't want to break his silent promise that you and he would share a meal at least once a week.

That didn't bother you, after all, you still had his company even if the dishes varied from pasta with fancy sauce to ramen that he asked an employee to pick up at the corner convenience store. That wasn't so important, at least Jaeyun was sitting in front of you with a faint smile and talking about how hard his day had been and how he wanted to go home and be with his dog.

Everything changed that night. You did everything in your routine, working tirelessly in your office while receiving a few emails from Jaeyun to line up a thing here and there. Answering a few calls and dealing with the staff as best you could. After you finished work, you just wanted to be in the cafeteria and try another flavor of ramen that Jaeyun had bought, claiming that you would love it. Your mouth was already starting to salivate because you knew he could find the most unusual flavors, always impressing you with the smallest things.

But your heart sank when the door to your living room opened, revealing Jaeyun and a grocery bag. Everything happened slowly before your eyes, even though the scene itself was so fast.

“I can't stay today” Jaeyun's voice snapped you out of your reverie, the bag placed on your desk while his hands were now hidden inside the tailored pants he was wearing.

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, trying not to sound disappointed enough for him to see that he had messed with you.

But what you didn't know was that Jaeyun knew you as well as you knew yourself. Your every expression, tone of voice, everything. He knew exactly how you felt, perhaps because he was the same way, but also because he watched you too much.

“Some personal problems” he sighed softly, looking away from the bag to you “I brought you the ramen, so you can try it and tell me what you think.”

Jaeyun tried to smile to lighten the mood, taking his hands out of his pockets to fiddle with the bag and take out the bowl, showing you the new flavor he'd found. You bit your lower lip to keep from letting out a sigh or saying something you shouldn't have. Your heart was strangely bothered by it.

“It's no fun without you, Jaeyun” was the most you could say without sounding desperate or showing too much.

He felt the weight of everything fall on him as his eyes fell to the pot of ramen, seeing a spark of sadness shine in your eyes as your hands touched his and took the pot from his hand. Putting it back in the bag, you closed it and pushed it towards him.

“I—” Jaeyun turned away from your table, not wanting the ramen packets back “I'm sorry, Y/n. I really have to go.”

“Jaeyun—”

He was afraid that if he heard you say anything, he'd stay for dinner with you. That's what he wanted most. But he couldn't. Jaeyun had to leave as soon as possible before everything went to shit. So, just as quickly as he entered your office, he left and closed the door before he heard anything else come out of your mouth.

You stood there at your desk, staring at the bag that had been left there. It was the first night since you two started eating together that he didn't stay. The first night that Jaeyun barely looked at you before saying goodbye. He didn't even touch your hand as he did when he picked you up for dinner or coffee. He was so distant that it seemed like you didn't recognize him.

Meanwhile, Jaeyun was racing against time to try to balance the double life he was leading. Getting involved with you wasn't in his plans, not least because corporate life was just a façade for him, so the moment he found himself nurturing any feelings for you, he knew he was screwed. Jaeyun couldn't fall in love, but he also couldn't help feeling it when everything seemed natural when he was with you. Your presence made him forget all the bad things he experienced outside that office. That is there he was Sim Jaeyun, your partner and someone who was slowly taking over your heart.

But unfortunately, that couldn't be forever and he knew it. Leaving the elevator and walking hurriedly to his car, he took off his jacket and threw it on the passenger seat, the place where you had sat countless times in your work clothes as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen in his life. That symbolic place belonged to you, even if he didn't want to admit it. Jaeyun let his head fall back against the steering wheel of the car, uttering swear words that he remembered and that made his body explode with rage.

He wanted to be Sim Jaeyun forever. Your partner, the man who was slowly making you fall in love.

But leaving there he was Jake, one of the mob bosses who was now rushing to help his friends with new charges and problems coming up.

The sound of his fingers drumming on the marble of the table was a little louder than usual. Jaeyun tried hard not to show how annoyed – and angry – he was to be there that night. He knew it would be impossible to hide from his friends how much he disliked being there, but at the same time, he couldn't forget what an authority figure he was there too.

“Are you in a bad mood?” he heard Sunghoon's voice cut through the air, entering the room with all the grace he had compared to the other boys. Jaeyun sighed, stopping his drumming to slide his hand to the glass in front of him and drink all the liquid it contained. He wasn't sure what it was, but he would thank Heeseung later for putting in the highest alcohol content he could find.

“Don't tease me, Park” he replied after feeling the burning go down his throat.

Sunghoon laughed a little and sat down next to Heeseung, facing Jaeyun.

“I asked you a question, bro” he said, “Why are you in such a bad mood? Jay and San have already managed to corner those idiots and take what they tried to steal from us.”

Looking at it that way, Jaeyun could be relieved. Smuggling drugs wasn't something he was proud of doing, but he knew how respected he was for carrying on his father's work as well as he would have liked. At the time, Sim wished he hadn't been so good and just stuck to executive work, without getting involved with the family mafia. But he knew how much confidence his late father had and how much he wanted Jaeyun to take over.

“I know, it's just—”

“He's mad because we ruined his date with his girlfriend” Heeseung winked at Sunghoon, who quickly understood everything.

“Shit, tonight was the night of your romantic dinner.”

“It's not a romantic dinner” Jaeyun tried to make amends.

“I told us not to call him, damn it, Heeseung” Sunghoon pretended to be angry, knowing that there was no way not to call Jaeyun. This was of a gigantic magnitude and even though the two of them were his right-hand man, they couldn't make decisions without consulting him first. A form of respect for their best friend, who had taken them in even after taking on a dangerous and important position.

“What did you want me to do?” Heeseung tried to defend himself, sliding down the back of the chair and running one hand through his hair “They tried to rob us” he continued “My only thought was to run to the shed and stop it, but I couldn't do that without Jake's approval.”

Jaeyun listened intently as the conversation unfolded in front of him. Heeseung and Sunghoon knew that they had complete freedom when it came to any decision, especially if Jaeyun was playing the role of partner in a big company. Wearing a suit and tie, expensive tailoring, and with you by his side. It was a persona he wanted to maintain, even though reality hit him every time he received a call from his best friends informing him of something concerning his second job.

He ran a hand through his hair, the sting of the drink gradually fading from his throat as he looked at the two boys still talking.

An absurd urge to disappear and leave the business to the two of them, to run to the office because Jaeyun knew you'd still be there working, eating the ramen he'd left for you. A strange tightness in his chest made him sigh. He had left you alone for the first time after everything had happened. It wasn't because he wanted to, but Jaeyun was afraid of involving you in the second life he was leading. He didn't want to put you in danger, make you go out to dinner with glances lingering between the two of you.

That life brought Jaeyun and his friends a lot of good things, but just as many bad things. He walked around with plainclothes security guards all the time, but it wasn't as if he could do that for you without your permission. It would be handed to him on a plate to tell you about his life in the mafia because on what pretext would Jaeyun say he wanted to offer you private security? It wasn't as if it was necessary for the life of a company boss. No one would want to hurt you for that. So with his lack of creativity in coming up with an excuse, he found himself doing the one thing he didn't want to do: hide you.

Dinner in the company cafeteria was safer than parading around with you by his side, even though it was the only thing he wanted at that moment more than anything. Holding your hand again with the excuse that the restaurant was full and he didn't want to let you out of his sight. That may have been true, but a large part of it was because he was worried that someone in disguise might harm you.

Jaeyun had declared enemies and he knew what some were capable of. Anything could be done against him, but no one should lay a finger on you.

“Jake!” Heeseung's shout brought him out of his thoughts quickly, blinking hard to regain awareness that he'd been immersed in his thoughts for too long “Dude, do you have her on your mind again?”

“At least disguise it” Sunghoon muttered.

“I think I'm going to shoot your ass, you idiot” Jaeyun pointed at his friend, getting up from his chair.

“Calm down man, I'm kidding” he said “Messing with her really puts you in a bad mood.”

Jaeyun ignored it because he had no way of refuting it. He realized that everything that involved him made his nerves frayed and his feelings more acute. It wasn't as if he could control what he felt. If he could, Jaeyun would have chosen not to involve any feelings because he wanted to protect you. But the next thing he knew, any little detail about you made him lose his mind. He wanted to keep you close, he wanted to feel you, he wanted to have you even if it meant risking everything.

A remnant of conscience made him keep his touches a little simpler, although he felt the absurd urge to grab your waist and feel your lips pressed to his.

“I'm going to check what Jay's got so far” Heeseung got up too, passing the seats and going around the table to leave the room “Any news I'll let you two know, so keep an eye on the phones” and left.

Now with Sunghoon being the only presence in the room besides him, Jaeyun felt the weight of everything almost crush him. His friend's gaze almost pierced his insides because he knew how Sim felt. Sunghoon had a better view of Jaeyun's feelings than the other two.

“Sit down” he said when he saw his best friend lost in thought, barely able to utter a word apart from opening and closing his mouth a few times. Obeying, Jaeyun sat back in his chair “What's going on?”

What about? He wanted to ask but knew it was a waste of time. There was nothing Park Sunghoon couldn't figure out. So the other just sighed, leaning back even further in his chair and closing his eyes.

“I shouldn't have liked her in the first place” it was almost natural to let it out, as if he wanted Sunghoon to hear those words “Things should be professional, I should just focus on the actions and nothing else. Then go back home, deal with the mafia problems my father left behind, and later think about marrying the daughter of some other mafia boss.”

“Better than marrying Y/n?” Sunghoon asked.

It was strange that his best friends spoke your name. This was proof that the two worlds Jaeyun lived in were colliding. Then he opened his eyes, wanting to scream out everything that had been squeezing his chest for the last few hours.

“That's what happened to my father, I just—”

“It doesn't have to happen to you” Sunghoon interrupted him with a certain kindness, although there was none in his tone. He still looked at his best friend as he said each word with deep sincerity “You fell in love with her and you have to go with that. Make Y/n part of your life like Sim Jaeyun and—”

“Don't even finish it” it was his turn to interrupt him “I would never bring her to meet Jake Sim.”

“But if you two got engaged, sooner or later she'd find out about the double life you lead, man” Jaeyun hated how certain Sunghoon seemed about anything. He was the most rational when it came to work and personal life and always had the best advice. He was responsible for not letting any of his three best friends commit any kind of madness.

“This can't happen” his hands ran frantically through his hair, messing up every strand that Jaeyun managed to get his fingers through. He wanted to pull them out of his head in a moment of small sanity but came back to reality when he heard Sunghoon's voice next.

“Maybe you don't need to tell her at first, but it might make Jaeyun's life a little more enjoyable” he said calmly, “You really are falling for her, we can see that.”

We. Jaeyun had always been good at hiding his feelings, from the prettiest to the worst, from his friends. Or so he thought since he had to swallow so much just to make his father proud and be where he was at that moment. Bringing Sunghoon, Jongseong, and Heeseung with him was a baggage of confidence and a remnant of the normal life he had before getting involved in the family business. The only three people in his circle who knew everything, who never judged him, and were always there for Jaeyun. The best childhood friends who stuck together, and that in itself made them get to know more about each other every day.

That's why the three of you could see Jaeyun slowly falling in love with you. Although the words never left his mouth, the way he talked about you could already be deduced from afar. The sparkle in his eyes when he opened a message from you on the meeting table in the room as Jake Sim. The spark of a feeling emerged as he replied sweetly. When the boys attended a company dinner as fake investors, talking to you about the profit they could generate for your and Jaeyun's company. The reality was that they were there at Sim's request to check if anyone was a possible suspected smuggler or rival since his name had been talked about so much in the city at the famous dinner. He was afraid of someone showing up and ruining the double life he had fought so hard to hide.

It was the first and only time the three of them had met and talked to you, but it was enough to see the way Jaeyun looked at you. How he behaved next to you and the tired sighs he released throughout the night as each man approached you. Before, your name was a legend to them, Sim Jaeyun's lousy partner in the company, but when they saw you in person, it all seemed to make sense.

Now we know why Jake fell in love so easily, Heeseung almost lost his teeth when he made that comment inside the shed, after counting out three hundred and eight suitcases of cash. Payment for the container of drugs they had distributed. Jongseong was in charge of separating his best friend so that he wouldn't beat Heeseung to a pulp, while Sunghoon calmly intervened.

Everything went so slowly until he realized that he had fallen too hard for you. In the feelings he was having for you.

“What can I do about it now?” Jaeyun finally looked at Sunghoon, really looked at him. Looking for an answer and no longer wanting to run away from what mattered at that moment.

“How about making amends and asking her to dinner?” he asked.

“I don't want to go out with her and be seen— You know, I don't know who might be following me…”

“Come on Jake, how many men do you have doing security for your dead father's mafia?” he glared at his friend, always teased by the way Jaeyun didn't like to say that it was all his now. It would be easier to say that it still belonged to his late father, that all those men followed the command of Mr. Sim, to whom Jaeyun gave his voice. He didn't like to be called boss, although it happened at the teasing of his friends.

“Many” Jaeyun answered him.

“Then put them in charge of her security once a week” Sunghoon swiveled in his chair, his eyes never leaving Jaeyun's for a second “We have enough men to put in one a week without her noticing, and you'll still be able to go out with her in peace.”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment. He didn't want to be awkward about mentioning to you that men were escorting you for your safety, after all, he was afraid that something would happen to you even if the two of you had no involvement whatsoever.

“That's a very good idea, Hoon, but—”

“There's no such thing, you know it's the only way if you want to have something with her.”

For a while longer he seemed to think about the possibility. It wasn't as if Jaeyun was hiding something terrible from you, not least because he would be looking out for your safety. He'd also be freer to go out with you again for the dinners you two shared during the weeks.

“Not to mention that if you and she start dating, the security will be doubled, don't you think?” Sunghoon stood up from his chair “Everyone will know about her if something gets serious.”

That was Jaeyun's fear, that everyone would know about you besides him and his best friends. In that world where he was Jake Sim, there was no way anything could be hidden. It wasn't like the world where Jaeyun could get away with it under an expensive suit and a lot of stock. He sighed heavily, throwing his head back without the strength to continue the conversation. Knowing how right his best friend was.

“Right, thanks for the advice, anyway” Jaeyun asked.

“At your service” Sunghoon smiled “Are you going to stay there now? I'll check on Heeseung if Jay needs any help too…”

“I'll stay a while longer, I'll be going soon” he said, still sitting down because his body seemed to be weighed down by the barrage of information and advice thrown at him in such a short space of time.

Sunghoon walked to the door of the room, opened it, and turned to Jaeyun with a playful, silly smile on his face.

“Yes sir, boss” giving a mock salute, he ran off before Jaeyun could gather up a load of papers to throw in his direction, but Sunghoon was quick to close the door. Not before hearing the other swear at him for his provocations.

Jaeyun got to know you little by little, his first impression being of you as a strong and fearless woman. Someone he could easily work with among the men who underestimated you and who made him feel angry. Little by little, he noticed how easy it was to live with you and how you could read between the lines when things were happening. He was surprised when he started to notice the moment you felt uncomfortable in a meeting or in the presence of a man who tried to put you down, or how he could understand how bothered and angry you were with some stupid comment or action that had gone wrong.

Over time, he realized that he knew a lot about you just by interacting with you professionally. But when he decided to take a step and invite you to dinner, under the pretext of reviewing something from work, Jaeyun knew he was ruined. He knew that the first sincere smile you gave him had ruined and torn down any barrier he had built over the years in an attempt to not bring anyone into the dark and double world of his life. Jaeyun didn't want you to be a part of that.

So trying to push you away and keep you safe was the first and only thought he had, swallowing the physical and carnal desire that consumed him for wanting to have you in his arms. He couldn't afford to make the mistake of going around glimpsing you and your beauty, enjoying life as a couple that he knew was dangerous.

Sim Jaeyun was a good man, but Sim Jake was the opposite of that. And between the two personas he found himself divided on what to do because he knew that in both his lives, he was in love with you. It was the only thing he couldn't separate.

He knew it was too late to try to make Sunghoon's advice count for anything. Arriving at the office the next day, Jaeyun knew he had screwed up when he saw the bag of ramen on his desk, the two untouched pots very well placed next to the papers he needed to fill out during the day. What surprised him was the way you treated him throughout the week.

Professionalism took over again and you were the Y/n he had met when he joined that company and took on the role of being his partner. He saw the old woman with whom he had shared the management of that building and whom he had always admired – later he had fallen in love – and now he was back to the beginning. At least you, because he felt that he was falling more and more into your charms and letting his feelings take over.

It wasn't easy that you were monosyllabic in meetings, your gaze never meeting his, and every time you both needed to talk about any decision, you said you were busy and asked Jaeyun to talk to your secretary. You were running away, he knew that. So it could only mean that, besides being upset about him leaving you that night, something told you that you also had feelings for him.

Because no one would be upset about canceling a dinner. Even with the shitty excuse he gave you, if neither of you had feelings for each other, Jaeyun wouldn't have been frustrated to get Heeseung's call that night and you wouldn't have been upset to see him leave without even eating with you and then leaving.

It was a silent competition of who was handling it the worst way possible.

But he didn't know that jealousy was being added to the mix when he saw a new investor smile at you. How bold he was to approach you after the meeting, in the coffee room, and ask if you wanted to go out for something to eat.

I've seen this happen before, idiot. Don't even try. That's what he hoped the look would convey, but Jaeyun forgot that you hadn't looked in his direction for a few days, trying to ignore him as best you could. That's why you accepted the invitation. A little hesitantly because it had never happened before, other than Jaeyun, it was the first time that any man inside that building had invited you for something other than your partner. At that moment, after so many days, you looked in his direction, afraid of what you might feel when your eyes met. But seeing the discomfort on Sim's face seemed to give you some satisfaction.

“I still have a few more things to take care of, so—” the man extended a hand to you, gently holding yours. His touch was gentle and you tried to smile a little wider, looking away from Jaeyun to the boy in front of you “Do you mind meeting at the restaurant on the corner in half an hour?”

“No. It’s okay” you replied, feeling him squeeze your hand and lean in to kiss your torso, pulling away and letting go of your hand. He smiled at you once more, returning to the circle of men that was in the other corner of the room to say goodbye and do what he had to do.

You thought you should chat with your employees after a meeting, have some coffee like you always did, and then go to your office. But Jaeyun’s gaze was starting to make you feel strange. He didn’t miss a single movement of yours, from the moment you moved to get a cup of coffee to when you approached your secretary to whisper to him.

“I’m going to my office” you said quietly, not wanting to make a fuss with anyone. “I’ll be leaving for dinner soon, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am” he smiled at you, looking away to Jaeyun and swallowing hard. Your secretary had always been a bit wary of the man who was staring at you, but since there had never been any disagreements, that was passed on as he showed himself to be completely professional.

Jaeyun had never felt jealous until this moment, watching you gracefully leave the room and close the door.

It was all his fault and the idiotic way he tried to push you away even though he wanted to keep you close. Now, not knowing how to act, Jaeyun had to witness that scoundrel of someone asking you out and, worst of all, you accept it.

Something settled inside him and, without measuring any effort, he walked out the door quickly to your office. His mind had never worked well under pressure, whether from anger or jealousy like it was now. Jaeyun had never been jealous, after all, he had never met anyone who aroused that kind of feeling in him. It was like an urban legend or only hearing about the romantic stories that Jongseong and Sunghoon had here and there. But he had never felt that in his life.

When he stopped in front of your office door, his heartbeat almost rose to his ears as adrenaline and anxiety ran through him. Jaeyun didn't know how he would act after finding you in your office and confronting you. He knew something would happen, you could feel the tension in the air every time the two of you were in the same room, he just didn't know how intense it was. He had a slight impression, but he couldn't decipher you from that yet.

He decided not to knock, gripping the door handle and turning around without beating around the bush, entering right away before you could say anything else.

“What—” you quickly turned around from the table, where you had been facing away until then, packing your things and ready to leave. Your heart almost jumped out of your mouth at the sight of Jaeyun standing in the middle of your living room. The thud of the door as it closed went unnoticed by your ears and the only sound was your own racing heart. “Jaeyun?”

He approached slowly, one step at a time as he thought about what to say or how to act. You could tell how fast his chest was rising and falling due to the rapid breathing from the fright he had gotten seconds ago.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to stay calm as he continued to approach. The steps stopped just a few inches away when he cornered you between his body and your table, making your body almost bend over if it weren’t for your hands being quick enough to hold on to the edge of the table.

“You’re not going to this dinner” the authority in his tone of voice made your legs tremble, but you were grateful to hold yourself firmly against the table and your hands tightened their grip on the edge. Jaeyun still had the ability and knowledge to read you so perfectly that when he saw your mouth open – probably with the intention of asking why – he was faster and leaned in to press his lips to yours.

He expected anything: a slap, a sudden pull away, a loud curse that could echo throughout the building. But the surprise came when you let go of the edge of the table to spread your hands against his chest, slowly moving up until you grabbed the collar of the shirt he was wearing, pulling him closer to you.

You were an amazing woman and he knew it, every single thing you did drove him crazy. And feeling you pulling him between your legs, giving way by opening your lips and welcoming his tongue and tangling it with yours.

Everything seemed magical to Jaeyun and you. Each touch took its time, something that had been repressed until now. He brought his hands to your hips, keeping you in place as he made a small effort to lift you up and sit you on the table.

Your pride in trying to ignore him was going down the drain more and more, as Jaeyun intensified that kiss and moaned against your lips. You should have pushed him away and gotten out of there when it was time, but now it was too late. He was tangled between your legs and his hands were doing a great job squeezing you and sliding down to your lower back to slide down to your ass. It was your turn to moan against his lips, your nails going inside the collar of his shirt and scratching his shoulder to mark something against the skin you wanted so much to know.

“Jaeyun” you whispered breathlessly and he swore that was the best sound he had ever heard in his life. Pulling his lips away from yours to get some air for his lungs, he let you ramble on as he lowered his mouth down your jaw. Feeling the taste of your skin and the texture of it between his lips, marking a path of saliva until it reached your neck.

“Yes, babe?” Jaeyun had no idea how much he moved you, because if he did, he would never call you by that nickname in the form of a whisper, while still kissing your skin and sucking a good amount of it between his lips. The pop noise he left after a long suck, certainly leaving the spot marked a few minutes later.

“I need—” you wanted to say that you needed to go, that this would be a provocation on his part. But your mind wasn’t working right and it didn’t help that he started pressing his hips against yours. “Holy shit” you moaned softly, the hardness of Jaeyun’s cock slowly making the right pressure against your still-clothed clit. You couldn’t say how he had the exact notion of where to press and how to press.

“I already told you that you won’t, Y/n” Jaeyun gasped against your neck, moving his kisses up and trailing the tip of his tongue across your skin until his face was level with yours again.

That sight was hell on earth for you. Jaeyun with his lips red and shiny from the kiss they had just shared, adding to the kisses and hickeys on your skin. His eyes drooping and dark with desire staring at you with a possessiveness you never thought you would know. You wanted to be able to say something, but it was impossible while you had his hands on your shoulders now.

“Tell me if this is too much, okay?” What did he mean by that? What was Jaeyun thinking when he asked you that kind of thing? It was already too much to have felt his kiss in a situation like that, but you were sure that it was too much to have his fingers unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt.

Every particle of your skin is exposed for his eyes to admire even more. You were never one to wear low-cut tops at work and his sanity was grateful for that, so he didn't know what to do as each button was undone until he reached below your breasts.

“Shit” he cursed softly, praying that you wouldn't hear the hint of vulnerability in his voice as he noticed the light lace adorning your breasts. They were beautiful and he didn't want to think about anything else but touching them. But Jaeyun didn't want to rush, he needed to feel you because he had been depriving himself of it for so long and almost lost.

When the last button was undone, he bit his lower lip to keep from moaning at the sight of you naked in front of him, sitting on the table with his body between your legs. Jaeyun would be lying if he said he had never thought about being in that position with you, or any other, where only his cock inside you and your voice moaning his name would be enough for any scenario to be propitious. He felt like a pervert for it, but there was no denying the desire that radiated inside him every time you showed up.

Leaning down, Jaeyun left a kiss in the space between your neck and your collarbone, enjoying the sounds you made and smiling against your skin when he didn't hear any objections from you. This meant he could continue with the kisses until he reached the curve of your breast, tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. He looked up, seeking eye contact with you and when he did, he knew he was where he belonged. The way you looked at him, the tense and longing expression you maintained as you held his gaze was all he needed.

“Can I continue?” he asked.

“Please, yes” you answered, nibbling on your lower lip at the same moment that Jaeyun's teeth slid over the lace of your bra, lowering the fabric enough to expose your chest. He was on the verge of madness to taste every part of you, but desire consumed him with every reaction you had to his touch.

The tip of Jaeyun's tongue circled your exposed nipple, making a moan run through the room as it slipped out of your throat. He felt his cock tighten even more in his pants with each sound you made. His hands – which had previously remained calm when touching you – now impatiently ran over your shoulders to remove your shirt with a quick tug, going to the middle of your back to unbutton your bra and rip it off your body as well. Turning his attention back to your breasts, he sucked your nipple with such desire while his large hand covered the other and squeezed to feel its softness.

You were on cloud nine, his every touch coated with possessiveness and desire, making your head spin as you felt Jaeyun's warm tongue against your nipple. The silent sucking compared to the sound of your moans, while your hands quickly went to his hair to pull the strands as a sign that he would never stop what he was doing.

But he also didn't intend to take his mouth off your body. If Jaeyun could talk at that moment, he would tell you how good it was feeling every part of your skin, hearing every one of your moans, and he still hadn't done half of the things he wanted to do with you.

Missing your mouth, he went up to your lips again to share another kiss, this time a little more sloppy and slobbery. Your tongues ran against each other for dominance while your mouths fit perfectly, the synchrony of the movements making you both gasp into each other's mouths.

Jaeyun's hands went to your hips again, but this time his speed and strength came to the advantage as he took off your skirt along with your panties. At another time you could notice how skilled he was and wonder – or not – why he was in such a hurry or knew how to do it so quickly. But now you just wanted to focus on the cold air of the room hitting your pussy and how Jaeyun released your lips with a lewd and wet noise.

It never crossed your mind that Sim Jaeyun, your partner, the man you had seen many times seriously across the room – regardless of the number of times you had dinner together – and for whom you were harboring feelings, would now be kneeling in front of you. He was perdition personified in that submissive and vulnerable position. His eyes were bright, like a puppy begging for a reward. And you knew that what he wanted, besides making up for lost time, was to be between your legs like that.

A mutual and wordless agreement between you and Jaeyun was drawn at that moment, with him slowly approaching your pussy and you opening your legs enough to accommodate him even more. As a test, he stretched out his tongue and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clitoris, collecting your essence and feeling your taste linger on the tip of the wet muscle that he passed through your entire intimacy.

“Fuck, Jaeyun” you tilted your head back, the deliciously warm sensation of his tongue licking your pussy was too much to handle. His hands wrapped around your thighs and held them wide open as he licked a little more, seeming to be hungry as he collected a little more of your essence.

You rested your hands in his hair, your legs feeling like jelly as Jaeyun moved a little further. He focused on sucking on your clit, circling his tongue over the sensitive bud as he looked up to try to catch some reaction from you. Your head was thrown back, but he wanted you to look at him, just once. Just once to see him eat you like a good meal.

“Look at me, Y/n” Jaeyun asked hoarsely, pulling his lips away from your pussy to get your attention. You wanted to pull his hair and bury his face in your pussy again, the lack of contact with your clit made you whimper softly, it was a great torture. But you had to obey if you wanted to feel him again, so your head lifted, your eyes searching his to find the sinful sight.

There was no way Jaeyun could be that desirous more than anything else, it was impossible that that man could look so good in any position or situation. You almost cursed him if it weren't for how quickly he maintained eye contact as he approached your pussy again. This time he sucked you more slowly, drawing circles on your clit and maintaining eye contact, not losing a single second of his eyes on yours. He moved one of his hands away from your leg to slide between your folds, introducing his index finger into your hole.

“I— Fuck, don't do this” you pressed yourself against his finger, the introduction being too much for you. He wanted to fuck you so badly now, with your moaning and your eyes nearly closing, it was torturous to keep them open as he inserted the second finger and continued to suck on your clit.

The movements were now combined quickly, making him alternate between scissoring movements and rotating his fingers inside you, at the same second he sucked your clitoris and ran the tip of his tongue over your pussy, opening your lips so he could spread his saliva along with your essence. The wet sound of his fingers going back and forth inside you, Jaeyun's prominent knuckles almost making you come undone right there. Your walls sucked him so deliciously that he wanted to feel his cock being buried inside you and how hot it would be to be inside there.

The thought alone made Jaeyun feel his underwear get wet, he knew that his pre-cum was almost overcoming the tailoring of the pants he was wearing. It was already too much to have to endure all of that without being able to feel the slightest relief in his cock. But when he decided to introduce the third finger inside your pussy, it was as if he had seen the vision of heaven. Your head fell back again, you couldn't keep your eyes on him.

“Y/n, look—”

“Come up here, please,” you begged. He gave your clit one last kiss as if to taste you one last time before moving up his body to be close to you again. His fingers continued to work your pussy harder and harder as it clenched around his sliding, wet digits.

When Jaeyun brought his face closer to yours, you didn’t wait for any response other than to place your lips on his, sharing the taste of you that lingered on his lips. It was all so intense as your body shuddered and the knot in your stomach broke. You hugged Jaeyun’s body between your arms and held him by the hips between your legs, your pussy convulsing on his fingers as his mouth muffled the most obscene and loud moans you could make calling his name. Cumming on his fingers so hard that all of your liquid easily ran down the palm of his hand.

He wanted you to take the time you needed to catch your breath, the intensity of your orgasm taking over every cell in your body as he was careful enough to pull his fingers out of your pussy. You moaned and whimpered, the lack of contact making you feel empty and weak, but something sparked in you when Jaeyun pulled away enough to bring his fingers to his lips, licking the length of his cock until he reached the palm of his hand.

“I knew you tasted amazing” he whispered, completely cleaning up what had been your orgasm liquid until there was nothing left.

You pulled him back to you, running your thumb over his chin that held more of your liquid. Jaeyun smiled slowly as he felt your soft touch, your fingers sliding down it until they reached the waistband of his pants.

“Y/n, don’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay” you kissed his jaw, your lips slowly sliding down Jaeyun’s neck to part of his exposed collarbone “It must hurt, huh?”

“No” he lied, moaning the second your hands undid his belt and opened his zipper so his cock would be less tight. He wasn’t good at that kind of lie per se, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want to demand too much from you either, considering the intensity of your orgasm, Jaeyun was already happy to see you satisfied like that.

“We can make this less painful for you” your voice whispered so sensually that he almost came undone right there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down before he felt your mouth kiss him, right in the middle of his throat. “Put that down for me” your request was an order that had no objection, so Jaeyun quickly pushed his pants along with his underwear, his cock jumping out and hitting against his pelvis and stomach. Your eyes quickly scanned down, seeing the size of it and sighing at the thought of it being inside you in a few seconds.

“Y/n” Jaeyun moaned, an absurd need to have any kind of touch from you against him. Then your fingers quickly went to the head of his cock, red and shiny with pre-cum, spreading all the liquid with the sole purpose of stimulating him and teasing him a little. “What the fuck, shit” he cursed.

It was too much to suffer, considering that Jaeyun had been untouched for a long time, even more so after hearing your moans and seeing what your body was capable of with just a few touches from him. Impatience took over and he pulled his shirt by the collar, not bothering to undo any buttons, he just wanted to get rid of any piece that held him and feel the heat of your body against his.

“I want—” he moaned again, pushing his hips against the palm of your hand when you held the base and went down the entire length, masturbating his veiny and thick cock between your fingers. Jaeyun wanted nothing more than to feel your touch and what you were making him feel.

“What do you want?” you asked, your lips still against the skin of his throat, slowly sliding down to one of his ears to whisper the words. He spread his hands on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling your body over the table so that he was at the edge of it. Your hips and your pussy are a little more exposed to him.

“I want to be inside you, Y/n. I— fuck” Jaeyun knew he was being a mess just moaning and fucking your fist as your hand tightened more and more on his cock. Spreading the pre-cum all over the length until it reached the base.

He went crazy when you leaned in enough for a ball of saliva to escape between your lips and slide down to the head of his cock, spreading some of it along the length with your – almost–perfect aim. That helped spread it even more across Jaeyun’s cock and he couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much for him and the boy was afraid he would explode in his hand and cum right there. It would be shameful to do this without him being inside you, even for a few seconds.

“Y/n, please…” it was his turn to beg now. The feared Sim Jake would never do this, would never be in this role, much less Sim Jaeyun. Both respected and feared, but now he just wanted to be yours and beg for whatever you had to offer.

Without further provocation, you knew how painful it was for him. And your pussy got wet again just from the sounds he made and the unfolding of the scene in front of you. Positioning his cock at your entrance, it was a silent invitation for him to insert himself into your hole. Your hands left there to hold him, one on each side of his neck, letting Jaeyun lead the movements.

Slowly he thrust his cock into you, the warmth of your pussy and the wetness of your juices being enough to shelter him so well and facilitate the entrance of his cock that you swore it would not be possible to fit. Soon he was all the way inside you, his breathing uneven as he finally had his cock shoved into your pussy.

“How do you feel?” Jaeyun uttered with some difficulty, his chest rising and falling quickly as he leaned his body towards you.

“Amazing” you tried not to moan, pulling his face close to yours so that his forehead rested on yours. “You can move now” your request, again, became an order when Jaeyun finally moved his hips to remove his cock and leave only the head inside you, returning with a slow but strong movement. His pelvis touching your clit with the movement.

He could no longer hold back his good manners and the desire to go slowly, wanting to make you feel every time his cock entered and left your pussy. Jaeyun pressed his fingers into your thighs, leaving marks that could be seen later as his nails dug into your skin, gaining momentum to start the movements. The sounds of skin slapping and the wetness of both your arousals are the perfect symphony accompanied by the moans that you and he left in your living room. It was visible the way you tried to keep your body each time Jaeyun thrust his cock even deeper into you, the burning slightly appearing in your groin with each more force that he thrust inside you. Your walls fluttered around his cock and sheltered him each time he entered with even more force.

“Shit, you feel so good.” Jaeyun gave a small smile when you tried to say something, only managing to moan and nod in agreement. Knowing how hard it would be for you to say anything at that moment he went faster and faster, pressing his fingers harder and harder against your body, now moving up to your hips. He felt you move your body against his, rubbing your clit against the length of his cock each time he pulled out completely before burying him deep inside you again. Jaeyun’s pelvis stimulated your sensitive bud each time he went so deep that there was no space left between your bodies, his balls slapping against your thighs and adding even more to the obscene noises in the sex between the two of you.

Jaeyun’s cock twitched as your pussy tightened, indicating that your orgasm was just around the corner. He was also about to cum, practically holding it in for so long that he feared how much would come next.

“I need—” Jaeyun whispered.

“Inside” you cut him off, knowing he could cum just by the way his hips bucked between thrusts. Your hands slid down his neck and up to his cheeks, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled, your lips quick and desperate for some pressure as he picked up the pace to drive his cock even deeper into you.

A combination of his hip thrusts and the pulls he gave your hips to meet him, he felt your pussy clench around him so hard that it was enough for Jaeyun to spill. He came, painting your walls milky white as he moaned your name relentlessly. You weren’t far away and it only took a few more thrusts for you to cum on his cock. The white ring formed around his length as he continued to thrust in and out of you, not indicate that he was stopping just because cum was still gushing from the head of his sensitive cock.

With one last movement, your pussy milking every last drop, Jaeyun stopped moving. The strength draining from his body and giving way to calm, the high serotonin running through you and him after you both came together.

Jaeyun left a slow kiss on your lips, waiting a long minute until he finally pulled out of you. The sensitivity hits you both and makes you moan into each other's mouths.

“Sorry” he said as he knew you might be hypersensitive, even though he wanted to stay inside your pussy all night if he could.

“Okay” you replied, smiling tiredly before looking to the side and searching for your clothes. He went faster before lifting his underwear and pants, leaving a hint of sadness in your body for depriving you of the sight of him practically naked in front of you. But what caught your attention was that Jaeyun picked up his shirt from the floor, stretching it towards you.

“I don’t know where there are tissues, but—” he smiled a little, using the sleeve of his shirt to clean you between your legs.

“Jaeyun” you tried to stop him, but it was too late. Jaeyun cleaned you so carefully that it was practically impossible to believe, especially after what the two of you had done and the marks he had left on your body.

He helped you change, putting each piece of clothing in its proper place and still waiting for you to fix your hair, turning to him after a long time. The stain on the sleeve of his shirt, after it was put on, made your cheeks burn more than looking into his eyes and thinking about what the two of you had done.

“So…” you began, looking at him with a shy smile. Jaeyun smiled too, biting the inside of his cheek to keep it from growing even bigger as he got closer and wrapped one of his arms around your waist.

“Then I’ll take you home, and we’ll have dinner properly again from now on” as a couple, he wanted to add. But that was too much for just one night, Jaeyun wanted to tell you that as the two of you went out more often.

Explaining the fear he felt about his feelings for you was the most that could come out of Jaeyun's mouth. That made him feel good enough to not think he was lying – completely – to you. He was really afraid of what he felt, but at the same time, he was afraid of bringing you into his double world. The last part was still a secret, but at least hearing that you forgave him and that you accepted having a relationship with him was all that needed to be said.

Two months in which Jaeyun stopped being afraid to tell you what he felt for you. That the two of you, besides being business partners, had become a couple. You started to frequent his apartment and met his friends too, those who had to lie about their professions and never let it slip that they worked for Sim Jake, who you didn't even know.

Two months in which you had private security, unknown to you because Sunghoon's idea was better. At least one man every week took care of you from afar and kept Jaeyun informed in case anyone suspicious approached. No consequences were made as the relationship progressed. He was a little more relieved. Keeping it just in Jaeyun's life was what he wanted for a while, if things really progressed and became even more serious, he had to tell you about his other life. But there was no need yet.

“Love” your voice made him abandon the thoughts that constantly intrigued him, afraid that you would leave him at any moment for the lie he so wanted to get rid of, but couldn't. Looking in your direction, the smile came automatically when you approached him, going around the office desk to sit on his lap “Is everything okay?”

“Why do you ask?” in the last few months Jaeyun let the thought pass that you could also read him the same way he did with you. That you knew him as well as he knew you.

“Because I’ve been feeling quiet for a few days now” you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, at the same second he wrapped his arm around your waist “And because you’re twenty minutes late for dinner.”

Shit, the dinner. He had completely forgotten, staying inside the office to finish answering Jongseong and Sunghoon’s messages, trying to keep things out of danger with the new robbery that had been successfully carried out. He wanted to know if everything had gone according to the orders he had given that same morning, completely forgetting that he was supposed to meet you twenty minutes ago in the company parking lot.

“Shit, love, I’m sorry” Jaeyun leaned in, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His heavy breathing hit your skin and made you shiver. “I just—”

“How about we go home, then?” you asked, one of your hands going up to his hair and trying to stroke it slowly. “Your day must have been kind of rough, those men are annoying when they want to go back on their proposals.”

Every time you deduced that Jaeyun's tiredness and fear had something to do with the office, his heart sank a little more. His breathing hitched and he wanted to scream. But he held himself back and just nodded slowly, kissing your skin and lifting his head to look at you.

“Wait for me in the car? I'll fix everything here,” he asked.

“Sure,” you smiled once more, that being enough to calm all the nerves that persisted in his body. You leaned in to leave a quick and simple kiss on Jaeyun's full lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered back, kissing you once more before letting you get off his lap to leave the room.

Saying that he loved you out loud was like freeing himself from the bonds that suffocated him, held him back, and hurt him. He had never said that out loud to anyone other than his parents and his best friends. At first, it was as scary as wanting a relationship, but as you said and showed your love, Jaeyun knew it was the right thing to do. He felt that all that love was overwhelming, that as intensely as it scared him, it was the only thing that gave him the courage to continue.

Turning off all the appliances in the room and turning off the lights, he headed to the hallways of the building, greeting the security guards and some employees who were still there. Going to meet you in the parking lot. He just wanted to go home, enjoy your company, and take a hot shower. Many notes Jaeyun could think about having sex with you and using it as a form of calming, but that night he just wanted to feel your embrace, and your smell alone being the only thing capable of making his mind unfocused from everything that worried him.

A natural calming that was always right in front of him, the person who was the perfect balance between chaos and what he needed to stay alive.

“Jaeyun!” That was your voice, he could hear it from far away, but it wasn't like your call was as soft and calm as it always was. You were screaming. In desperation.

He looked around the open parking lot, trying to find you and why you seemed so desperate, but suddenly his world fell apart. Jaeyun's stomach was churning seeing your figure through the window of that van, screaming desperately and being pulled by someone hooded who wanted you to be quiet.

The car accelerated, making a complete turn in the parking lot before stopping next to Jaeyun and the passenger rolled down the window.

“We have something that belongs to you, Jake” the man smiled with rotten teeth, Jaeyun ran a few steps to grab him, but the driver took off “We want our drugs back!” he shouted before disappearing.

Your screams were the last thing he heard before the dead of night and the noise of the tires tearing through that parking lot. Jaeyun fell to his knees on the ground, the strength draining from his body. His scream echoed throughout the parking lot as he felt despair flood his body, along with the burning in his eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.

What he feared most had happened. And he would stop at nothing to get you back.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #jake smut #jaeyun smut #enhypen jake #enha smut #jake angst #jaeyun angst #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #jake hard hours #enhypen hard hours #jaeyun hard hours #enha fics #enha angst #enhypen masterlist #enhypen imagines #bay writes.

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starmapz · 2 months ago

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what you know - ch14: trials || 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 ; 23.4k.

❦ a/n ; this serves as a bit of a part 2 to the previous chapter and picks up right where the previous one left off! sorry for the wild word count LOL. i'll see you at the bottom!

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

Sitting in your passenger’s seat, Sukuna finds himself missing his old beat-up car. It clicked if you turned the axle too far and rattled at every stop light. One of the brake lights flickered but never quite went out. It was barely street legal, but it got him from one place to another.

It got his dad to appointments and hospitals. That was what mattered the most.

There was a certain sense of freedom that came along with having a car that Sukuna can’t help but feel he’s lacking now. Still, it’s not so bad being your passenger.

Although the ride is mostly silent apart from your music quietly playing, he finds himself able to sort through his thoughts while staring out the window. It’s not a particularly long ride, but it gives him the chance he needed to come to terms with the dirty game that Kaori is playing with this lawsuit.

Clearly she’ll stop at nothing to tear Sukuna’s life to shreds and take his brothers from him if it’s the last thing she does. Him and his lawyer just need to find an angle that lets them win without pulling dirty tricks like she is. The last thing Sukuna needs are more fees or even charges on his record.

He still can’t figure out Kaori’s angle, either. She isn’t on social media as far as he can tell, her name doesn’t pop up online. She doesn’t want the kids for the money obviously and he can’t wrap his head around the idea of her actually wanting her own kids.

Which is fucked.

His fingers tap on his thigh as he contemplates how this all stems back to one moment.

He wonders how different his life could have been had he not gone looking for Kaori at his grandfather’s funeral. Maybe even Choso and Yuji’s fates could have been different.

The car comes to a halt in a quaint strip mall parking lot, with only another car or two in the lot alongside yours. Sukuna blinks as he glances around. He vaguely recognizes the area from when you’d first spent time together working on your project at your apartment.

It feels like a lifetime ago now that you listened to The Eagles on vinyl while working on your research project.

Getting out of the car, you stretch your arms up above your head. “I hope it’s good,” you comment, casting him a glance as you lead the way up to a plain door with the restaurant logo across the front. Sukuna hums in agreement.

Within the small shop, there’s a cozy and homely warmth that surrounds you, the smell of broth wafting through the air. The lighting is soft and warm with slats of vertical wood separating each small booth along a wall with ivy green paint beneath the wood. A couple of decorative lanterns adorn stylized chandeliers in each booth, and a counter with stools runs along the farthest wall.

A waitress approaches you both and kindly asks whether you’d prefer a booth or the bar. Sukuna gives you a nudge to let you decide, and the waitress leads the way to a small booth in the very back of the restaurant. The atmosphere is welcoming, though the booth provides enough privacy that you can comfortably converse with one another.

“This place is so cute,” you comment as you both shrug your coats off. You’d almost forgotten how painfully overdressed you are as you look down at your white blouse, which is equally as unfortunate. You’ll just have to be careful not to spill.

Across from you, Sukuna hums as he pulls at the knot of his tie before slipping it off and unceremoniously shoving it in his suit pocket. He can’t say he particularly cares about whether it has wrinkles or not. After all, the next time he wears it will be-

Shit. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about that, yet. After all, they need the house study back before they can prepare. He has time. He can relax and enjoy his time with you.

He needs to live in the moment and try not to think about the dull future that plagues his mind. He needs to let himself relax for the first time in what feels like months.

To keep yourself from watching the painfully attractive way that Sukuna pulls at his tie and undoes the first couple of buttons on his shirt, you busy yourself with the menu. “The tonkatsu sounds good,” you comment.

Rubbing his eye with the back of his knuckle, Sukuna finally picks up the menu, holding it back far enough to see it without squinting as he searches for what you’re talking about. “Sounds good,” he agrees quietly, casting a glance over the menu to stare at you as he struggles to find common ground to chat with you. It’s not like his curt answers are helping, but the small talk you’re spouting to fill the dead air isn’t doing either of you any favors.

Clearing his throat, he sets down the menu. “I’ll just get the gyoza.”

Flipping back a page to take a look at the item on the menu, you eye him suspiciously. “Sukuna, that’s the cheapest thing on the menu and it only comes with three. Get what you want,” you urge, finding it hard to contain your smile as he glowers when you see right through him.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll get the curry ramen.”

“Good,” you hum, pleased.

As both menus are set down, the waitress returns to take your order before you find yourself staring at the soy sauce left at the end of the table. The dead air sitting stagnant between you burns at your skin, lapping like flames against the balance between you. Where once there was easy conversation, a void has been left in its place. Prior to your fight, there was rarely a moment where neither of you knew what to say. Even the silence was usually warm and inviting, but the trepidation left in the wake of uncertainty here doesn’t speak to what once was.

In an effort to fill the silence, Sukuna mutters out a question before he has a chance to think.

“How’s the conspiracy theorist prof been?”

Mild amusement pulls at the corner of your lips. “We had a whole class where we discussed the death of Edgar Allen Poe,” you chuckle as you lean over the table.

Blowing a breath of air out of his nose in a wry laugh, Sukuna leans his chin on his hand, his elbow bent over the table. “What’d she land on?”

“Rabies,” you shrug.

He hums. “More plausible than some of her other theories.”

“I still think it’s more likely to be-”

“Alcoholism.”

“- alcoholism.”

Sukuna’s lips quirk up at the corners as familiarity finally finds its place back within the void, filling it out just a little bit. You giggle as he finishes your sentence in the same moment that you do. “It’s the only cause that has any footing!” You insist happily, beginning to go over the ways that you claim it ‘just makes sense’.

Sukuna’s muscles relax as he listens to you, chiming in occasionally to offer his opinion or add in something his dad had once mentioned on the subject. His tongue glides across his lower lip as he watches the way your lips move as you speak, your eyes crinkling at the corner each time you giggle. He’s only pulled from his stupor when the food arrives.

A large bowl with chopsticks and a spoon is placed in front of each of you, the steam of the warm broth billowing in the air between you. Your mouth waters at the smell alone as you thank the waitress and pick up the chopsticks. Sukuna follows suit, taking a bite of some noodles.

“Everything you hoped for?” He gruffs between bites.

“Um-” you hesitate, “yeah, it’s good!”

“But?”

“It’s a bit salty,” you pout.

“It’s ramen.”

Your brow furrows, playfully offended at his dry tone, as though you don’t know that. “It’s saltier than I usually get, is what I mean,” you retort, raising your brow playfully.

His eyes flicker between your bowls before he pushes his towards you. “Try mine,” he insists.

Your lips purse, giving in without complaint. His food has a bit more of a kick to it and considerably less salt, but the flavor is downright divine. Your brow raises, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you like it more.

Smirking, Sukuna pulls your bowl towards him, exchanging the dishes. “Keep it.”

“What? Are you sure? I really don’t-”

Sukuna takes a bite of your ramen and nods.

Your hands hesitate in the air, still not quite sure what to make of the switch. Sukuna’s never been one to particularly care what he’s eating, but this strikes you as just plain sweet. “Really, it wasn’t that salty-”

“Princess,” Sukuna sets his chopsticks down, finishing his bite of noodles, “eat your damn food.”

You shoot him one last hesitant glance before relenting. Your brow knits together, a shy smile finding its way to your lips. “Thanks,” you murmur as your cheeks heat up. Surely from the heat of the soup.

Surely.

Before you can insist on swapping food again or something else Sukuna would consider foolish, he brings up a new topic, something that’s been nagging at him since he realized how much of a dumbass he’s been, and continues to be.

“How’s Toji?”

He’d seen and heard from Uraume fairly frequently, though he continued to keep them in the dark about the lawsuit. Every day that goes by, thoughts consume him about whether or not that’s the right option, and every day he struggles to find a reason why he continues to keep it a secret from them.

The truth is that he’s a coward. He can’t bring himself to tell them because it’s been so long that he fears they’ll find a reason to walk out of his life. Though his feelings surrounding Uraume differ greatly from those that involve you, he’s not sure how well he could manage without them either. He’s so deep in the hole he’s dug for himself with this lawsuit that he’s not sure he could blame them if they blew up at him for his spineless decision. Hell, he’d let Uraume dig the hole deeper for him and bury him alive if they so pleased.

Maybe Uraume and Toji could even tap their shovels together in a ‘cheers’ of sorts with the amount of secrets Sukuna’s kept from them both.

“He’s okay,” you shrug. “He asked me about you.”

Sukuna pauses, noodles dangling from his chopsticks as though he didn’t expect that in your reply.

“He was pretty upset,” you continue, hoping to share enough to help them mend their friendship while respecting Toji’s boundaries. Though you’ve grown closer to Sukuna’s childhood friend over the past couple of months, he’s definitely more of Satoru’s friend. You certainly don’t know him well enough to be confident recounting his exact words to Sukuna.

Setting his chopsticks back in the bowl, Sukuna stares down at his scattered reflection on the surface of the soup. “Shit,” he mutters simply, letting the silence linger.

Finishing up your bite, you tilt your head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you tell him? You two were best friends, weren’t you?”

Sukuna leans back in his booth, crossing his arms over his chest. The shoulders of his suit jacket crease as the sleeves pull taut and accentuate his muscles. “Dunno. We just didn’t talk about shit like that, and…” he shrugs, finding your gaze with no definitive reasoning to offer.

You frown, Toji’s reaction coming to mind when you’d parroted that exact phrase to him a couple of months ago. ‘That was his excuse?’ Over the course of two months, you’d thought maybe Sukuna’s response might change just as the man himself has. “Don’t you think he would have wanted to know?”

“‘Course he would’ve,” Sukuna agrees, shrugging. “I guess I just didn’t think about it,” he shrugs again, searching for some sort of reasonable answer where there is none. He just didn’t tell Toji. He didn’t want to be around Toji and he didn’t want to talk to Toji. There’s no grand reason why, Toji never did anything to upset Sukuna. The simple fact of the matter is that Sukuna had so much on his plate, that all reason fell to the wayside. It was never Toji’s fault, and had it not been Toji, it would have been someone else. Sukuna didn’t want to be around people at the time.

Sensing that you aren’t getting anywhere with this conversation, you bring up another question that’s been plaguing your mind since Sukuna brought it up at the case conference. You pray it doesn’t piss him off for one reason or another but he’s been more reasonable lately so you don’t feel like you need to step on eggshells around him as much. “Hey, Kuna? Um-” You pause, setting your chopsticks down. “Where did you find Kaori at your grandpa’s funeral?” You query, watching the way his eyes snap to you at the mere mention of the question.

His jaw clenches as he sits up, fiddling with the bottle of soy that sits between you. He stares at it like it’s done a disservice to his family, huffing as he explains in the simplest terms what had happened. “I was a kid, like fourteen or some shit. Kaori was…” he raises his hand, motioning at nothing in particular as he searches for words. “She was fine. She never really cared to be involved with my life, n’ my dad kept things pretty quiet between ‘em until she got pregnant and he proposed.”

He takes a moment, huffing at nothing in particular as he pulls his hand back from the soy sauce, his fingers curling into a fist. “Found her with her fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off as his voice cracks, his expression hardening as anger courses through his veins at the mere thought of his step-mother. It’s been so long since he’s crossed paths with the thought of what he’d discovered that afternoon. He’d almost forgotten just how vividly his mind can still conjure that image, bringing with it the disgust and self-reproach he’d longed to forget for so many years.

You don’t hesitate for a moment to reach across the table, settling your hand over his fist the moment his distress becomes apparent. With one simple movement, you seem to dissolve the void between you. The uneasy silence tapers off as things become familiar once more.

He’s not sure he’ll ever grow accustomed to your kindness. How is he meant to convince himself that he’s allowed to be selfish, to take, when he has so little to give in return?

Yet even as guilt festers in his stomach and he scowls down at the place where your hands join, he still lets his fingers relax, flipping his hand upright to gently rub his thumb across the second joint of each of your fingers. Your skin is warm, soothing the chilling sensation of the memory.

Re-centering himself, Sukuna’s chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh. “I found her tongue-fucking my uncle in some corner,” he hisses, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

Your lips part in shock, the realization settling slowly as your stupor morphs to revulsion. Putting together his words from the case conference earlier, you blink in further surprise. “You didn’t tell your dad?”

Sukuna’s fingers glide through yours suddenly, his much larger hand finding a place around yours as he clasps your hands together, your fingers intertwined. Your gaze shoots to your entangled hands, unable to make heads or tails of the action as heat rises from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears. You can blame the soup all you want, but you know the truth.

You’re used to Sukuna seeking comfort within you, but there’s something deeper to this. Something you don’t know how to explore with the man, and something you don’t dare bring up as he’s opening up to you.

It doesn’t matter how fast your heart hammers in your chest, or the way that blood pumps loudly behind your ears. The mixed signals, the confusing push and pull that seems to go hand-in-hand with the brute across from you, none of that matters with the air heavy with the weight of a confession long kept behind bars, never shared with a soul.

Even Toji doesn’t know, of that you’re certain.

So, you swallow hard and put your focus into his expression, something akin to guilt, averting your attention away from the warmth of his hand as best as you can.

“I couldn’t,” he admits, a look of disdain clouding his vision. “Kaori was fine for the first few years that I knew her. She was a good enough mom to Cho and sometimes me when she wanted to be,” he shrugs, a bitter snarl tugging at his lips. “Funny. She had us all fooled.”

You nod slowly, just to tell Sukuna you’re listening.

“The week before my grandpa died, we had freshman year finals. I fucked up-” he breathes, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “Failed all four in my last semester. Wasn’t doin’ anything important, I was just bein’ a dumbass.” He shrugs, his grip on your hand tightening. “They were gonna hold me back n’ I didn’t wanna be apart from Toji or my friends, so him and I broke in.”

“To the school?”

He shoots you a look that you recognize. One that says obviously, though he keeps his mouth shut, continuing without answering your question. Now’s not exactly the time to be teasing you over what’s just your way of showing you’re listening.

“The plan was fucking stupid from the start. Thought we could change my grades without my dad or the school knowing. Dunno, I was a kid. It made sense to us back then.” He scoffs at his own ill thought-out plan. “I got arrested. Made sure Toji got away, didn’t want his family goin’ off on him so I covered for him,” he shrugs. “They had to call a guardian, so I gave ‘em Kaori’s number.”

Your head tilts and even in the midst of the heavy air, Sukuna wants to scoff at the way his blood pumps faster. “Weren’t you close to your dad? Why not call him?”

Sukuna nods slowly in acknowledgement. “We were close, yeah, but he was a teacher and I was smart, got good grades n’ shit. He was the type who didn’t really get mad, just disappointed, which was worse than whatever I thought Kaori would do.”

“What did she do?”

“Nothing,” he sighs, leaning his chin on the ball of his free hand over the table. “I never got charged, and she bribed the school into passing me, actually. It was cool of her at the time.”

Your lips purse as you listen intently. It’s a lot to take in, though you did always picture Sukuna and Toji being the type to pull a stunt like that given that you know about Sukuna’s days trying not to get caught with an incriminating can of spray paint.

“So, you didn’t tell him because she did you a favor?” You confirm with a furrowed brow. Favor or not, you’re not sure you could keep a secret like that from your parents.

But neither could Sukuna. “Fuck no,” Sukuna chuckles dryly, tensing his jaw. “I went to tell him the moment I saw her. It woulda been cruel to tell him at the funeral, but I thought it was worse to keep it from him.”

You nod intently.

“That-” His teeth are gritted as he cuts himself off, choosing his words wisely around you.

Though honestly, she’s deserving of the title he clearly wants to give her.

“She fucking blackmailed me,” he hisses. “Chased after me n’ told me she’d have the school charge me and fucking fail me,” he growls, the crease between his brows so harsh that you almost think he might give himself a headache.

Pulling his hand away from your grip, he leans back in the booth once more, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “The fuck was I supposed to do, fail? I was terrified of disappointing my dad,” he shrugs. “I got my shit together the next year, but christ, she fucking played me. I didn’t know how my record worked back then either, getting charged with a crime when you’re fourteen or some shit feels like the end of the damn world.”

In a rare moment of genuine vulnerability, a look of innocence settles in his eyes, fleeting. You often forget just how young Sukuna was when his life got turned sideways. Even his teenage years sent him through a turmoil you can’t begin to imagine. With all his rough edges and hardened lines, it’s easy to forget that the man in front of you has a soft inside so full of a genuine love for his family and even for life. That flame got taken from him bit by bit before he ever got the chance to nurture it, stuck quelling his own desires in order to make ends meet.

Though he pulled away from your hand, you find his foot beneath the table with yours, gently nudging it. “You didn’t tell him after she left?”

He uselessly throws his hands up in a shrug, his tired expression increasingly obvious in the warm overhead light of the ramen shop. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I think…” he trails off, inhaling sharply, “at some point I realized he was gonna die, and I didn’t want him to think his wife didn’t love him at the end.”

Your lips part, jaw hanging slightly ajar at the weight of his confession. His sorrow grips your stomach, twisting it as your expression falls. “I’m so sorry, Kuna.”

He eyes you for a moment, choosing not to reply.

The silence stretches on, your hand remaining where he left it on the table when he leaned back. A part of you wishes he would take it again so that you can offer him silent comfort, pushing down the lingering yearning that comes with such a tender action. His mind seems to be elsewhere though, his eyes glazed as he stares distantly at the decorated wall beside him.

Letting the moment linger, you find yourself pulling your hand back to stir your nearly forgotten soup. It’s still mildly steaming thankfully, which you’re grateful for given the cold weather. Less fortunately, your stomach wrenches at the thought of eating under the weight of Sukuna’s admission hanging heavy in the air.

“Do you think you could bring that up at the trial?” You query quietly. Although the judge had shut it down today, it does have pertinent information about Kaori’s character.

He shakes his head. “Nah, it doesn’t look good on either of us. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, was just pissed,” he grumbles, scratching his jaw. With a deep sigh, he returns to his soup as well, taking small sips of the broth in an effort to not let the food go to waste, though he’s equally as uneasy as you are.

“Was she like that a lot? Blackmailing you and… stuff?” You wave your chopsticks through the air as you both pick at your food.

“Somethin’ like that. She just stopped pretending to give a shit, I guess,” he shrugs. “Wasn’t just me, either. Choso too,” he sighs, his brow tugging into a scowl. “Mother of the year,” he grumbles with a dramatic wave of his chopsticks in mock celebration.

If anything, it only leaves you with more questions about why she’d want the kids. Sukuna makes it sound like she didn’t care back then, what could have changed now? Of course, there’s the possibility that Sukuna could be wrong, but it seems unlikely given Kaori’s track record and her behavior earlier. The lies she’d told under oath at the courthouse may have slipped past the judge, but you saw through her.

The way she looked at you, as though you were a pawn in some game sends a shiver up your spine.

Nudging his foot as he sips a spoonful of broth, you catch his attention again. “Is she always so… ” You trail off, coming to the realization that you don’t know exactly how to describe the way Kaori acts.

He hums questioningly. “What, fake?” He asks, watching as you raise your spoon to your lips.

“Yeah, like…” You pause, holding your spoon out in front of you. “I don’t know, too sweet and caring?”

Sukuna scoffs, a hint of amusement skirting the edges of his tone. “Since the funeral, yeah.”

Poking the inside of your cheek in thought, you contemplate whether any details from Sukuna’s past could be used in the trial, but Kaori or her lawyer always seemed to have some well thought-out refute for every time Sukuna attempted to bring up her track record.

It’s almost strange, in a way, to think about how easily the judge seemed to decline any objections from Sukuna’s lawyer.

Nudging your foot to bring you back to the present, Sukuna gruffs out a “hey,” catching you off-guard. As your body jolts in surprise, your spoon tilts and the broth spills across the front of your painfully white blouse, the warmth seeping through the material. The squeak of shock that you let out sends concern rippling through Sukuna’s entire being like lightning.

“Shit,” he breathes, standing abruptly and offering napkins as he averts his gaze from the outline of your bra that’s now startlingly obvious. His gaze rounds the table as though in search of something that might fix the situation. “Fuck, did it burn you?”

Blinking as the initial shock passes, you shake your head. “Oh- um, no! No, it’s just warm.” And thank god for that, had you not waited a bit before eating, this likely would have been a hell of a lot worse. Reaching for the napkins Sukuna offers, you dab at the stain, chewing on your lip at how glaringly obvious it is, and even worse, how see-through your blouse is. You consider putting on your winter coat, but between the warm soup and heated building, that just might melt you.

Great.

Coming to the same conclusion that you have, Sukuna slips out of his suit jacket without thinking, wordlessly handing it over to you. Gratefully taking it from him, your cheeks heat up once more at the sight of his jacket draped over you. You can’t help but giggle at the way it absolutely dwarfs you in size. The sound of your laughter puts the man across from you at ease.

Between how painfully cute you look giggling in his suit jacket and the smile he has to physically fight off at the sight of you adorned in his clothes, Sukuna finds himself able to take a seat, leaning on his elbows with his hands clasped in front of his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said blood wasn’t flowing south too.

A thought crosses his mind. Something that he’s been running from, but he sets it aside. He shouldn’t even be considering the implications behind his heart’s pounding or the smile he finds himself chewing on his own cheek to fight off as he hides behind his hands. What he needs to focus on right now is your well-being.

At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself as he keeps running from that familiar thought. He knows it’s cowardly, but he’s not sure he’s in the right state of mind to face it.

“You alright, princess?” He asks from behind his hands, composing himself.

“Hm? Yeah, don’t worry! It wasn’t hot. Sorry I wasn’t paying attention,” you reply with a small smile, unbothered.

Your friend hums from across the table. “You have an unhealthy relationship with hot liquids.”

Your brow furrows as you hold his jacket around you to prevent the see-through patch from being visible. “Since when?” You can’t recall another time you’ve spilled around him.

“The oil,” he reminds you.

Your lips purse as you scour your memory, brow shooting up as the image of an employee passing you with a bucket of oil passes through your mind. The feeling of Sukuna’s arm effortlessly holding you off the ground sends an equal amount of heat through your cheeks as the embarrassment of the near-incident itself. “Oh yeah,” you murmur, quickly scowling to deflect his accusation. “That was so long ago!”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, no longer hiding his smirk now that he’s fallen into familiar territory with you. “Ya still needed to be rescued, though,” he pokes fun at you.

Groaning playfully, you give him a light kick to the shin under the table, causing his smirk to shift into a full-on grin as he chuckles at your expense. “You’re such a dick!” You insist.

“Mm, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

Rolling your eyes, you return to your ramen, careful not to spill, lest you get teased further.

Though the more you think about it as you catch glimpses of Sukuna’s mild and easy smile as he eats, maybe you wouldn’t mind making a fool of yourself if it means he’s in a good headspace. Especially given the day he’s already had, there’s satisfaction to be found in seeing Sukuna laugh.

The real Sukuna.

The one that makes your stomach flutter and your heart flip.

It hurts in a way that you’re not quite prepared for, a way that’s painfully lonely in spite of being across from the person that you never quite stopped loving.

Bittersweet, you keep the tone light as easy conversation settles between you once more. Even if you hold onto your cautious inhibitions, there’s relaxation to be found in the shared warmth. “Toji told me you used to do a lot of graffiti.”

He scoffs, amused. “Been a while, but yeah.”

“He said you used to tag all the basketball courts you hung out at.”

Humming, Sukuna nods as he slurps up a noodle. “Mhm. Courts, tunnels, n’ old trains.”

“So what did you usually tag things as? Like, your name?”

Sukuna’s content smile falters, a pale pink shade dusting his cheeks. “Somethin’ like that.”

A grin slowly spreads across your lip. “Is it embarrassing?” You ask, leaning in. He glances up at you, pointedly taking another bite to avoid your interrogation. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You know I named myself ‘Flower’ in Animal Crossing.”

His brow raises. “Weren’t you like five when you played that shit?” He retorts.

“Yeah, but…” you trail off with a shrug. “Come on, please Kuna?”

And when you tilt your head like that, your eyes gleaming like he’s a masterpiece to behold, who is he to say no?

With a drawn out sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “The King,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes shut to avoid your judgement. And for good reason as you fail miserably at fighting your grin.

When you don’t reply, he finally peeks an eye open, regretting it immediately when you break, a fit of giggles taking over.

Clicking his tongue, he rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s not that bad,” he grumbles.

“It’s not, it’s not!” You insist between giggles, coughing in an effort to cover them as he stares at you in disdain. “It’s just… so you.”

“The fuck does that mean?” He gruffs.

“Just-” you pause, covering your lips as if he won’t be able to tell you’re still struggling not to laugh. “- I don’t know! It’s just exactly what I’d expect from you.”

“Then what’s so funny about it?” He scoffs, glowering across the table.

“Kuna,” you stare at him expectantly, as though he should just know. “Come on, you were- what? Sixteen? When you came up with that, right?” You query, met with a hum of agreement. “It’s just- it’s cute!” You insist as Sukuna continues to scowl at you. “It’s just- funny to picture a little Sukuna who thought he was really cool for that.”

His brow twitches, his hardened expression cracking. Of course Sukuna thought he was cool. He couldn’t just be ‘King’ either, no, he had to be The King. He snorts at the thought, bringing a hand up to cover his face as he chuckles. Your giggles turn into a full blown outburst of laughter that’s even contagious for Sukuna as he finds himself hunched over the table at the thought of a time long past.

Your shared laughter is musical, filling the air with a fondness that’s been missing from your lives for so long you both thought it was lost. Each moment spent basking in it, you find yourself slowly letting your guard down just a little bit more.

“I wish I could have seen one of your tags,” you grin, eyes crinkling at the corners in delight. “I guess it was a long time ago though.”

His tongue runs along his lower lip, teeth digging into the flesh to stop himself from smiling and giving away his secret.

“No way.”

He stares at the wall, his cheeks now painted in a pale rose as he leans on his elbow. His hand muffles his words as he attempts to cover his smile with it. “I think there’s one that’s still there.”

“Sorry, what’s that?” You tease.

Shooting you a knowing look from his peripherals, he makes a show of huffing. “You heard me, princess.”

“Where is it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he dismisses.

“Come on, please?”

“No,” he grumbles behind his hand, turning to face you finally as if in a challenge.

“I’ll ask Choso.”

His confidence falters as the gears visibly turn in his mind. He actually can’t remember if Choso knows, but there’s a very real possibility that he does. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the model brother and Choso was there for a decent chunk of his time spray painting random alleys and trains. Choso was just happy to be there with his brother, unaware of the criminality of his older brother’s actions.

With a sigh, he drags his hand over his face in defeat. “Y’know the skate park two stops past work?”

“I think so.”

“I figured out how to tag the ceiling under the bridge, it’s probably still there.”

“Oh my god, we have to go after work sometime,” you gasp in delight.

He opens his mouth to say no, but the words die in his throat at the sight of you grinning with stars in your eyes. This is the most normal things have been with you in the past couple of months, and now you’re the one asking to hang out. Not out of pity or to help his brothers. Not for work, or school. Blowing a puff of air from his nose, he relents. “Yeah, alright. If that’s what you want,” he grumbles, though even for all his grumbling, the warm look in his eyes says otherwise.

That same warmth spreads to his chest as you beam at him with a triumphant ‘yesss!’, one hand clutching your spoon as you return to your soup while the other holds his suit jacket over yourself. It drapes over your body like a dress, it's so long. The shoulders of the jacket droop, your form nowhere near as broad as his, yet somehow you make it look intentional. As though his jacket belongs to you and it always has.

His bowl of ramen sits empty as he finds his attention drawn to you. As you finish what’s left of your soup, his mind wanders. The reality he’s been running from seems to draw closer, seeping into the edges of his mind with each passing moment.

But along with it comes a guilt that settles like stones in his stomach.

“You’re still bein’ too nice to me,” he blurts out.

When you meet his gaze with a raised brow, you shake your head. “Is that a bad thing?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question, your kind way of telling him that you want to be nice, but self-sabotage is his closest friend. “You’ve always been too nice to me. After all the shit I pulled, you’re still-” he just shakes his head, his gaze drawn to the small remaining pool of soup at the bottom of his bowl. In the depths of the dish, he finds his reflection staring back at him once more, distorting each time either of you shuffle or knock the table.

With each distortion of his own picture, he finds himself frowning. It makes him look older, somehow. As though he’s grown weathered and worn. It’s been so long since he lost himself that each glance at a mirror serves as a reminder of the missing pieces of himself, fracturing in the ripples of the soup beneath him.

Maybe that’s why he clings so desperately to you and his brothers. You carry pieces of him that he recognizes, while he’s nothing more than a shadow of what once was.

“Kuna,” you scold lightly as you recognize the look in his eyes, giving his foot a nudge and capturing his sharp gaze. “Stop it.”

You know you don’t need to elaborate, he understands. He knows the multitude of meanings behind your words. The guilt boiling at the pit of his stomach isn’t so easily swayed, though. “Just thought you’d learned your lesson.”

You laugh lightly, humoring him. “Oh, I did,” you affirm. His brow raises, the distance in his eyes clearing just enough to find intrigue in his gaze. “If you’re a dick on purpose again, I’m not sticking around to be treated like that,” you smirk, your tone too warm for the words that slip past your lips.

Amused at both your choice of words and your confidence, Sukuna snorts. “Good,” he hums, shoving his bowl aside in hopes that his dreary thoughts will go along with it. “Keep it that way. The confidence looks good on you, princess.” No matter the circumstances he finds himself in, he knows he wouldn’t- couldn’t- dare to say such outright hurtful things to you again.

Heat rises up your neck like a wildfire, averting your eyes in an effort to fend it off. Luckily, the waitress returns to the table and shields you from Sukuna teasing your shyness as you ask for the bill. She returns a moment later and lets you know to pay at the front.

“Ready?” You hum, bracing your hands on the bench. When Sukuna nods, you push yourself out of the seat, brushing down Sukuna’s suit jacket before handing it back to him with a sweet ‘thank you’ as you throw your winter coat over your stained blouse.

Heading to the front of the shop, you pull out your card as the waitress prepares the keypad, but before you can move a muscle, Sukuna slots his card into the reader.

“Sukuna, what? No-” you reach out in an attempt to pull his card away. “I told you I’d pay. Ah-!” An involuntary squeak leaves you as Sukuna pulls your hand away from his card and uses a strong arm around your shoulders to slot you against him, holding you away from the machine. Even as you claw at his bicep and struggle against him in a fit of giggles and protests to let you go, he effortlessly holds you in place.

It’s such an obvious display of his muscles and you’re painfully sure he can feel the heat radiating from your skin given how close his arm is to your collar and neck. And really, how are you not supposed to think about his stupidly buff arm when the veins are right in your vision?

Asshole.

When he finally releases his grip and you stumble forward, fixing him with a pout, he just smirks at you.

“I was gonna pay!” You insist.

He shrugs. “Ramen won’t break the bank. It’s worth it for you.”

Any protests die in your throat as all you can do is blink at him. Your lips purse, his words settling in your mind.

Had he just said that it’s worth it, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it, it’s the way he specified that it’s worth it for you. Sukuna returns to his business like it’s nothing, tucking his card into his wallet and shoving his hands in his pockets, but it takes you a moment to follow after him as he pushes back out into the cold.

The brisk air hardly even hits you. Sure, it’s gotten a bit warmer, but that’s not what you’re focused on when the intonation behind Sukuna’s words only leaves you shocked, and worse, confused. You know your friendship with him runs deeper than most that he bothers to foster and you hold a place within his life that he’s willing to fight for, but this strikes you in a way that your usual banter and nudges don’t.

It brings you back to the way you’d been stunned when he intertwined your fingers in a way that felt so real.

You remember his rejection all too well, and yet… Now you’re not so sure how he feels. Maybe you’re reading into things too much, maybe this is all part of him earning your trust back, but your racing heart wants to think otherwise.

Maybe it’s all just a sick delusion.

Swallowing hard, you push aside your thoughts as you crawl back into your shell, the sudden realization of something altogether confusing leaving you scared. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah,” Sukuna replies, the face of stoicism. He digs into his pocket, setting a cigarette between his lips. “Gonna walk to the kids’ school n’ wait. It’ll give me some time to think,” he gruffs, his voice muffled from the cigarette. His lighter clicks as it ignites, the ashen edge of the cigarette glowing like a firefly.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“See ya, princess.”

–

The office is quiet come Tuesday. Even Yuki only stole about ten minutes of your time, mostly to complain about the fact that she’s still not done with Baby Whale, and she’s absolutely sick of it.

And really, who can blame her?

Finishing up your work, you send it over to Yuki for review and approval, met with an immediate pout from her as your email pops up in her inbox right away. With an innocent smile, you’re just about to offer to take something off her plate since you’re a bit ahead of schedule when Maya pings you with a request to come see her.

Excusing yourself, you make your way over to her office with dread twisting your gut.

She likely just has a question, but there’s something stressful about being summoned to your boss’ office no matter the occasion.

Or maybe that’s just how your brain works, finding worries in the least likely of places.

Knocking, you push into Maya’s office with a polite smile, casting a glance to the side at the sight of Sukuna manspreading in a chair across from Maya’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Your eyes fall to his forearms, the veins protruding over rippling muscles with his sleeves pushed up. God, he’s distracting.

His aloof stare falls flickers to you before he fixes his attention on Maya again.

“Hey,” she greets, sitting up and clasping her hands professionally. Something about the momentous air in the room doesn’t settle your nerves as she addresses you. “Sorry, Sukuna and I were just finishing up his one-month review,” she explains as she hands him some paperwork. You can’t make out how it went based on either of their expressions. “While I have him here, I figured I’d call you in as well. The client pushed the due date forward on Lee’s Adventure. How far along are the edits and cover? They want them by tomorrow but I don’t want to push either of you,” she explains.

“I finalized the edits this morning, Yuki just needs to review. I can take some of her work to balance her workload,” you offer.

“Gimme an hour and the cover’s done,” Sukuna replies mildly.

“You two are lifesavers, thank you,” she sighs in relief. “I swear, as soon as we finish this, I’m done with this agent,” she grumbles. “Send me the cloud file once it’s uploaded, Sukuna. I’ll wait for Yuki and let her know you’ll take something from her.”

Once dismissed, you stretch your arms overhead as you make your way out into the main office. The moment Sukuna shuts Maya’s door, he turns towards you. “Coffee?”

Huh, you hadn’t even realized he didn’t bring you one today. “Don’t you need to work on the cover?”

“I finished it last night,” he dismisses with a smirk. “Come get coffee with me.”

You can’t help the bubbly laughter that comes with the realization of why he asked for an hour, nodding. You both make pit stops at your offices before making your way out the front door. The snow has mostly cleared and it’s finally warm enough to be in a spring jacket rather than a winter one. With the weather finally easing up, it’s nice to be outside again. No breath billowing out in front of you as your ears and the tips of your fingers freeze, just a light breeze that rustles your hair.

There’s a shop only a couple of blocks from the office that you’ve only tried once when you got to work a bit early that you had enjoyed. It’s not Sukuna’s usual choice, but his order is about as simple as it gets, so surely it can’t be too bad no matter where he goes.

“You go first,” he urges as you arrive, letting you tell the cashier what you’d like. He steps forward and requests a black coffee, playfully shoving you aside in the process because he knows you well enough to know you were about to try to pay.

“You have to let me pay for something,” you groan in mock disdain.

He shrugs, not even offering any words.

Sighing, you shake your head. “Thanks, Kuna.”

He hums in acknowledgement, handing your drink over as it slides across the counter.

Once his arrives, he leads the way to a table and slides down in the chair, taking a sip of his coffee. He sighs at the familiar taste, grateful to finally get some caffeine in his system to keep him awake.

“So, how’d your review go?” You ask, taking slow sips of your warm drink.

“Pretty good,” he nods, glancing off to the side in thought. He seems tired again, though given that you both thought the trial was last Thursday, the kids probably did too, which really would only extend Sukuna’s troubles. “I guess the fucker who thought you were his personal assistant complained, but other than that she seemed pretty happy.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes. “Reggie’s the worst. He’s so full of himself.”

Yawning, your friend shrugs again. “Whatever. She didn’t really seem like she cared that he complained.”

“That’s good at least. I don’t think anyone really likes him, so-”

You cut yourself off as Sukuna begins digging in his pocket abruptly, scowling at his vibrating phone as he processes the name on the caller ID.

“Hello?”

From your perspective, he continues to glower at nothing in particular as he listens to whoever’s on the other line. He hums or grunts in reply, though he doesn’t offer much for insight until something seems to catch his attention.

“What?” He growls, hackles raised as he’s suddenly sitting upright. “It shouldn’t be ready for weeks.”

More silence as Sukuna runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “The f-” he cuts himself off, adjusting his phrasing, “what does it say, anyway?”

You take a sip of your coffee, trying to give him privacy, but it’s hard when you left your phone at the office and have no distraction beyond your surroundings.

He sighs heavily, waving his hand uselessly through the air in exasperation. “Gotta be kidding me, of course it does.”

Huffing as he continues to listen to the caller, his frustrations quickly explode into full-blown fury. “How? You said we shoulda had fuckin’ weeks, how is that fucking possible?” He barks.

Your eyes widen at the sudden change in tone. The tattooed man casts a glance around the cafe before abruptly standing and pushing out the door to continue his conversation outside. Choosing to give him privacy, you stay in your seat, watching with concern as he throws his hands in the air in disbelief from outside the window. It takes a few minutes before he hangs up and dumps his phone into his pocket. He throws his head back, dragging his hands over his face and remaining there for a good minute before swinging the cafe door back open with enough vigor that it meets the wall behind it.

Sukuna plops down in the chair across from you, picking up the coffee he’d left on the table and downing it in one go. Your brow raises as you regard him with concern.

Before you can voice your concern, Sukuna speaks up. “What’re you doing tomorrow morning?” He asks tersely, his gaze fixated on the paper cup in his grasp that he’s struggling not to crush in his own bout of irritation.

“Um-” you hesitate, scouring your mind for anything important. “Just classes, why?”

“The fuckin’ trial’s tomorrow.”

You recoil in horror, eyes wide. “What? How?”

“Fuckin’ Kaori,” he hisses. “Fucking snake put an urgent push on the date and I guess it only needs twenty four hours’ notice,” he growls, the cup in his hand fracturing under the weight of his hold. He sets it down on the table before whatever liquid’s left in the paper cup drips onto his gray slacks. “Can’t believe they’re letting her get away with this shit.”

“Wouldn’t she need, like, evidence or something to make it urgent?” You shake your head quizzically, trying to make sense of the sudden weight placed on Sukuna. It had only been a handful of days since he’d come to terms with the fact that he had more time and now the rug is being pulled out from under him as fast as it had been laid out.

Sukuna shakes his head and shrugs at once. “I don’t fuckin’ know.” His tone is disdainful as he harshly rubs his hands over his face. “She paid for a rush on the house study and it should have been done in a few weeks instead of months, not a few fuckin’ days,” he snaps, not directed at anyone in particular.

“You don’t think…” you trail off, chewing on your lower lip as you bring up something that’s been gnawing at you.

“Yeah, I do fucking think this shit is rigged,” he finishes your thought, pushing a hand through his salmon locks. He exhales heavily, eyes alight. “Fuck, I just told the kids things were okay and now I’m a fucking liar, and she’s fuckin’ cheating somehow, I- I don’t-” his anger and anxiety begin to blur, the lines separating them beginning to converge as his leg bounces beneath the table.

The fire in his eyes is quickly extinguished by fear as he considers what his next twenty four hours will look like.

You can’t watch despair take over without stepping in. Reaching across the table, you offer your hand. “I’ll be there. Class doesn’t matter. What time?”

He turns his attention to you, his eyes flickering between your face and your outstretched hand. “Ten thirty,” he grumbles, cautiously reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Thanks, princess.”

With a sympathetic smile, you nod.

“Shit, I gotta…” he trails off, inhaling sharply. “I gotta get home n’ meet with the lawyer,” he mumbles, his day immediately cut short by none other than Kaori.

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you capture his attention again. “Do you want some tea or something before you leave?” You offer, recalling how fast he downed his coffee.

Sukuna nods hesitantly. “Another coffee would be nice,” he mumbles, standing before you can move. “I can get it, though.”

“Let me get you this,” you plead as you push to your feet.

He takes a moment to examine the determined gleam in your eyes before giving in. “Sure.”

With a new cup of coffee in hand shortly afterwards, he thanks you quietly as you begin the short and tense walk back to work. The morning had seemed so easy barely a half hour ago, and now you can’t help but think that you took that sensation for granted.

Silence follows you as you let yourselves back into the building, quietly following Sukuna to his office while you stand in the doorway as he begins packing up.

“Don’t forget to send that cover to Maya,” you remind him.

He mutters a curse under his breath, the dark circles under his eyes painfully apparent as he pulls his laptop back out and quickly sends the files over to your boss.

Once he’s finished packing up, his coffee in-hand, you stop him before the door with a hand on his forearm. He regards you with a look that breathes only exhaustion.

“It’ll be okay,” you reassure him.

Despite the swirling anger and anxiety living within the crimson oceans of his irises, something stronger breaks through when he steels himself as he replies. “I know. I won’t let her fuckin’ win.”

You offer a smile, grateful for the resolve that he continues to nurture despite his own doubts. His brothers need him, and he’ll play the role he needs to in order to win the trial, no matter how much he feels as though he’s at his wit’s end. You can only pray he holds himself above water long enough to keep himself from drowning.

“Good luck, Kuna.”

He examines your expression for a moment, simply nodding as he pulls away from your grasp and slips out the front door without a word.

–

Your stomach churns uncomfortably as you stare in the mirror. It’s funny, the way you’d felt so prepared for this day for so long, but now that it’s here, it sits like a molten lava in your stomach. It churns and sears at your insides, unsettling you to your very core. If this is how you’re feeling as a bystander, you can only imagine the way Sukuna’s feeling right now.

They’re not your family, not your brothers, but they’re dear to you. All three of them.

Running your hands down the front of your black pencil skirt, you nod to yourself in the mirror. Fiddling with the sleeve of your (now stain-free) white blouse, you gather your keys and throw on a nice coat and professional plain black heels.

Even the thought of listening to music doesn’t seem right on the drive to the courthouse. Your mind is filled with trepidation, your finger tapping idly at the leather steering wheel as you opt for silence on the way there.

The world around you seems to hold its breath as you step out of your vehicle, your heels landing on fresh pavement. The birds overhead are silent, although a pair of crows eye you from their perch atop a tree. The air is suffocating, and you long for the relief that the end of this hearing will surely bring.

Your gaze falls on the large wooden doors at the front of the familiar stone building with flags at either side. The sheer size alone is imposing enough as is, but the cool and smooth exterior of the monotonous building does no favors to ease your stress. You would almost think they want you to be nervous upon arrival.

Pushing through the doors, you’re reminded that the inside is no better. After making it through security, there are very few windows, the artificial overhead lighting beating down on you as though it’s passing its own judgement. A large reception desk sits at the center of the room, alongside a pair of hallways on either end of the lobby. Evaluating the vaguely familiar room, you find the person you’re searching for fairly easily, his hair standing out in the waiting crowd with Ms. Harte sitting silently beside him.

The click of your heels alerts Sukuna to your presence before you take a seat beside him. He’s dressed to the nines, but you don’t have the luxury of appreciating just how good he looks given the gravity of the situation. When he lifts his head, you find yourself frowning regardless. His eyes are little more than an endless sea of doubts, stress, fears, and misery. There’s a distance glazed over his eyes that suggests he’s not all there right now, hanging on by a thread.

He’s worn so thin that even the sight of you doesn’t ease any of the thoughts running through his mind. He’s gone over the case so many times with his lawyer in the past twenty four hours that he’s not sure he even can be any more prepared, yet he still finds himself feeling vastly underprepared. The short notice in particular claws at the very flesh of his being, as though Kaori is personally taunting him.

“Hey.” Your voice is soft as you offer him a smile, but your nerves are evident in the twitch of your brow. His pupils slide slowly from your face down to your wrist, where he can faintly see the red and purple twine bracelets hidden beneath your semi-translucent sleeve. You may be here in part to support him, which he appreciates more than you could ever know, but he knows the gravity of this situation affects you too, given how much you adore his little brothers.

He almost regrets ever dragging you into this part of his life. The only reason he can even dare to put the word ‘almost’ in that thought is because if he ever dared to express that, you’d chew him out. He thinks he’d let you without so much as batting an eye either, because he needs you.

“Sukuna?” You softly call out to him and his gaze finally raises from your wrist once more to meet your eyes. He examines you for a moment, his finger twitching as he longs to reach out. He longs for the comfort the warmth of your soft skin brings him, but his own self-doubt plagues him down as though he’s wading through mud. He barely has enough strength to keep himself afloat, let alone to dare ask for something.

He knows he’s made leaps and bounds of progress in your relationship over the last few weeks, but as he braves the fog of his mind, he can’t seem to make sense of the lines that separate you anymore. He can’t bear the thought of overstepping.

As is, there’s already a risk he loses his brothers. He can’t lose you, too.

Not again.

Clearing his throat, he gruffly pushes out a reply. “Hey.”

Your brow furrows, “Do you need some water?” You offer, sure you can find somewhere to get him some.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m fine.”

You both know well that it’s a lie. Neither of you are fine.

The dejected tone he speaks in doesn’t do him any favors, either. To think this is the same man you met so many months ago almost seems like a joke. Usually so full of pride and bravado, the world has stomped out every last flame that once made up the stubborn brute. He seems almost like a shell of his former self.

It’s strange, when you consider what you’d just told Shoko last week, that Sukuna seems more like himself. The more you think about it, now you’re not so sure. It’s as though his own life is beating him down into a person that you wonder if he even recognizes.

Your heart twists at the thought that somewhere along the line, the man sitting beside you lost himself.

He lost you, he lost himself, and now he’s at risk of losing what’s left of his world.

It only makes you more furious with his step-mother. You don’t see her or her lawyer on this side of the waiting room, and thank god for that. The look of control she always bears makes your skin crawl.

“How are Choso and Yuji?” You keep your voice low as you check in on your friend and his brothers.

Sukuna sighs quietly. “Uraume’s with ‘em. Couldn’t get them to go to school. When I told ‘em what was going on, Choso…” He just shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“He shut down?”

Sukuna hums in thought. “No, I think he’s tryin’ to listen to you.” He shuffles in his seat, sitting up. Tugging at his collar and tie uncomfortably, he cracks his neck. “I just dunno what to do. He’s outside my door tryin’ to talk every few minutes, but I-” With a shrug, he shakes his head again. He knows you get him. He doesn’t need to tell you that he doesn’t have a way with words, you know.

“He just needs you to be there for him. You don’t have to say anything.”

The crimson of his eyes seems to swirl with doubts as he examines you, but he finds it in himself to nod, slumping back in the chair once more.

“How’d the house study turn out?” You query, hoping that will at least help his case.

Shakily sighing, he tilts his head in a ‘so-so’ manner. “No issues with the house,” he states, his gaze fixated on an empty chair in front of him. “But they looked at the kids’ mental health as well, and Yu’s went fine but Cho…” he shakes his head with a sigh, knowing he doesn’t need to spell it out for you. “Good news is they gave us a record of what both kids said and asked ‘em both about me and Kaori.”’

“That should help,” you agree, thankful that even if Choso is too young to testify, at least the kids’ opinions are taken into account to some degree.

“Yeah…” He agrees, though he doesn’t seem to share your optimism, his gaze still painfully distant with the weight of his ambivalence.

Unable to keep his mind on-track for a conversation, he inhales sharply as the tense silence of the courthouse surrounds you both. The closer the time strikes to ten thirty, the more the air seems claustrophobic despite the high ceilings and large, open lobby. With each second that passes, Sukuna finds his leg bouncing quicker, his mind racing faster, and his heart damn-near pounding right out of his chest.

Every muscle in his body is rife with tension, and his chest could implode at any second given the burden that claws at his lungs. He can only sit with his hands clasped in his lap, acting as though the taste in his mouth isn’t so vile that he could wretch.

Quietly drowning, he doesn’t dare to even cast you a glance. As though every mistake he’s ever made with his brothers isn’t already crashing through his mind like a wave, he can’t bear to consider the ones he’s made with you.

But you’ve always been too sweet to him.

In a silent show of support, your fingers glide across the skin of his clasped hands, settling atop them. You run your thumb gently over his knuckles, the warmth of your skin soothing the frigid water that threatens his lungs. The sympathy on your features would frustrate him if you were anyone else, but from you, it doesn’t taste so bitter.

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes. His leg gradually stops bouncing as your thumb continues to softly brush his skin. He casts you a grateful glance despite his silence, too afraid of ruining the moment and losing the one thing keeping him sane.

It’s funny, really. Or maybe funny isn’t the right word. But Sukuna remembers a time where nothing scared him. He remembers being the type of kid who would dive headfirst into a fist fight with someone bigger than him just because they bumped into him.

He’d even gotten off lucky once when he’d thrown a punch at some rich kid tattling on him for skateboarding in a park where it was prohibited, but he’d narrowly missed and slammed his fist into the wall. Why is that lucky? Because the money Jin had to spend fixing Sukuna’s fist is nothing compared to the money he could have spent on a worthless lawsuit. That was also one of the first times Sukuna had ever experienced the true shame in being at the center of Jin’s disappointment.

It’s also the single moment in his life that decided that he would call Kaori rather than Jin when he was arrested.

But Sukuna’s world has flipped on its head, and that’s not who he is anymore. He doesn’t have the luxury of throwing reckless punches at the wall.

He needs to be better, for his brothers. He wants to be better and build a world where they can have what Sukuna couldn’t.

He casts you a glance. You’re part of that world, too, though he struggles to identify what role it is that you play.

“Case number 2493, Sukuna versus Itadori.”

Sukuna’s head whips up to face a man in a full suit standing at the edge of the waiting area with a woman dressed equally as pristinely at his side. He recognizes them as the bailiff and court clerk, ready to lead the way to the family courtroom and staring expectantly at the waiting crowd.

Ms. Harte gets to her feet, leading the way with a confident gait. She greets the court clerk and bailiff with a professional smile while waiting on Sukuna who’s much slower to get to his feet. He pulls his hands away from you, brushing his suit down and adjusting his tie. He loosens it slightly, but the choking feeling he’s experiencing isn’t the tie at all.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he glances back over the chair as though he might be forgetting something, before following after the lawyer. Although your nerves are more subtle than Sukuna’s, you find yourself following his lead, brushing down your outfit as though your presence has any bearing on the case.

From the opposite side of the waiting room comes Kaori in a flawlessly fitted suit and pencil skirt with a new obvious display of wealth sparkling in the overhead light as it dangles from her neck with matching earrings to boot. Her confidence is picturesque with not a single hair out of place. Her lawyer, Mr. Cahn, stands as proudly as ever beside her in a navy suit, equally as prepared as she seems.

You’ve only seen her once before, for such a brief period of time as she drove Sukuna through hoops in an effort to take her children from him, and yet were this not a courthouse, you would have words for her. Choice words. You didn’t know back then the lengths she was willing to go through to ruin Sukuna’s life, and now you can only wonder what more is in store.

You’re not one to raise your voice, nor start fights, but she’s caused so much needless pain and suffering to those three brothers, that you find yourself wanting a fight. You can only imagine how Sukuna feels about her as you catch a glimpse of the daggers he’s sending her way.

She’s lucky his lawyer warned him to stay on the judge’s good side this time around.

In your mind, she’s the textbook definition of a monster, so her kind and somewhat sympathetic smile cast in Sukuna’s direction as she approaches immediately strikes you as fake. Much like every other nicety she’s thrown his way over the past week.

Sukuna’s hands ball into fists at his sides as the clerk ushers your parties to a courtroom simply labeled as ‘four’. The clerk pushes his way into the small room, helping both parties get situated at separate tables before the judge’s bench as he and the bailiff take their own seats.

The room is smaller than what you’ve seen in the movies. There’s very little room to move around and apart from the flags that hang at the door, the small room is painted only in dull and somewhat dark tones of cream and walnut. There’s still no windows, the sterile overhead lights being the only source of light and painfully so. The artificial feeling of the room does no favors for your nerves.

The clerk leads you to the small section of gallery seating behind Sukuna as the only viewer of the case, though you suppose that family law likely doesn’t get many spectators, so it figures that you’re alone. Still, the uncomfortable chair doesn’t add any layer of comfort.

Both lawyers quietly discuss the case with their clients while awaiting the arrival of the judge. Ms. Harte emphasizes courtroom rules to Sukuna before quickly going over the points she expects Kaori to use given the documents that had been provided by the opposing lawyer during their latest disclosure of evidence and the case conference last week. Among the evidence is a variety of photos, school records, and much to Sukuna’s dismay, evidence of every transgression plaguing his troubled childhood.

Every. Single. One.

His lawyer had assured him she didn’t see this being an issue given how old most of the documents are, but he’s still little more than a hulking mass of tension, while the opposing party on the opposite side of the room is the picture of confidence. That serves to make you more nervous, but Sukuna’s been the kids’ guardian for so long that there’s no way he can lose.

The door to the courtroom creaks open as a tall man in a gray suit enters the room. As Sukuna recognizes that the trial is about to begin, he inhales deeply, casting aside as many of his doubts as he can to present himself as one thing: determined.

For a moment, you even think you see a glimpse of the confident bravado Sukuna once wore back when you first met. It may be a mask he wears to keep up the appearance of his resolve, but a sliver of that mask bears a resemblance to the Sukuna you recognize.

He can do this.

The bailiff stands at the entrance to the room, straightening as she presents the judge. “Please rise. The Honorable Judge Martinez is now presiding.”

The judge runs a hand through his graying hair, which seems as though it may have been black once, as he takes a seat at the head of the room. His calm and authoritative emerald eyes slide across the room, taking in the scene before him and lingering a moment too long on Sukuna for your comfort. You can only hope he isn’t judging Sukuna’s ability to parent his brothers by his appearance.

That presumes anything but a fair trial, and given that Sukuna already suspects some sort of foul play on Kaori’s end, that doesn’t bode well for him.

Everything about this experience seems to differ from your expectations, as though everything you’ve seen in movies and TV isn’t quite right. Or maybe that only applies to family court, you can’t be sure.

The judge pulls a pair of glasses from his pocket, setting them on the bridge of his nose as he reads a brief summary of the case before him. As he wasn’t present during the case conference, all evidence will be new to him, which works in Sukuna’s favor as well given his outburst towards Kaori.

“Please be seated,” comes the bailiff’s instructions. Crossing your legs, you bite your lip as the hearing begins.

Judge Martinez addresses the room. “The court is now in session. We are here to address case 2493, Itadori versus Sukuna, for custody over the children Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori. This is in regards to social file number 34785-98. I will be directing this case myself.”

Sukuna’s stomach flips in dread. Coming up on four years of taking care of them on his own and it all led to this. He wants to spew curses at his step-mother, to chew her up and spit her out wounded and bleeding, but he doesn’t dare break his calm facade. As far as anyone in this room needs to know, he’s a picturesque guardian to his brothers.

“Ms. Itadori, as the applicant in this case, we will open with your counsel’s statement.”

Kaori’s lawyer rises, bowing to the judge. He runs a hand through his well-kempt beard before beginning. “Thank you, Your Honor. My name is Richard Cahn and I will be representing the applicant, Ms. Kaori Itadori. My client is applying for full custody of these children as the biological mother of Yuji Itadori and Choso Itadori. Due to unfortunate circumstances regarding her health, Ms. Itadori was unable to care for the children after the passing of her husband, Jin Itadori, however she has since fully recovered and is now capable of providing for the children.” Her lawyer pauses, casting a glance at Sukuna, who keeps his eyes straight ahead in an effort not to break. “We acknowledge the important role Mr. Sukuna has played in their lives as their half-brother, however his actions have demonstrated that he is still young and not fit to take care of two children at this time.”

Judge Martinez nods in acknowledgement to the opposing party, motioning to Ms. Harte on Sukuna’s side. “I would like to hear from the counsel for the respondent.”

Sukuna’s lawyer stands, and you’re grateful for her confidence, because you’re struggling to share it. At least Sukuna is keeping up his confidence. Ms. Harte introduces herself in the same manner as Mr. Cahn, before beginning her statement.

“Your Honor, my client, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, is the older half-brother of Yuji Itadori and Choso Itadori and they have been in his legal care for the past three and a half years. Mr. Sukuna has raised them since Mr. Itadori fell ill and you will find that he has successfully provided stability, a safe home, and a positive environment for them over the years. While we acknowledge Ms. Itadori’s blood-relation to the children, they have shown an overall preference for their older brother, and I would like to ask that you consider what is in their best interest for this case.”

The judge nods upon hearing both opening statements. He scans the legal paperwork beneath his hands before rattling off a series of legal rules to the room. He goes over the procedures for the hearing, making a point that he would not like either party interrupting, and that he will direct the conversation. He explains that he will begin with the applicant, to have the respondent act as such- a responder.

After ensuring his instructions are clear, he allows the bailiff to call the first witness to the stand, Kaori herself. Sukuna had inquired about having you be a witness, but his attorney advised against it as your relationship with one another wasn’t set in stone or easy to describe and could serve as a detriment against an opposition like Kaori. As such, both parties had disclosed that their only witnesses would be the two guardians themselves.

There’s no witness stand for Kaori to move to in the small family courtroom, so she simply gets to her feet. Politely clasping her hands, she takes a vow to tell the truth, swearing herself in, and bows to the judge.

With Kaori now prepared to answer questions, her lawyer rounds the table to stand closer to the judge as he presents himself to the grander room. “Ms. Itadori, please explain the reasoning behind your inability to take guardianship of your children upon your husband’s passing.”

With a nod, Kaori smiles politely. “When my husband passed away, I had recently taken a job overseas to help provide for our family. It was a difficult decision to leave, however I felt it was for the best to prepare for our future. I was made aware that my husband was sick after my departure and we spoke daily, however I didn’t receive any notice that he had passed away for quite some time. I tried to reach out, but never heard back.”

Sukuna’s nails dig into his palms beneath the table at the blatant lie, but he does everything he can to keep his expression neutral. At the end of the day it’s her word against his, he can’t afford to tarnish the judge’s view of him.

“I had booked a flight back when I didn’t hear back after a couple of days, but I became quite ill out of nowhere. Um-” She pauses, her mask of confidence slipping for just a moment as she glances down at the table before her. “Here are my medical records and the flight ticket receipts.”

Her lawyer takes the documents, presenting them to the judge, who lays the paperwork out before him. He scans them briefly, motioning with his hand. “Please continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I only recovered late last year, otherwise I would have started this process much earlier. I love my children and I regret missing such a large portion of their lives.”

Mr. Cahn nods in approval at her testimony. “Please testify to the statement made that Mr. Sukuna is unfit for guardianship.”

Kaori nods, clearing her throat. “Of course. My step-son didn’t reach out when my husband passed away, and I was distraught to find that he had taken custody of my own children after learning of my husband’s passing. I helped raise Mr. Sukuna since he was nine years old, but he always caused problems. I have school records as evidence of his poor grades and misdemeanors.”

Her lawyer passes the documents along to the judge as she continues

“And here’s a photo Ryomen took with my son Choso which shows him trespassing in a train yard committing property damage. Not only is this inappropriate behaviour, but my son is very impressionable and this unacceptable.” She clasps her hands in front of herself, keeping up her responsible and caring appearance. “How is Mr. Sukuna meant to be trusted as a guardian, when he has demonstrated his poor abilities to care for my children as a babysitter?”

Sukuna’s mask of neutrality begins to break as he’s just about ready to pull his own hair out. A fucking selfie from when he was sixteen. Come the fuck on. Although he’s already seen all of her evidence, it’s hard not to be irritated with the woman when she’d held onto his records all these years later. He’s certain she did it for no other reason than to hold them over his head if she ever needed to.

“I’m aware these are older, however I don’t believe his behavior has changed. Before serving him with this case, I was going to talk to him about discussing this in a more civil manner, however I didn’t feel safe leaving my kids with him when I found him smoking outside of his apartment with someone while my kids were alone upstairs.”

Sukuna shuffles in his seat, but he can’t recall whatever Kaori is talking about. It’s not like he would have left them for long, he was right outside. If he were to guess, he was likely with Uraume if he was smoking with someone and it was before the lawsuit. It probably wasn’t you.

Kaori glances back down over the evidence on the table in front of her. “I would also like to bring attention to Mr. Sukuna’s employment. His lawyer provided us with his records, and he was working two jobs, while also attending college. This is irresponsible for my children’s well-being and wouldn’t allow him any time to be home with them. He would need to leave them in the care of other people, or even alone, rather than being with them himself.”

The worst part about this trial for Sukuna as he’s forced to sit in silence, is not being able to scream from the top of his lungs that at least he was there at all. Kaori can claim she was sick all she would like and Sukuna can’t refute that, but he sees through it.

“For those reasons, I would like to suggest that full custody is returned to me, as their mother. My husband and I have prepared rooms for both boys and we have the money and time to provide for them.”

Sukuna’s head whips towards Kaori, scanning her left hand. Sure enough, a rock as extravagant as the necklace she’s flaunting sits around her ring finger. Husband? Since when? That hadn’t been in any of the documents that had been provided to Sukuna and Ms. Harte. How had she had the time to get married if she was supposedly so sick?

He swallows hard, staring at the table in front of him. Surely the judge can see the holes in her logic just as Sukuna can.

Does she really just hate Sukuna that much that she can’t bear the thought of having a conversation with him to solve this?

That’s a useless thought, though. After everything that’s happened with her, Sukuna wouldn’t have handed over custody. It’s not what his brothers want, and he can see now more than ever that this isn’t in their best interest. He’s been trying to convince himself for months now that he’s a good guardian, but for the first time it’s glaringly obvious. Kaori is lying through her teeth, even after taking an oath, but Sukuna can’t refute any of her lies, he has no proof of anything.

Every word from Kaori is coldly calculated to take Sukuna down and his gut twists with each lie she tells.

He can’t figure out for the life of him what her angle is, either. What does she want them for? She clearly didn’t want them to begin with, so what the hell changed?

And worse still are Sukuna’s fears that Kaori is somehow manipulating the outcome of the trial. He needs to put his faith in the system, but it’s not easy when he has to watch her lie so outlandishly with such confidence, only to receive a nod from the judge.

Before her lawyer can speak, Kaori chimes in one last time, tilting her head towards Sukuna as she feigns motherly love for her step-son. “I appreciate everything Mr. Sukuna has done for my children, however he’s young, he has no support, and he has no experience raising children. Mr. Sukuna has always struggled with his emotions, as documented by his school records, and I don’t believe he can provide the emotional support my children require, particularly Choso.”

Emotional support. There it is. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? Like she knows just how to hit him where it hurts.

The weight on Sukuna’s chest bears down harder on him as she points out his shortcomings. He knows. He knows. Fuck, he knows. But it’s still better than what she can offer. It takes every ounce of Sukuna’s concentration to keep reminding himself of that. He won’t deny that he’s young and inexperienced in raising children. He won’t deny that he was horribly ill-prepared at first.

But he was there. He wasn’t perfect, he still isn’t. But he was there and that has to count for something.

“Ms. Itadori, can you comment on the urgency of this case?” Mr. Cahn pushes.

“Absolutely. We pushed for a rush of the house study due to my concerns for my oldest son’s mental well-being which that study confirmed, however upon being on the receiving end of my step-son’s behavioral issues last week during and following the case conference, I felt that it was important to place an urgent rush on this trial.” She grimaces as though this is some sort of grave and unfortunate ordeal for her.

Her lawyer nods in approval once again, all lines from both people in their party clearly rehearsed to a T. “That is all, Your Honor.”

The judge motions to Ms. Harte accordingly. “Thank you, Ms. Itadori. I would like to invite the respondent’s attorney to cross-examine the witness.”

Ms. Harte stands, confidently rounding the tables. Her heels click across the hardwood floor as she finds a place before Kaori. “Ms. Itadori,” she begins, “you claim that my client did not reach out upon your husband’s death, can you comment on the records that I provided your party detailing his efforts to reach out?”

“May I see these records?” The judge chimes in.

“Of course, Your Honor,” Ms. Harte agrees, handing over the paperwork.

“I do see here that Ryomen reached out, however none of my contact information here is right. I had moved recently and swapped to company-owned devices when I received a promotion at my job,” Kaori confidently explains. Her drawl carries an air of arrogance, as though nothing could possibly break her air-tight testimony.

“How could that be? Why would your step-son not have your proper contact information?”

“As I mentioned previously, Ryomen has a record of delinquency and I didn’t feel it was appropriate to step in and police how my husband chose to parent him,” she explains with ease. “We communicated very rarely after I left, and I didn’t have his number on-hand to reach out when Jin wasn’t replying.”

Sukuna’s lawyer pushes further. “Can you still say that you helped to raise Mr. Sukuna and know him well if you weren’t willing to step in as a parent?”

Kaori nods. “I did everything I could to appeal to Ryomen. I was there for every holiday, I took him to his driver’s test, and would take him shopping. My husband and I decided it was for the best that I tried to only create good memories with him since he wasn’t fond of me for a while. I believe for a while, he saw me as a threat to the attention he received from his father.”

Ms. Harte doesn’t so much as stutter as she continues to question Kaori. “If you weren’t willing to step in with Mr. Sukuna, why should the court believe you’ll do so with Choso and Yuji Itadori?”

“Those are my children. I’m comfortable parenting them how I believe is best, and I know their needs well.” she attests, her form straightening. “My children need their mother.”

Ms. Harte shakes her head. “Can you say that you know their needs well when the house study details not only that neither child remembers you, but also that their preference is for my client’s guardianship?”

The judge flips through the documents submitted to the court laid out in front of him, nodding in acknowledgement once he’s skimmed the children’s statements.

Yet Kaori always seems prepared. “I acknowledge that they were both young when I took a position overseas, and I have reason to believe that the preference towards Ryomen that they have stated is purely for that reason. Given the opportunity, I know they would thrive in my care,” she states confidently. “They’ve only chosen Mr. Sukuna as they don’t know what it means to be outside of his care.”

Sukuna’s lawyer mentally resets as Kaori rebounds easily. Addressing the room as a whole as she continues. “In addition, I would like to request that the documents provided by the applying party regarding my client’s educational misdemeanors be disregarded, as nothing is dated within the last four years.”

The judge regards Sukuna quietly for a moment before nodding. “Sustained.”

Ms. Harte bows politely. “Thank you, Your Honor. Additionally, I would like to ask that claims of Mr. Sukuna being seen outside of his apartment are disregarded as hearsay, as my client does not recall this.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up, taking a stand. “I would like to ask that the court considers that a guardianship case is primarily hearsay, especially in circumstances where the children are too young to testify. Would Mr. Sukuna’s claim that he doesn’t recall this moment not be equally considered hearsay?”

The judge takes a moment to consider this, before clasping his hands together. “I agree. Your request is overruled,” he addresses Ms. Harte. Sukuna rolls his shoulders in his seat, crossing his arms to mask his irritation.

It’s not like there haven’t been small wins and pushes in Sukuna’s favor, but the cards seem to fall ever in Kaori’s favor, no matter how hard Ms. Harte and Sukuna fight.

“Very well, Your Honor,” Ms. Harte relents, clearly frustrated by this outcome. “In any case, I would like to ask that Ms. Itadori provides further information on this claim.”

“Of course,” Kaori smiles easily. “I arrived from overseas on September 4th, and went to visit my step-son on the sixth in the evening, which is when I witnessed him smoking with someone.”

“Do you have any evidence the children were home at the time?” Ms. Harte queries.

Kaori hesitates for a moment, the first crack in her confidence that sends a wave of relief through both you and Sukuna. “No, but I have no reason to believe they were somewhere else either.”

Ms. Harte nods, moving along. “You mentioned that you and your husband will be able to provide for the children. If you were unable to reach your phone due to illness, when did you have time to be married after your husband Jin’s passing while ill?”

Kaori cracks once more, hesitation crossing her features for the briefest of moments. “We met prior to Jin’s passing, and he supported me through my grief and sickness. Our ceremony was days before I returned to see my children in September and our honeymoon has yet to happen. Everything has happened very quickly,” she explains.

Sukuna sits upright in his seat, blinking at the realization that while she may not have admitted it, there’s no fucking way she didn’t cheat on Jin. Again. Sukuna grits his teeth hard, the pressure in his jaw tightening until he’s physically holding back a snarl. Sukuna can live with the ways she wronged him, but to smite Jin in his final days? He wants nothing more than to put her in her place.

But all he can do is sit in silence while Ms. Harte moves along, Kaori’s response is too sound to question further. “Ms. Itadori, you claim that Mr. Sukuna’s work schedule wouldn’t give him much time to be with the kids, however as outlined in the documents provided to your lawyer, you can see that Sukuna has recently taken a new position to allow himself more time with them.”

Kaori shoots a glance at the paperwork in front of her, nodding. “I see that, however his resume doesn’t give me confidence that he’s able to keep that job. He doesn’t seem to hold onto anything for much longer than a year, and that same document says that he recently dropped out of college.”

Unperturbed, Sukuna’s lawyer presses. “He put the children first over his own desires. Does that not show a dedication to these kids?”

Kaori considers this for a moment, casting a glance at her lawyer, though he nods confidently as though they’ve gone over the possibility of this coming up. You wonder if she’s even speaking in her own words, or if everything is a premeditated response, practiced. “It does, however I’m concerned for his ability to provide for my sons if he’s unable to hold a job or schooling. By dropping out, he’s also limited his career options,” she points out. “He doesn’t seem to have the qualifications for his current position, either.”

Sukuna stiffens at the mention of college, his leg inadvertently bouncing again under the table. He’s not sure if it ever stopped shaking, really, or if he’s just now noticing it again.

“There are more ways than just school to climb within the workforce nowadays, Ms. Itadori. Additionally, my client has proven more than capable of providing for the children financially by any means necessary. He’s shown his willingness and dedication to them through his actions,and has never once been unable to pay rent, keep food on the table. I do hope that the court will consider that money isn’t everything.” She turns to face the judge, politely bowing. “That is all, Your Honor.”

Ms. Harte returns to her seat beside Sukuna, where he’s waiting with white knuckles as he braces himself on the arms of his chair, preparing to testify.

The bailiff thanks Kaori, willing her to sit. She then turns her attention to Sukuna, giving him the opportunity to testify as well.

Sukuna turns to his lawyer briefly for assurance, before he pushes to his feet. Rolling his shoulders and smoothing down his suit, he takes the same oath of truthfulness as Kaori. He prays that neither the judge, nor the opposing party can hear the shaky breath he takes before Ms. Harte pushes him to begin his statement.

“Your Honor, Ms Harte,” Sukuna addresses the judge and his lawyer as he begins, hesitantly shifting from foot to foot as he stares down at his hands. Clearing his throat, his chest remains tight, his voice low as he speaks. “I- uh- I’ve been taking care of my brothers since my dad died. I got us an apartment, started workin’ and have letters from my employers to show my work ethic,” he pauses to hand these to his lawyer, “and I found a babysitter my brothers like.”

Sukuna’s gaze shifts up to the judge as the letters are passed along, straightening as he feels the scrutinizing glares of his step-mother and her lawyer in his peripherals. His own voice sounds unfamiliar to him as he tries to match the formal tone of the courtroom.

“I taught myself how to cook their favorite foods, I read to ‘em,” he wracks his brain for more details. “Learned how to change diapers, and I make sure they stay in school.” He sighs quietly as he scowls down at the table before him in thought. Every hardship and distant memory of the difficulty of teaching oneself to take care of children seems to weigh him down as he recounts each and every way he taught himself to step up.

He may have been forced into this life, but in every lifetime he’d do it over again if it means his brothers are happy.

Steeling himself, he fixes the judge with a determined gaze. “I stepped up. I did what I had to when I couldn’t reach their mom, and I’m still here. My little brothers are happy, they got food on the table, a roof over their heads, n’ they’re in school with friends. I’ll do anything for my brothers, and I’ve always been there for them, even when their mother wasn’t, no matter how much that affected them.” Sukuna finishes his statement, making a point of dragging down Kaori without being disrespectful in an effort to make a point about Kaori’s disingenuity.

Turning his expectant stare towards Kaori and her lawyer, he keeps his head up and gaze certain. The minute shake in his hands is well-hidden by the determination that keeps him looking at ease.

There was a time where his confidence wouldn’t be so thinly veiled. Shit, if he was testifying on any other subject, he’s sure he would be the picture of confidence itself, unperturbed by the goings on around him. It’s dejecting to know that he’s been reduced to a shadow of his former self by the very same woman who Sukuna knows openly rejected her own children’s calls.

The woman who wouldn’t step up and be a mother to him is now the woman tearing him down through legal means rather than having a conversation.

She’s selfish.

She’s a coward and an asshole and it pisses Sukuna off to no end to know what he’s become because of her. He hardly recognizes himself.

It’s strange. The person he sees in the reflection of the judge’s glasses doesn’t feel like him. He’s accustomed to the dark circles and pale reflection he sees, but the anxiety and doubt that cloud his vision taints his perspective of himself.

Sukuna is confident. He’s sure of himself. He’s brash, bold, and egotistical. He’s a hothead and a bit too quick on the draw to jump to conclusions. He’s smart, cunning, and hard-working, but under all those layers is a man who cares very much about those dear to him.

But the man who stares back at him is scared. In fact, he can’t see any of the qualities that seem to make him Sukuna aside from a set of tattoos that his father sighed at when he saw them.

He considers for a moment your presence behind him as well, and the version of himself he’s trying to be. He strives to be better. For you, for his brothers, and even for himself.

But the real difference between his step-mother and you is that you still want the version of Sukuna you saw before his step-mother tore him to shreds. You still want his confidence, his boldness, even his ego. You like his sharp-tongue and cunning remarks, and you’re willing to work through his emotions with him when he gets a little bit too impetuous for his own good. You’re even willing to help him through the unfamiliar territory that amounts to what he’s become after Kaori’s meddling.

You only ever ask him to treat you with the respect you give him. You want him to be himself, while being conscious of others.

Ms. Harte nods, shooting Sukuna a kind smile of reassurance before falling easily back into her role. “Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. Can you provide further information on how you reached out to Ms. Itadori upon your father’s passing?”

Sukuna swallows the lump in his throat at the mention of a time he still can hardly bear to think about without guilt, shame, and grief washing over him. “Yeah. Got her number from Jin’s phone and tried his and my phone to call her, I had lawyers calling and writing, we sent letters from Choso and I, and emails to any contacts I could find.”

“Did your lawyers attempt any other method of contact?”

Sukuna nods. “Yeah, they pulled a-” he pauses, brow furrowing in thought. “A land title, I think, to try to find her new address, but nothing came up.”

Ms. Harte nods. “Thank you. Can you confirm you had no knowledge of Ms. Itadori’s illness prior to this case?”

“I didn’t,” Sukuna gruffs in confirmation, shooting a glare at Kaori as he still doesn’t believe her for a second.

“Can you attest to your connection with the children?”

Sukuna nods slowly. “Choso n’ I have been through a lot and I’ll always be there for him. I taught him how to cook and he wants to be a chef when he grows up, he even wants to take classes when he’s older,” Sukuna explains, inhaling sharply. “I’ve been there for all of Yuji’s firsts. First words, first steps, that was all me. He’s like my own kid n’ I know how to raise him and what he needs just fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. Can you speak to your work ethic, please?”

“Mhm,” he hums, taking a moment to mentally reset. “I worked two jobs ‘til I was able to find one that pays well enough for less hours. I did what needed to be done while I got my footing and now I’m stable and spend almost every night with my brothers.”

“Do you believe that having a babysitter affected your ability to care for your brothers?” Ms. Harte queries.

Sukuna’s thankful for this portion of the questioning, as this is all rehearsed. “No. They like their babysitter a lot and I still spend all my free time with ‘em.”

Whether he’s talking about you or the kind woman across the hall you can’t be entirely certain, but you get the feeling it’s you. Even in the midst of the stressful trial, you find a minute smile pulling at the corners of your lips at the thought.

“Can you speak to the matter documented in the case conference last week in which Ms. Itadori states that you lashed out?”

Sukuna shuts his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to keep himself composed. “It’s been an emotional time, I don’t want to lose the kids.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. No further questions,” Ms. Harte nods, bowing to the judge as she takes a seat. With Mr. Cahn taking her place, Sukuna feels a chill run up his spine at his hardened disposition.

“Mr. Sukuna, would you not agree that it’s important for the kids to have a motherly figure in their life?”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “They have lots of good influences in their life other than their mother.”

“Do you believe you’re one of them?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly as he blows a breath out through his nose. If he weren’t in a courtroom, he’d have choice words for the man in the navy suit. “I do.”

Mr. Cahn presses harder, sensing Sukuna’s mounting frustration. “Would you not consider your nicotine addiction to be a detriment to the children’s health and your ability to uphold a positive influence in their lives?”

It takes everything in him to keep his tone neutral as he replies. “I don’t smoke around the kids.”

Unfortunately, Sukuna doesn’t realize the angle that he gives the man across from him. “So you admit that what Ms. Itadori saw when she intended to visit her children could be a possibility?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows, casting a glance at his lawyer who shoots him a signal to simply tell the truth, whatever he believes that to be. “I usually smoke on the balcony. I don’t like leaving my brothers alone,” he decides after a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Kaori’s lawyer examines his expression as though reading him like a book, moving along. “You claim that you had to teach yourself to cook for them and learn their preferences, were you aware of the needs of children when you became their guardian?”

Sukuna shifts. His patience for this man is on thin ice. As is, he hates that he’s sharing his life with a group of strangers, his step-mother included, but to be grilled over his decisions and abilities is downright insulting. He may be a shadow of his former self, but he’s competent and he won’t let Kaori take that away from him.

“I looked after Choso when my dad was still around, so I knew a bit. I had some growing to do when I took over, but I figured sh- things out,” he replies, crossing his bulky arms over his chest.

“But wouldn’t you agree that their mother is better suited for the position of their guardian? Her ability to care for them is borne into her instincts as a mother.”

“No,” Sukuna replies immediately, his lip curling as he snarls his response. Momentarily forgetting to hold his tongue, he barks angrily, “maybe if she ever reached out or tried to be a mother to them I’d change my mind, but she was gone for four years without a word.”

“Mr. Sukuna,” the bailiff warns in an authoritative voice.

Sukuna shoots the bailiff a sharp glare, physically biting his tongue to prevent himself from speaking out.

“Mr. Sukuna, I’d like to remind you of my client’s illness. She was bedridden for a majority of the years you speak of, unable to even sit up, let alone use a phone. On top of that, she spoke to her husband and Choso weekly at a minimum before Mr. Itadori passed. She attempted to call his phone, but you never picked up.”

Sukuna mutters an inaudible ‘whatever’ under his breath, fixing the lawyer with his harsh stare. Of course he didn’t pick up the unknown numbers calling his dad’s phone while he was grieving. That was the last thing he needed.

Chewing on your lip, you pray Sukuna can keep his frustrations under control. Given Kaori’s urgency to push the trial forward and her statements against his attitude, you can only guess he’s hurting his argument.

“Moving along, how do you balance your full-time position with taking care of the children?”

“I work while they’re in school,” he answers easily.

“And do you make enough to support them with that position alone?”

Sukuna nods slowly, lacking total conviction. “I pick up the occasional shift at an autoshop if I need to, but it’s enough.”

“And would you not agree that this allows you less time to ensure that the children are taken care of and that their needs are met?”

“Their needs,” Sukuna barely keeps his tone neutral, his teeth grit. “Are met. They have a good babysitter who they love. They’re happy.”

Ms. Harte casts a glance up at him, her expression unreadable. The judge may keep a straight face through the conversation, however you can practically see the way he’s passing silent discernment over the burly man each time he struggles to keep himself in check.

“Mr. Sukuna, a house study took place last week, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Detailed in the documents provided to the court,” he gestures towards the broader room, “it mentions that Choso Itadori is not only quiet, but seems as though he’s struggling emotionally. Have you been unable to meet his emotional needs?”

Sukuna swallows hard.

Time after time after time, it always seems to come back to the ways in which Sukuna has failed Choso. As though his own guilt isn’t enough, even those around him seem desperate to choke his failures out of him.

How the fuck is he meant to answer? ‘No, I haven’t been able to’? What good will that do him? How the hell is he intended to deflect the question without lying, the one thing his lawyer drilled into his head over the past couple of months?

Sukuna purses his lips, searching desperately for anything to appease a court. He’d been specifically advised against mentioning you due to your complicated relationship, could he take credit for the ways you’d gotten his little brother to come out of his shell?

Unfortunately for him, Kaori’s lawyer is a vulture waiting to strike. He takes Sukuna’s drawn out silence as his opportunity to address the judge. “Mr. Sukuna does not possess the emotional maturity to provide for such young children. I would like to advise the court to consider Choso Itadori’s mental well-being and struggles when making decisions on their guardianship,” he advises without so much as a stutter.

Kaori’s lawyer takes a pause, staring down Sukuna as the older man feels he’s beginning to wear through Sukuna’s shell.

Clearing his throat, he addresses the judge once more. “While I recognize that Choso’s statement reads that he’s particularly fond of Sukuna’s care, I also want to point out that he’s young and impressionable. He has no frame of reference for any other care and it’s important to take into account the fact that he’s suffering under his current care.”

If he hadn’t already been shushed by the bailiff, Sukuna would have burst. He would have thrown down every way that Kaori failed not only his brothers in the past four years, but all the ways she’d failed him growing up.

He wants to lash out, scream about the school events he only attended to make his dad proud, only for neither of them to show up because she was too busy getting her nails done and forcing Jin to wait. He want to lay out the way she forgot about him at Toji’s place, instead opting to take Choso to a movie, or the way she chose not to attend his high school graduation in favor of a girls’ day with her friends.

It was one of the very last events his father ever got to attend before Sukuna became little more than his father’s personal ambulance as the brutish kid was forced to watch his father deteriorate- alone. Whatever energy Jin could muster was used up on taking care of Choso and Yuji in order to alleviate Sukuna of the duty.

If only Jin could see what had become of his family now.

Sukuna seethes with rage at the thought.

All these years and he’s never once thought to try to get his father’s phone records, bills, anything to prove that Jin wasn’t consistently speaking with Kaori. He’d never considered needing to keep receipts or records that would prove that the woman sitting on the opposite end of the courtroom from him isn’t what she claims.

But now every last detail of their lives is nothing more than hearsay. His word against hers.

It’s the word of an exhausted and scared older brother, against the formal documentation of an overly confident mother and her disgustingly expensive lawyer.

His hands ball into fists at his side as he flashes a snarl at the opposing lawyer. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for them. Including mentally,” he retorts, strained as he finally finds some form of footing.

“Your Honor, I would like to call an additional witness to the stand,” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up as though taking Sukuna’s words as an invitation to speak.

“Objection, Your Honor!” Ms. Harte roars as both her and Sukuna tense. “There were no additional witnesses previously disclosed to my client, we haven’t had the opportunity to prepare.”

Judge Martinez adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Can the counsel for the applying party provide some insight on why this witness was not previously disclosed to the respondent?”

“Your Honor, we were only made aware of concerns of Choso Itadori’s mental health upon receiving the house study, which we received yesterday morning. Upon review, we felt it was necessary to contact Choso’s school for further analysis of his mental health. We only received word back last night that his teacher would be able to testify.”

You can only sit and watch, your mouth agape in horror, as the judge replies. “Objection overruled. Given the short notice, I understand that there was no time to disclose the witness, so I will allow them to testify. I will allow a small break after the testimony to give the respondent time to prepare for the cross-examination.”

Sukuna’s rage may as well manifest in the form of smoke blowing out of his ears with how furious he clearly is. He takes a seat with a drawn out, frustrated sigh as he begrudgingly holds his tongue.

You want to cry out that this is Kaori’s fault to begin with, that Choso wasn’t always like this. You want to shake her by her shirt collar that probably costs more than your entire car and blame her for everything that’s happened to this poor family, but one word from you will surely have you thrown out of the room. The most you can do is shoot Sukuna a reassuring look when he casts a fearful glance at you.

Whether it eases him or not, you can’t tell.

The court is hushed, murmurs between each lawyer and their clients are the only thing that can be heard as the bailiff retrieves the newest witness. You recognize Choso’s teacher, who likely has no real idea what’s going on, and thinks this is what’s best for the little boy, as she makes her way to the side of the opposing party’s table. Her brown hair is done up in curls, her long skirt pleated from where she sat as she awaited her part in the trial.

The bailiff has her introduce herself as Ms. Donovan, Choso’s teacher of several years due to the shifts in the school system, and she takes an oath to tell the truth, before she’s allowed to give her testimony. Mr. Cahn pushes for her to give a broad statement.

She doesn’t seem entirely comfortable in the courtroom setting as she begins. “Choso Itadori has been a part of my class for the past few years, and I currently teach him with a class of twenty three other students. I’ve known him for about five years, and he’s been an absolute pleasure. He’s bright, and he seems to enjoy learning.”

Your heart warms as she praises him, however you dread the ‘but’ that you know comes next.

“However, I’m concerned for his well-being. He got really quiet out of the blue about four years ago, though I’m aware that’s when his father passed away. He came out of his shell bit by bit and began to excel in science and math, and made some good friends, but a couple of months ago, it happened again.”

She adjusts her blouse, sending a sympathetic glance at Sukuna, though he only feels betrayed. Of course, she doesn’t know the mess she’s entered into, but what the hell is he meant to do in response to this? He can only pray his lawyer is as good as Hiromi had mentioned.

No, he knows she’s good. He really needs to pray that the judge didn’t have his mind made up from the beginning. While real trials differ greatly from the scenes he’s accustomed to on television, one thing stands the same between both.

The system is flawed and favors the rich. It favors those with power, and if Sukuna’s being honest, he doesn’t know a damn thing about the capacity of Kaori’s wealth. She always brought money to the relationship with Jin that she worked for, but everything seems different now, and she covered her tracks well. Sukuna hadn’t been able to track down any information on her online despite the status she clearly has.

“I don’t think I’ve heard Choso say a word in the past couple of months,” Ms. Donovan continues. He doesn’t seem to pay attention anymore and his grades are slipping. I know he’s young and he has time, but I’m more concerned for his mental health. On top of that, his attendance was perfect until recently. There have been a couple of weeks this year where he hasn’t shown up at all,” she adds with a frown.

Fuck. That was meant to be a positive break for the kids, and now it’s ammunition against Sukuna’s own case.

“Lastly, Mr. Sukuna has been late to pick them up on multiple occasions. He’s usually only a few minutes late at most, however there was an occasion where he didn’t show up at all.”

“Thank you for addressing your concerns, Ms. Donovan. No further questions.” Kaori’s lawyer takes a seat with an overly pleased look on his face.

The judge leans back in his seat as he addresses the court room. “I’ll allow twenty minutes for discussion and break, before we resume.”

Ms. Harte sighs, running her hands over her face as she faces Sukuna. You can’t hear her words from the viewing area, though you can feel her exasperation.

“That certainly puts a wrench in our argument,” she sighs, tapping the table. “But we still have an angle. Choso’s behavior changed when he became aware of the lawsuit, correct?”

Sukuna, desperate for a break, a cigarette, anything, grunts. “Yeah.”

“Right. We use that, and advise that Kaori’s interference in the childrens’ lives is what’s negatively affecting his health,” she nods, remaining confident. Though Sukuna doesn’t share the same confidence as his mood shifts and fear dwells in the corner of his mind, he agrees with a small nod, putting his faith in her.

You can only shuffle uncomfortably in your seat as Sukuna and Ms. Harte prepare for the cross-examination. Their murmurs are the only sounds filling the silence that clings to your lungs like water, drowning you in uncertainty.

Casting a glance at Kaori, you can’t help but notice the way she confidently crosses her arms over her chest as she discusses details with her own lawyer with a goddamn smile. You wonder if the judge sees through her innocent and sweet grins just as you do, but you fear that hope is misplaced.

Just as you’re sure Ms. Harte and Sukuna suspect something, you can’t help but wonder if there’s manipulation of sorts going on behind the scenes. Everything feels skewed and even if the balance of the court is only off-kilter by a couple of degrees, it’s enough to catch your attention. But what can you do? There’s no way to prove your theory.

While you can understand the judge’s decision to allow an additional witness, something about the whole situation seems to play into the idea that something is wrong and the system is failing before your very eyes.

What’s Kaori’s angle here, anyway? You can understand being sick, but the details don’t add up given what you know about her. But that’s just it, she has an excuse for everything. It’s as though this is nothing more than a routine. Hell, even Ms. Donovan speaks with a practiced air of confidence that makes you wonder if her speech was equally as fake as Kaori’s. Her argument is painfully air-tight.

Is that all this is to Kaori, a game? Are her own children pawns in some scheme you can’t put your finger on? If her love for them is as fake as her love for Sukuna clearly is, then what does she gain out of this?

You can only hope to never be sure as the court returns and the bailiff announces that the hearing is back in session, allowing Sukuna’s counsel to begin the cross-examination.

“Ms. Donovan, good morning,” Ms. Harte stands, greeting the young woman. She returns the lawyer’s greeting with a genuinely sweet smile. “Can you confirm when Choso Itadori’s behaviour took a turn for the worst again?”

Chewing on her lip, the teacher takes a moment to consider the question. “It was early in January. The first week, I believe.”

“Thank you. Can you confirm that the change in his behaviour has been similar to how it was around four years ago?”

The teacher nods. “That’s right.”

“Your Honor, Choso Itadori’s mental health has taken a turn at two pivotal moments in his life. The first is when his father passed away, which coincides with a time where the child thought his mother had chosen not to return. Much like my client, he had no way of knowing his mother was ill,” she points out, pacing somewhat closer to Sukuna. “The first week of January is when Mr. Sukuna informed the children of this trial. He is raising them to be mature and responsible and did not believe that keeping information from them was wise. They’re smart children,” Ms. Harte points out.

Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief at how strong of an argument his lawyer makes in his favor.

“I would like to advise the court to take into consideration how a revelation of that gravity would affect a child. Each time that my client chose to keep the children back from school was in order to preserve their mental health. While school is important and Mr. Sukuna is well-aware of this himself, he puts an emphasis on taking breaks when necessary and teaching the children to manage their mental health.”

Turning to face the judge, Ms. Harte stands confidently in the center of the room.

“Ms. Itadori herself is responsible for Choso’s declining mental health, whether it was her intention or not,” she claims, leaving the possibility open-ended so as not to make accusations she can’t back up. “Mr. Sukuna has proven he is capable of nurturing Choso’s mental well-being, as detailed by Ms. Donovan. She confirmed that the child’s attitude improved over the months following his father’s passing, a time when only Sukuna was present in their lives. My client cares a great deal about the children and would not allow their health to deteriorate without taking the appropriate steps to care for them.” She bows. “No further questions.”

Judge Martinez directs his attention to the applicant party. “Does the counsel have any further questions?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Mr. Cahn adjusts his tie as he pushes to his feet. “Ms. Donovan, does the school offer the children any tools to manage their mental health?”

The teacher nods slowly. “We offer a limited range of programs to assist, but Choso hasn’t been receptive to anything.”

“Can you confirm whether the faculty has made any suggestions to Sukuna in order to manage Choso’s mental health?” Mr. Cahn pushes.

With a hum of thought, she clasps her hands as she replies. “When Choso’s grades began slipping, we suggested it may be worth having him evaluated by a mental health professional. I’m not sure if that happened.”

Sukuna stares at his hand as his grip on the arm of his seat tightens. He’d forgotten about that. She had mentioned it, but the thought had burrowed itself into the deep recesses of his mind and quite simply disappeared. He’d had so much on his mind, he’d figured he had time.

Constricting around his lungs, his guilt slices and claws into him once more, dragging the breath from his lungs.

“Thank you. Has Mr. Sukuna ever mentioned his reason for being late on multiple occasions?”

Ms. Donovan shakes her head, shrugging. “I don’t recall, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Mr. Cahn moves along. “Have you witnessed Mr. Sukuna smoking around the children?”

“On occasion,” she replies without hesitation. “Never on school property, but usually right before class ends.” Sukuna grits his teeth. What bullshit that twenty minutes prior to class ending supposedly counts as smoking around his brothers.

“Thank you,” Kaori’s lawyer nods his head calmly. “One final question.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Sukuna could be a negative influence on Choso Itadori?”

Ms. Donovan casts a glance at Sukuna. She seems to consider the question seriously. “I don’t think he’s a driving negative force in Choso’s life,” she replies. Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief a moment too soon as the teacher continues, “however, I think Choso would benefit greatly from more guided care. In the six years that I’ve been teaching, I’ve never seen a child as withdrawn as he’s become, and he shows no signs of improving.”

“Can you describe his behavior?”

Fiddling with her skirt, Ms. Donovan nods. “Of course. Choso seems to look right through everyone, and often when I think he’s paying attention, it’s not until I address him that he seems to tune in to what I’m saying.” She swallows, shaking her head as she continues. “He turns in homework without issue, but any in-class work goes unfinished. His tests don’t have any rhyme or reason behind what he writes or what options he chooses in multiple choice and he doesn’t show his work, either. I don’t think he’s reading the tests at all.”

Sukuna’s brow furrows as his shortcomings are laid bare for him. He knew Choso’s grades were slipping, but the homework he’d been doing seemed fine whenever Sukuna looked it over. Sure, Ms. Donovan had advised him that she’d like to meet, but he’d pushed her worries away given the gravity of the upcoming trial. He’d been under the impression that he would win, and everything would be fixed.

It’s not that he didn’t heed the teacher’s warning that Choso needed help, but he thought he understood what was going on with his little brother. He wasn’t aware just how deep the roots extended into the little boy’s life.

Failure after failure after failure.

How many times would he need to fail Choso before he learned his lesson?

He’s always known school is important, there’s a reason it took Sukuna so long to give up on college, but he didn’t realize just how much Choso’s behavior in school painted a picture of how Sukuna is as a parent.

The room feels claustrophobic as Sukuna continues to listen to the witness.

“At recess, he’s completely closed himself off from the other students. He eats alone in the classroom and won’t respond to me if I try to engage with him in conversation. He’s always been quiet, but he had a good group of friends. They’ve all expressed their worries to me, as well.”

He stopped talking to his friends? Shit, why is Sukuna even surprised? The kid stopped talking to his brothers. Still, his heart drops.

“On a couple of occasions that he did leave the class- which is rare-” she continues, “I caught a couple of children bullying him. I don’t tolerate that, and have punished them appropriately, but this is new as far as I’m aware. His behavior seems to be making him a target for teasing.”

Sukuna’s shoulders drop to his sides as he stares across the room in wide-eyed disbelief. Choso was being…? Why had he never mentioned it?

Of course Sukuna wants to do right by Yuji, but he carries a deep conviction to do right by Choso. The eldest of his little brothers may not look like him, but Choso is a very obvious product of Sukuna’s shortcomings.

He just didn’t realize how obvious.

Sukuna struggles to remember the last time Choso even smiled. His heart twists as the image he conjures in his mind of his little brother is adorned with a frown and eyes that speak of unspoken battles that Sukuna’s incapable of helping him through.

There was a time, so far into the past now that the tattooed man hardly remembers it anymore, where Choso was much closer in personality to Yuji than to Sukuna. He’d always been a bit more on the calm side than his youngest brother, but he was filled with a genuine curiosity for the world, his eyes so filled with light.

He can’t say for sure when that light dulled and eventually flickered out.

Sukuna’s not sure he ever really came to terms with the fact that at the root of this issue, he became a father at eighteen.

A father.

He’s not sure he really understands the meaning behind the term, in truth. He can’t be sure where the line falls between brother and father, unable to clearly define the roles. The brother in him wants to teach the kids bullying his little brother a lesson. The father in him, whatever part of him that is, is lost. What do you do when the kid you’ve raised is being bullied?

What’s Sukuna meant to do? There’s no handbook for this.

Would Kaori know how to deal with this?

Would Jin have known?

He wonders if Jin’s watching this unfold somewhere on the other side. If he’s as torn up about his fractured family as Sukuna is. How would he feel to know his oldest son dropped out of college and has amounted to nothing more than another bill on an expensive lawyer’s docket?

Sukuna’s guilt towards Jin is misplaced, though, when Choso is sitting back at home. He thinks his remorse regarding his mistakes with Choso set in before he ever really realized what role he’d been forced into playing. It lingered deep in the recesses of his mind, back when he still grappled heavily with his grief, but it wasn’t until he’d processed his situation that he realized just how fucked he’d been.

Choso was so young. Sukuna was so young. Eighteen is old enough to legally be a guardian, but not to drink. What kind of sick law is that? To have that responsibility thrust upon him with no other options left Sukuna as a horribly bitter man suffocating from the weight of the pressure. Rather than asking for help, he chose to drown his brother in his sorrows, to bring them both down.

But could you even call it a choice he made when the reality is that they were both just kids?

There’s no guide for this sort of shit. No YouTube videos, no ‘For Dummies’ book.

What would that even be called? ‘How to Become a Father to Your Little Brothers for Dummies’?

How many times would he need to remind himself that he acted so childish back then because he was a child? Hell, sometimes he thinks he still is. The weight of his immaturity bears down on him harshly when he remembers forgetting to pay taxes just a couple of years ago because March and April were never tax season to him.

They were the beginning of skateboarding season, of paint sticking to walls and basketball with Toji.

Only, Toji wasn’t there anymore.

He just forgot to pay.

The worst memory he carries with him from that time is one that keeps him up at night. Worse than when he snapped at Choso when Kaori didn’t reply, and worse than relying on a kid to help him make it through a house study.

He remembers staring at Choso with resentment, seeing only Kaori in his features. He remembers the discussions with lawyers quickly turning into arguments. Choso was always on the sidelines, listening in. Sukuna had no real regard for him at the time, too caught up in his own issues. He recalls yelling about how he didn’t ask for any of the responsibility, he didn’t ask to be looking after his brothers like this.

“I don’t want them, or any of this shit!”

His words echo in his mind, burrowing themselves into his very being like a parasite.

He shuts his eyes briefly. If only Choso could see him now. See how much this really means to Sukuna. Just once, he wants to do right by his little brother. He can’t erase the past, but he can make up for it with a better future. He can show Choso that his misgivings in the past were a product of the misdirected anger of a delinquent child.

Like every other time he’s stumbled through life and learned as he went, he’ll figure things out this time too. He’ll scare off the bullies with a glare as Choso’s brother, and let Choso know to tell him if it happens again as his parent.

He’ll figure it the fuck out.

He faces straight ahead, his face hardened with resolve.

“Ms. Donovan, did you make Mr. Sukuna aware of the bullying?”

She hesitates, casting a glance in his direction. “This development is recent and I haven’t had the opportunity to, no.”

“Would you say it’s safe to assume that Mr. Sukuna isn’t aware of what goes on with Choso at school?”

She hesitates once more, her face falling as she watches Sukuna from her peripherals. “... Yes.”

“Can you confirm whether or not you’ve attempted to get his attention around your concerns with Choso?”

She nods again. “Yes, I have.”

Sukuna’s resolve shatters before it has the chance to flourish. Even Choso’s teacher thinks Sukuna’s failing.

As much as he wants to say he stands on equal footing with Kaori, fear crawls up his spine and grips him by the throat.

Is he losing?

He can’t lose, by all accounts he’s been there, he’s the living and breathing proof of what it means to care for someone. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he’s made, he’s still learning. Maybe he is young, maybe he is inexperienced, maybe Choso needs more help than Sukuna’s been giving him, but he can figure that shit out.

It’s true that Sukuna didn’t ask for this responsibility. He didn’t want it. But he’ll fight for it. He’ll fiercely protect the family he recognizes now as the most important part of his life. The people who each hold pieces of him and make him who he is. Choso, and Yuji. His eyes trail back slowly to you, seated on the edge of your chair.

You look gorgeous. Even with your brow furrowed in concern and fear that mirrors his own, you look flawless. You hold a piece of him, too. A piece that he can’t bear to live without, for fear that he might completely fall apart.

He wants to scream from the top of his lungs that every person here is a damn fool if they believe any of Kaori’s words. He wants to list every single misdemeanor that she did that he could never tell his dad about. Yet, every single time he tries to lead the conversation in the direction that Kaori isn’t all she seems, they have some sort of concrete proof or evidence to say otherwise.

It’s fucked, and all Sukuna can do now is pray to whatever god will listen. His heart is in this and that should be what matters, because Kaori’s isn’t. If it’s obvious to him, it’s obvious to the judge. He has to cast aside his concerns of outside manipulation of the judge, because this is all he has.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

As the bailiff dismisses the final witness, the courtroom becomes deathly silent. It penetrates through Sukuna like a banshee, ringing loudly in his ears. As closing arguments finally begin and Mr. Cahn rises, his words are a blur to Sukuna. His, Ms. Harte’s. They’re all the same, reiterating the points they’ve gone over already and emphasizing the importance of this case. Mr. Cahn makes a point that there’s a reason a rush was placed on this case, as Choso can only be put through so much, but Ms. Harte easily refutes that once this case is over, Choso will find his footing in the world once more.

As Judge Martinez requests a moment to consider his notes before delivering a decision, the silence bears down further on Sukuna from all sides. It threatens to suffocate him, clawing at his insides as the taste of iron floods his mouth when he bites down on his tongue a bit too hard.

He’s kept his fears so well-masked over the course of the past hour that his body seems to burst as he feels his hands physically shivering in his lap. It’s not cold in the room, if anything the sweat rolling down his jaw from his temple should spell out just how warm the room really is.

He’d spent so many days preparing for this moment, so many hours on the phone with telecommunications companies for phone logs, putting in extra work to get letters from his employers, and pulling files out from the darkest depths of closets to prove anything.

Had this been a couple of years ago, he’s not even sure if he could have managed to get the files. Not because he wouldn’t have cared or wanted to, but because the sight of his father’s obituary tucked among all his bills would have sent Sukuna spiralling. He’s come so far over the past few years, he can’t let it be for nothing.

How had it come to this, in the first place?

When would karma come for Kaori like it had so often haunted Sukuna?

His attention snaps to the judge as the man addresses the room again. “I have carefully read through all of the provided evidence. After considering this and the testimonies from witnesses of both parties, I have reached a decision that I believe is in the best interest of the children and their mental well-being.”

Their mental well-being? Sukuna’s heart drops. No.

“I would like to start by acknowledging how much love is clearly being put on display for these children. I can very clearly see that both parties care greatly for them. My greatest consideration today will be to ensure the long-standing welfare of the children and ensure they have what they need in order to flourish int he future.”

On the edge of his seat, Sukuna clings to the table with white knuckles. This can’t happen. He has to interrupt.

“With that in mind, the decision I have made today is one that I feel will allow the children to heal from any prior transgressions. Concerns on both sides have been noted, and I believe both parties today will be able to understand where my decision is coming from.”

Sukuna’s gaze whips towards Ms. Harte, whose expression is grave. She knows too. He has to say something. He has to-

“The applicant, as the biological mother of Choso and Yuji Itadori will be granted sole guardianship. While I understand the applicant placed a rush on this trial, I do not believe that Mr. Sukuna places the children in any immediate danger and as both their half-brother and prior guardian, he will retain visitation rights. To allow the children a safe and easy transition, this will be effective as of Monday next week.”

“No! She doesn’t fucking care!” Sukuna barks in a desperate plea, losing control as he finally stands.

The bailiff stands immediately. “Mr. Sukuna! Order, please,” she requests, matching his fervor with confidence.

With venomous intent, he opens his mouth, but Ms. Harte places a hand on his forearm to catch his attention. “Please sit, Sukuna. I’ll work through this with you.”

Surely she has cause for a retrial or an appeal or something, right? He has to put his belief in her and her abilities right now, because it might damn be all he has left.

As he takes a seat, his vision closes in on him. White from all edges, he shuts his eyes and rubs harshly at them. The ringing in his ears is overbearing, his throat closing up on him as he struggles to sit still.

The trial continues on without him as Ms. Harte makes decisions on his behalf for the handover of the children on Monday morning. Sukuna can’t make out a single word being said. It’s nothing more than jumbled and broken letters, gibberish in his mind.

He feared this outcome so heavily, yet it never seemed like it could be a possibility. What happened here that Kaori had gotten away with so much deception? Where had these supposed hospital records come from?

What kind of dumbass is this judge? Did Kaori pay him?

On paper, the case was always tough, but the more evidence he pulled up, the more it leaned in his favor. Yet with each piece of evidence he compiled, Kaori had something up her sleeve to throw the balance off.

Would he spend a lifetime wondering what went wrong?

Kaori would never let him visit no matter his rights, would he not see Choso for six years? Would it be thirteen years before he sees Yuji again? Surely not, his lawyer has to figure something out. He’ll drain every penny he has to make it happen. He can’t let this happen.

He can’t fail Choso again.

And yet, he already has.

You sniffle from behind Sukuna, though he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seem to hear it. You want just as badly as he surely does to reverse the decision, to fight more, fight harder if you can, but it’s to no avail. You’re at a complete and utter loss. Your head feels horribly light as the decision truly sets in.

The bailiff adjourns the court, advising an exit of the room.

Wiping tears from your eyes and inhaling sharply, you cling tightly to the bracelets that round your wrist, forced to watch in horror as Sukuna stands abruptly, stumbling out of his chair with the scraping of wood across the floor. He clutches at his chest, anger ablaze in his eyes as he slams out the door while Ms. Harte attempts to reach out to him.

Your lips part as you call after Sukuna as well, but he’s gone before it ever reaches him. Whether he’s going to throw his unsuspecting lighter into another wall or to gasp for air out in the cool morning, you can’t say for sure, but one thing’s for certain.

It took Kaori only one hour and twenty four minutes to rip whatever remained of your dear friend to pieces.

Another tear rolls down your cheek and you find yourself choking back a sob as you hide your face on the way out.

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❦ a/n ; forgive me :')

trust, i promise this series will have a happy ending <33 i'm a sucker for angst though and you guys are subject to my whims 🙂‍↕️ LMAO anyway regardless of the angst and devastation, i really hope everyone is still enjoying the series! ty all for sticking with me, there's still much more to come! i never could have anticipated how long this series would be but i'm super grateful to be able to share it with you all

shoutout again to all the lovely and amazing people who helped me with the legal drama as well, it's been a huge help! if you see any legal process errors, no you didn't ;)

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

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ceilidho · 8 months ago

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead.

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries.

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.”

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—”

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.”

That kills the impulse to shout for help.

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile.

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right.

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him.

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now?

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world.

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry.

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death.

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real.

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket.

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning.

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince.

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention.

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy.

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again.

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches. When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt.

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind.

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust?

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?”

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun.

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known.

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin.

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems. But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out.

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest.

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps.

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you.

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes.

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would.

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt.

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.”

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank.

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in. When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left.

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter.

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins.

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer?

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you.

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it.

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together.

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg.

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you.

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running.

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear.

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm.

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat.

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away.

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest.

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly.

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now.

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it.

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling.

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified.

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat.

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong.

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town.

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun.

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff.

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.”

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder.

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight.

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other.

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything.

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice.

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush.

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier.

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place.

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will.

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot.

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property.

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores.

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified.

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that.

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man.

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust.

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you.

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets.

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin.

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists.

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest.

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons.

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable.

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut.

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat.

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements.

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory.

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward.

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle.

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did.

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable.

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow.

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat.

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm.

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though.

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out.

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet.

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement.

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel.

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right.

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once.

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky.

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course.

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on.

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence.

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words.

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb.

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged.

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you.

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one.

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow.

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs.

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth.

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken.

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face.

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip.

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body.

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden.

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words.

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp.

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage.

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding.

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods.

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you.

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon.

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow.

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit.

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that.

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him.

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints.

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens.

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves.

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing.

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

#this is a long one because it's 2 chapters that i didn't feel like posting separately #but they're separated on ao3 if you wanna go read there #ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #john price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you

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scarekat · 2 months ago

Text

smut.

izuku’s been thinking about this all day, coming home after three weeks and seeing you cooking a wonderful meal and greeting him with that pretty face.

it was late when dinner filled your stomachs, he took a nice warm bath and was enjoying time with you before calling it a night. he was exhausted, but he missed you more.

he couldn’t get those stupid thoughts out of his head. you had asked him how the mission was, how you were watching the news and how you thought he was amazing out there. “i can’t believe deku is my boyfriend, i’m so lucky!” no, he’s the lucky one.

he couldn’t remember what caused it, maybe it was the praise, maybe it was how your hand slowly inched closer and his mind went wild with possibilities.

izuku throws an arm over his eyes in embarrassment, face red and choked noises coming from his throat. it felt like he couldn’t breathe, gasping between gritted teeth and his hips jerk.

green eyes flicker to look up at you, the lights dimmed but he had no trouble seeing the sweet smile on your cheeks.

you see the fresh bandage wraps as well as discolored, smattering of old scars that peek from his torso, lifting his t shirt up until it lands on the seat next to you, running your fingertips over his bare chest, hearing a shaky breath when you tweak his nipple.

“don’t- no teasing,” he says.

“m sorry.” and you listen, nails dragging over his stomach to the string that confined the bulge in his sweats.

he lifts his hips off the couch when you start to pull them down, and you gawk when his dick springs forth, flushed red and hanging under its own weight. izuku shrinks under your gaze. every time.

he twitches as precum leaks from the tip, and you use your thumb to spread it around. he mumbles inaudible, your soft hand moving up and down his shaft, squeezing just a little every now and then.

“you’ve been working so hard. i’ll take care of you, baby.”

television echoing voices that meshes into nothing as he melted into the couch pillows that cooled his burning skin. “harder,” he begs, and you listen.

the wet noises and your sweet praises while you jerk him off as if five minutes ago you weren’t just telling him about your day out shopping with your girl friends, how you bought a new dress that you couldn’t wait to show him later.

“come on, weren’t you just begging me to touch you? “ izuku’s heartbeat picks up. “is my hand not enough, baby?” you move up to the head and give small pumps there, his dick lubed up with pre so it was easier for your hand to move now.

“no, no.. swear i’m almost—”

“yeah? say it. i wanna hear you tell me.”

he’s climbing higher and higher, now the one thrusting into your hand while you watch him pant and squirm. he whines your name in broken syllables. “cmon.. need you to say it,” you continue to jerk him off to your own tune, the thickness of his arousal staining your fingers white.

izuku’s face contorts and his hands are grasping and clutching onto anything, it was obvious he was trying to hold back. “too much, i’m gonna —uh— gonna cum, please.. love, can i?”

izuku jolts when you quickly get on your knees in front of him, you spread his thighs further. his breath hitched when your lips brush over the leaking tip.

“i want you inside my mouth, i know how much you love it.”

oh. maybe he died while on the mission and this was heaven, watching the bulbous head slip passed your lips and hit the back of your throat. he wasn’t the biggest in size—but you were never able to fit him entirely in your mouth.

tears gather at the covers of your eyes, hollowing your cheeks as you kept going.

he loses his ability to speak, head lolling back and pathetic moans heighten. a hand finds home on the back of your head, helping you find the pace he craved for.

“—call now and buy one, get one free! limited tv time offer!”

he opened his eyes and happened to glance at the tv, there was a commercial playing, seemingly for this clothing brand releasing a limited edition deku pajama set in a couple weeks. he still needed to find it online.. for you, of course.

wait, why would he have to buy it? it’s his own merch. couldn’t he get it for free, have it delivered home for you as a surprise.

suddenly he’s seeing lewd images of you, the top pushed up, showing dark green lingerie and the delicate stitching looks perfect against your skin, his hands trailing up and down your body…

“i wore this just for you,” you moan against his lips, hand on his and guiding him to squeeze your breast. “touch me, izuku, feeling your hands on my body turns me on so much—“

“oh, jeez..” izuku yanks you off entirely, your lips wet and swollen, a drooling mess, he wipes at the corner of your mouth, and you open wide, sucking on his finger. “don’t waste it, ‘kay?” and he pulls you back down on him, slowly picking up the pace.

after a minute his thrusts turn sloppy, hurried, a fair cry from his lips “you’re so good to me, so good” as he becomes unable to hold off his own pleasure.

his hips buckled under you and without warning, you feel spurts of cum hit your tongue, unloading inside your mouth. whispers from the back of his throat as one wave poured after the other, mind numbing delight made his legs shake.

your muffled moans fall on deaf ears as he thinks about nothing but the pleasure flowing through his veins as he holds you still. izuku finally goes limp, releasing the tight grip on your hair.

you let go with a gasp and keep pumping his cock, your spit mixed with cum dripping onto his skin—he made a mess. don’t waste it. your tongue slides up the shaft, gathering the slick before giving one last kiss.

izuku catches his breath, watching as you stand up and lift your shirt over your head. “y/n, what are you doing?”

your fingers hook at the belt loops on your pants, slowly tugging them down. “i’m undressing.”

the smirk on your face makes him shake his head, scratching at his freckled cheek while glancing away. “ah.. uh.. i see that but..”

“what’s wrong?” you ask, neatly folded clothes placed on the opposite arm rest, staring at the hero with a quirked eyebrow.

“nothing! nothing at all, promise! i don’t want you to think you have to, just because i got a little .. you know—“ you realize what he’s trying to say, crawling back onto his lap.

he holds you steady, squeezing the fat of your ass. izuku laughs at the way you jumped. you two meet in the middle, lips meshing in a kiss.

your hands grasp at the hairs at the nape of his neck, tongue darting past parted lips and he deepens the kiss. he tastes himself on your tongue, but he doesn’t mind it.

you cradle his face after a good time of exploring each others mouths, pulling away briefly, his eyes searching yours.

you don’t give him time to collect himself when you grind against him just a little bit, reaching up to brush the dark strands out of his face.

“i would have jumped you the second you walked through the door, izu.” you tease. “besides, you’re still hard..”

izuku could feel you drag his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing before you nudge him past your folds.

you go slow, having not prepared yourself for his girth but it was worth the stretch, seeing that look on his face as you take him.

he winces as he filled you completely, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his already exhausted body. you relax and work yourself open for him, fully seated on his cock and izuku’s eyes fall closed.

all he could feel was hot pleasure of you clenching around him, the thick veins dragging against your cunt with each roll of your hips, he bites his lip to try and stop himself from groaning too loud, a metallic taste on his tongue.

“stop that.” izuku gulps hard when he hears your voice in his ear, warm breath on his cheek. oh god, he’s gonna pass out —“i wanna hear you, baby, don’t you fucking dare hold back on me.”

he keens into your touch, he watches you stick out your tongue and his eyes nearly roll back when you lick at the wound on his bottom lip, moans tied together in harmony. “you feel so- so good inside me.. i never want you to leave.”

slowly he starts to thrust his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you chase the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls, he grunts each time you sink down on him.

izuku’s hands hover over your waist, almost hesitant. you shake your head, “please touch me.”

so he does. he doesn’t rush your pace, letting you take control. big hands ghosting along your hips, his thumb smoothed over the plush skin of your inner thighs. “look, izuku,” his eyes follow your hand, trailing down your stomach to where you both met. “i’m sucking you in, see that? oh, i’ve missed you so much.”

“yeah?” his mouth waters at the sight of you taking him whole, using him as you so please, it will always feel like the first time. “was thinkin’ of you the whole time too.” izuku watches your breasts bounce in front of his face before he reaches around to cup one, warm in the palms of his hands.

“so beautiful,” he pulls one of your nipples into his mouth, gentle with his teeth before leaving wet kisses. “getting bold, are you?” he hears, and a response bubbles in his throat but it’s cut short when a hand wraps around his neck.

you don’t say a word, he didn’t realize you stopped moving, pressure is applied on his throat, not too much and not too little, but it sends a tingling feeling from his fingertips to his toes.

he gasps when you press a kiss on his cheeks, turning his head to find your gaze, and you can’t help but give in. he kisses you back hard, it’s almost bruising until his lips naturally part to let out a groan.

god, he’s never felt so amazing and pathetic, like winning and losing at the same time. dick twitches inside you, the sensations drive him crazy as his hips snap into yours.

“no, slow down, izuku.” your voice clouds his mind, “don’t hurt yourself.” and he forces himself to nod, dropping his head back and your soft hands start roaming. there’s a throbbing tension in the pit of your stomach.

“i’ve waited so long to have you like this again, driving me fucking crazy,” you tell him. “love you.”

“i- i love you too. sososo much, oh my god,” he groans, cheeks flushed pink and his mouth twitches cutely every time you clench around his cock.

you take the opportunity to shove a finger in his gaping mouth, hooking his lower jaw as you ride him faster.

his eyes brighten, sucking on your digit before sinking his teeth into it. “good, yeah? ‘s good for you too?” his words were slurred, shaky and breathless, you melt at how desperate he looked for affirmation, and you nod fervently. “it’s amazing, baby.”

he was now the one moving you, peering up at you through half-lidded eyes. his lungs feel hot, jaw aching from how hard he’s trying to hold back as you whine his name and his name only.

izuku. izuku. izuku.

you throw your head back, struggling to delay your climax as a white heat starts to build up inside. his hands are kneading and clutching erratically at your ass, spreading you open, very obvious that he’s hurtling towards the edge with you.

“please, y/n. let me!”

“oh god.. you look so good like this.. so—fuck, perfect! go ahead.. you deserve it” and he doesn’t waste a second to flip you over, one hand propping himself up while the other slides between your bodies, fingers curling tightly into his palm as a thumb hones in on your puffy clit.

you see stars as his cock slides in and out with ease, the feel of him spreading you wide and his thumb rubbing tight circles already building pressure deep inside.

“yesyes, just like that baby” you can’t help the words, stuttering when he reaches even deeper. your head tosses back, jaw going slack as he fucks you into the couch cushions.

the wet noises from your pussy could be heard over your constant moans, over the sound of skin slapping against yours, it was becoming overwhelming.

all izuku wanted was to get you over the edge before him, to feel your walls flutter and clasp around his weeping cock. the pent-up energy inside him dispelling with each hard rut of his hips.

the more you twitched around him, the more he rocked into you, weak for the sounds you made. but after a while, the steady rhythm, he was aching for more. “you can be rougher with me,” you say, “i trust you.” it makes him falter for only a moment, desires itching at the back of his mind.

he won’t hesitate anymore.

then izuku straightens up, each of his thrusts had his dick kissing your cervix, fingernails digging as he fucked your hips in the air.

you were so close, and it seemed like you weren’t the only one— his thrusts are picking up again, faster and harder each time, keeping you right where he wants you.

he felt his ego growing bigger. it makes him dizzy. a little too excited, too ballsy.

“pretty little thing,” izuku chokes out, your body arching as tears gather in your eyes, nodding pathetically as you feel the room spin with how well he fills you up.

all thoughts left his head, it was primal, rough. just what you asked for. “getting taken by a strong hero, y- you like it huh? should’ve told me.. y/n—,”

“yes! i love it, you’re so fuckin’ hot.” it was a delicious friction, as your breath and movements became one, a constant of backs and forths.

“izuku, wanna cum inside?” you’re panting, not breaking eye contact, and he almost busts right then. he never gets to cum inside, maybe he was in heaven.

“fuck, please.. are you—”

“it’s okay. just.. a little bit.. more. can you do that?” it seems to encourage him, izuku nodding frantically, getting faster, sloppier; moaning louder than he probably should be.

his muscles rippled from the increase speed as his hips met yours, again and again, making sure his pelvis bullied your aching clit with each movement. burying his cock and hitting that spongy sweet spot inside your cunt that made you gush.

your breath gets ragged, moans get louder, body more desperate as you spasm and tighten around him.

his eyebrows pinch together, he almost looks in pain before his features melt into absolute bliss. he couldn’t wait to feel your sweet cunt milk him for all he’s worth.

“don’t stop! don’t stop, i’mso close” izuku adjusts his weight, caging you in even more, sweat from the tip of his nose, lips brushing against yours but never truly meeting. you could feel him everywhere.

“feel so good, like you were made for me.. i need you to cum so i can give you what you want, yea? c’mon, please baby. i’ve got you.”

it was sweet, rushed, you see a different look in his eyes that rendered you quiet. how could you refuse when he was asking so nicely?

one final thrust, so deep and hard it almost hurts, and your body exclaims it’s joy before your voice does, crumbling underneath him.

a broken sound escapes your lips when you come undone around him, clawing at his skin as everything hits you like a storm, like a burst of pleasure and it spreads through your entire body. it feels like the air was punched out of his lungs, your pussy clamping down on him, shuddering.

“oh, shit” his entire body was shaking, thrusting in a stuttering pattern before rough hands pull you into a tight embrace, canines biting into your shoulder.

it makes you dizzy in the best ways.

izuku lets out an moan, rumbling deep from his chest and pure ecstasy washes over. his hot seed filling you up, rutting his hips, he couldn’t help it, fucking the cum that seeped out back into you.

eventually the hero relaxes, panting out as he rides out the last bit of the high with you, kissing the mark he left— surprisingly he didn’t break skin.

your skin was sticky, a result of the unruly act, a mess on the cushions that would so fun to clean up. busy staring up at the ceiling, his heavy breathing fills the silence between you.

“i really needed that,” you can’t help but giggle, finally catching your breath, and he responded with a hum.

izuku never was able to stay conscious for long after sex.

you turn his head to look at you, mouths colliding in intimate kisses, sweet i love you’s as it feels like time has stopped, cock still buried inside you. izuku’s scarred hands caress your face.

he was in no state to think, muscles ache and and his vision was hazy.. his eyes barely stay open when you pulled away from a kiss.

izuku winces when your nails dig into his shoulder, cinching his hair to get his attention and maybe jostle some sense back into his mind. “is my baby so fucked out that he can’t even kiss me back anymore?”

“mmm yes? let’s sleep.. then we can go again..”

#midoriya izuku x reader smut #izuku midoriya x reader #deku smut #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #anime smut #izuku x reader #deku x reader smut #bnha smut #my work

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cryptidcasanova · 5 days ago

Text

Charcoal Smudges

Robert "Bob" Reynolds/The Void x Reader

Summary: Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved.

Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Words: 5k

I've been foaming at the mouth. Someone sedate me.

The Watchtower was spacious. It was a beacon of hope where the Avengers once stood. But you felt you were drowning.

The missions weren’t going as smoothly as the team had hoped. When it came to news headlines, everybody was catching strays. Everyone was a critic.

Bob may have had a point all along. It did feel like a void.

Your myriad of thoughts was dark, expansive, and all-consuming. You were helping people, sure, but you were tired…not that you would tell anyone. You didn’t push it down the same way Yelena did, nor did you have wild outbursts like John.

But on difficult nights, you would pull out an old tobacco tin from under your bed. Your dad used to make the prettiest charcoal pictures. But you took time to try and recreate his old drawings from memory, and it kept the demons at bay. Sometimes, you kept at it until your eyes burned, until you were slumped over the old sketchbook.

You weren’t any good at it. The lines were too dark, and the pictures were smudged in the wrong places. But you kept trying. The cleaner your hands, the better the day. But some nights were real bad, and the charcoal would dig into your fingerprints and smear across your cheek. What you were trying to scrub away, you wouldn’t name.

On those nights, you could swear the shadows in your room were darker.

You made an effort to participate with the group. You joined in on late-night movies where Alexi was bound to burn the popcorn. You guided Ava through technical documents, relaying the best ways to bypass encrypted files and store copies of data without the risk of frying the system. Even Bob, who was careful and reserved, offered to help pick up the latest take-out order. You would be a monster not to accept his help.

Even with Valentina keeping the group in the spotlight, you preferred the old Buick for late-night errands. You had a hard time breaking out of keeping a low profile. Bob was still skittish. His memory teeter-tottered on a knife’s edge, and even in those uncertain times, you could rely on the careful smiles and quiet observations. Bob was sincere. He was kind.

“Drawing anything good?” he whispered from the passenger seat.

Bob’s eyes flitted to your hands before settling on the old tape player. You took a moment to look at your hand on the steering wheel as you peeled through a green light. You hadn’t had the time to think about washing up before your late-night run. A sad smile stole at your lips.

“I don’t remember,” you offered just as quietly.

And truly, you didn’t. Overwhelmed with the week as a whole, you were blindly drawing lines and sketching in dark spaces. Everyone had their nightmares. Everyone had their battles, and you tried to relax your shoulders. Little drawings couldn’t harm you. You shrugged as you pulled up to the curb.

“Just feeling it out. Maybe one day I’ll have a masterpiece to show you.”

“Oh. R-right, yeah,” Bob muttered.

But you missed the hint of something in his eye as he turned away, his hands tugging at the lap belt. And you missed it again while you handed him the box of fried rice, your fingers brushing against his.

It was a bad night. You remembered dozing off while laying on your belly and drawing on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the midnight snacks and fucked up sleep schedule gave you bad dreams.

Well, not bad dreams. Just one. One dream that made your insides ache. You were lost and in the dark, the pitch black cocooning you. There was no place for light or peace; all you had were your lonely thoughts. You could reach out and touch, but there was nothing there. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together. There was no point in walking around, no point in calling out. You were alone. Helpless.

Maybe you were meant to be. That thought stayed with you.

You were enveloped in the darkness, fatigue tugging at you even in your dreams. And then, right when you were on the cusp of oblivion, you heard the rustling of fabric.

It was in your head. You were finally losing it. You were all alone-

Until the weight of a cloak dropped around your shoulders.

An empty feeling lingered for days.

Bad guys were busted, justice was served, and you were on autopilot. You offered to hang back on the next mission and thought it would be the perfect time for redecorating. Something to distract yourself.

“You mean, like painting?” Bob asked, stopping his pacing in the kitchen. He had been looking for a box of Wheaties you knew John threw out the night before. “We…we can do that?”

The owlish tilt of his head caught your attention. Your nose scrunched with mild amusement. You had been noticing those little mannerisms of his more and more.

“Hmm?” You hummed, the hint of a question in your tone. “Well, it’s not like anyone can stop us.”

Bob stood there for a moment, almost mumbling under his breath. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

And a lightbulb flashed.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a flicker of color in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I mean -”

But your growing smile and unwavering gaze pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Bob finally pushed his hair back, taking a steadying breath.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And that’s how you two ended up comparing paint swatches at the hardware store. Shoulder to shoulder, you debated the fundamental differences between cream and eggshell.

You noticed how Bob kept gravitating to a stormy blue. Funny. It was akin to how his eyes looked after long days of staring out the Watchtower. Not that you had noticed.

But you could see anxiety rippling through him as he looked at the tape, different primers, and finishes on the paint. You could see the compounding impact it had on him in real-time.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he whispered with a frown. “It’s - it’s too much.”

You stepped forward, letting your paint swatches scatter to the ground.

“Hey,” you urged, reaching for his shoulder. “We can just pick a color.” Bob��s shoulders were rounded in, and his head dropped slightly. He was warm, probably warmer still with a sweatshirt on. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

And his eyes danced from one of yours to the other. Oh. And the storm in his eyes was uncanny.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He repeated at last.

You hummed out a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” you urged, “I hope it’s not perfect. Then we can come back here and try again. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged. Bob thought about it, debating with a question long enough for you to notice his fingers twitching.

“You want to come back here?” he thought. “With me?”

His eyes drifted down to the toothy smile you offered. His look was like you had unlocked some secret treasure. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment.

“Who else would I invite? Alexi has no taste. He’s been wearing the same red suit for decades.”

Bob huffed out a hint of a laugh at that. You almost forgot about the aching, empty feeling in your chest. A moment of quiet passed between you, glancing down at the stack of swatches covering the ground and the disgruntled sales associate walking your way.

“You good?” You thought to ask.

Your hand was warm-no, he was warm. Noticing you were still holding to him, you let your hand slip down his arm before letting go. You cleared your throat. He watched the movement before taking his own tentative step back.

“Yeah,” he assured. There was a hint of color in his cheeks. “All good.”

Blue paint was speckled all over your clothes. It was on your arms. Hell, it was probably in your hair. And in the quiet, you listened to an album that Bob put on while pushing all his furniture to the middle of the room. It was a trainwreck, an absolute disaster. You should have had supervision. And you were having the best time.

And you two painted in silence, listening to the rock tunes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at some point, but you waved it off.

“I don’t mind,” you hummed, pulling a rogue paint bristle off the wall. “I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.”

And Bob didn’t quite know how to show his appreciation. In his head, it was loud enough already.

That night, you didn’t have to reach for the sticks of charcoal under the bed. There were no demons to keep at bay. Your paint cans lie abandoned in a pile next to the door, with an unspoken promise behind who would help you paint your room.

It was inevitable that your light-night thoughts drifted back to careful eyes and brown curls.

The dream came back.

Dread didn’t tug at the corners of your mind this time. Shame didn’t grab root and drag you into despair. But the darkness was welcome, a quiet, constant companion. This time, you didn’t fear what you couldn’t see. You stood, feet on solid ground, and started walking around in the vast bleakness. At first, your strides were careful. You didn’t know what you would run into. But there was nothing. In the dark, there was nothing. There was nothing to fear.

Silent steps turned brave. Brave strides turned to running, wanting to feel the burn in your lungs. And you ran until - until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore. That, too, was gone, and walking was meaningless. There was no point, no need to waste your stamina.

Were your eyes open? Closed? Did it matter?

You were suspended in nothing. You were nothing.

And…and it was okay. It was alright. There was a tugging feeling even, and you reached out, not expecting something to reach back.

But something did. Fingers entwining with your own, grasping firmly but not too tight. Your eyes searching, but not seeing. And finally, the fall of a breath. Low, quiet even in the dark. Golden eyes peering back at you.

You woke up with your face pressed against the page of the sketchbook. A piece of charcoal was loose in your grasp, your hand darkened with markings. And you felt…well, you felt like you were missing something.

The rasp of a soft knock at your door stole your attention. After a moment, you pulled yourself up, shuffling to the door with a yawn.

“H-hey.” Bob smiled as the door swung open. And a curious expression lingered on his face as he took you in. “Did you just get up?”

“Good morning,” you replied, a sleepy grin on your cheeks. He noted it, his lazy grin threatening to reel you in.

“I was gonna see if you wanted lunch. I making sandwiches. Didn’t know if you like bologna. Uh. Do you?”

You pulled the door open wider, leaning against the frame. Bob’s eyes moved away from you, tilting his head into view of your room.

“I don’t know the last time I’ve had bologna.” You thought, rubbing your eyes. Was it already lunchtime? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in so late. It felt like you had been hit by a truck.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Bob warned, but it was with a smile. Charming. He was charming. “But I grew up with it, so it’s something of a comfort food…And I might have already made you one.” He admitted, sheepishly pulling one hand through his hair. The other, which had been cleverly hidden behind his back, pulled forward a plate with two sandwiches. “B-but I can come back later, you know. So it’s no big -”

“I’d love one.”

It was quick, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it all the same.

You were more embarrassed to think it was because Bob liked it. He liked it, and he thought of you while making it. Was it getting warm in here? Clearing your throat, you pulled back.

“Come on in,” you offered. “I’ll clean this up,” you put your palms up to show off the crime scene before pointing your thumb toward the bathroom. “And I’ll be right out.”

You stepped away and closer to the bathroom before you could embarrass yourself further. No, no. You were fine. Everything was fine.

But everything was not fine.

Because you couldn’t see the delicate way Bob stepped into your room, his heart fluttering. You didn’t see his hands clench up or watch his eyes scan over the open sketchbook on your bed. And you didn’t see the dark reflection staring back at him, practically jumping off the page. The subtle glow of gold in his eyes wasn’t so subtle now. Something was happening.

And Bob was…well, Bob did what he did best. He panicked.

He was long gone when you turned off the sink and left the bathroom. You let the towel in your hands drop. The only things that remained were the untouched sandwiches and a sketch smeared into nothing.

Little did you know it was the start of something much bigger.

Bob avoided you. Like the plague. He kept to himself and his books. He was talking to himself again.

He ignored you until the others returned, basking in their loud, abrasive attitudes. The ache in your belly only grew as you watched him walk by you, skirting around you while you tried to say hi.

Did you have the heart to confront him? Had you done something wrong?

“Give him time,” Yelena offered one night. “He is like a wet cat now. No use trying to capture him.”

Not that it made you feel any better.

It didn’t help that you knew that everyone else knew. How could they not with your rag-tag bunch? And no one felt qualified enough to intervene.

Bob…he didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t know what to do. He hung around Ava and John more, handling their snarky digs and half-assed attempts at including him because it was easier than admitting he felt something he shouldn’t. He felt something he couldn’t afford.

And you were the collateral damage.

He didn’t mean for it to cause you to throw yourself back into your work. And he didn’t mean for it to get you captured.

“Bob?” Yelena yelled, bursting into his room in the middle of the night. He jumped from a dead sleep, foggy as he came to. “Bob!”

“What’s - is there a fire?” He mumbled with those doe eyes.

Why else would she be so alarmed? He could hear the commotion outside his room, hear the shuffling of gear. What time was it?

“No fire. There’s no fire.” Yelena shushed him, but he was more distraught by the different voices talking over each other in the hall. Something was thrown. “Here, shush. Listen -” She persisted, pulling herself over to him to keep him calm.

But it was too late. Bob heard your name among the ruckus. Your recon mission with Ava fell apart; Ava was the only one who checked in. Something about being outnumbered. Something about being all alone. And that’s all he could hear.

You were all alone.

And he pulled himself up, only for Yelena to push him back down again.

“Hey, hey,” she snapped. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Her voice was softer.

But Bob knew a lie when he heard one.

“W-where?” He panicked. Adrenaline spiked, his blood turning to ice. “Where are they?”

“What?” Yelena asked harshly.

“Where?”

“The check-in was somewhere outside Vegas-” And her words fell short, not realizing the change in his cadence.

His eyes were...well, she wasn’t looking at Bob anymore. And in a blink, she wasn’t looking at anything anymore.

And all that was left behind was the imprint of a shadow fading into the sheets.

You didn’t think twice about pushing Ghost outside when the sirens went off. Her powers would be useless if she got too close to the noise. But it meant she was locked outside the gated campus, and you were locked inside.

You could still hear the sirens as the door closed in front of you. But Ava had the data, and dammit, you were proud that she was able to collapse their network from the inside. She really was listening to your advice.

The smuggler’s den was crude, but they were tough. They brought in all kinds of military-grade equipment and gear from outside the states. And you could hear footsteps closing in.

You were locked in. Trapped.

Time to get going. Leveling your gun, you scoured the hallway for another exit strategy. There were so many rooms, a puzzle of pathways and ventilation tunnels if you could just -

“We’ll smoke her out.”

“No, we need her alive. Get the lights.”

No. Shit - you took to the closest room when the building went dark. You bashed your thigh against a table and stopped. There were no emergency lights overhead and no red exit signs. This place was definitely not up to code.

But it was familiar to you in its way.

In the dark, you had found bitter solitude and unspeakable fear. You had felt an overwhelming peace and notion of comfort. It was calming, like the strokes of charcoal against the page. Filling in the empty space with shadows.

But now, all you felt was anger. This was different. The darkness was an adversary, and you could hear the clunk of footsteps coming down the hall. In the dark, you were trapped like a mouse in a cage, waiting for the cat - heavily armed smugglers - to strike you down.

Cowards.

You were out in the open. Feeling around blindly, you scowled at the obstacles. Chairs lined a long table, and there were cabinets against the walls. Nothing big enough to climb in. Nowhere to hide. But you kept searching, feeling around. And when you felt another door at your back, you turned the handle before hearing voices at the other end of the room.

“We have a visual -”

And stumbling through the door, you made a blind run for it. And you were frustrated, bashing into more chairs and tripping over your feet.

When footsteps rushed in, you blindly shot out in the direction of the noise before more shots echoed through the room. And your heart ached. You couldn’t go down without a fight, not now. Not against some brutes with shipping data. Not after everything you had done.

Not when this was your idea - when you needed to get as far away from the Watchtower as possible.

Not when - a renegade shot struck your shoulder, reeling you back. You were frantic, emptying your gun into the dark. The bastards.

But even with your aim and your anger, the thugs could see with their night vision goggles. And you couldn’t. You heard it over the roar of your own breathing; one man got too close. You lunged on instinct, rolling around and landing a punch to his throat, feral for escape, before being pulled off.

“No!” One man commanded. “Alive - we need her alive.”

But the man you hit was angry. In a cowardly display, the man charged, coughing and staggering, landing a hit to your stomach. You struggled for breath, clawing back and fighting for footing.

“Alive!” The other man ordered.

There were too many of them. There were too many of them, and a fear bubbled up your throat.

This was your idea. It was your idea to throw yourself into the mission and distract yourself from...Well, there was no use in denying it now.

Your belly ached. Your heart was in ribbons. You did this to try to forget how desperately you missed Bob. You missed the scrunch of his nose and the meticulous way he ate popcorn one kernel at a time. You missed his bad jokes and the clumsy way he filled the dishwasher. You missed the smell of his mahogany shampoo and the underlying ozone that wouldn’t wash away.

Goddammit.

You couldn’t die down here.

But your spiraling thoughts had to come to a messy halt. In this case, it was in the form of the building shaking all around you, like it had been struck by a meteor shower. The men called out with fright, then screamed.

You knew this part. The lights would come on, and Ava would come barreling in at any moment. So you waited. And waited.

But it never came. The screams stopped mid-breath. The handprints digging into your arms were gone in a flash. The heavy breaths and stomping steps disappeared. Perking up with a groan, you dragged your feet forward. What was this?

And then déjà vu jolted through you.

You were dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe been knocked out cold.

You were in the dark, but you weren’t alone.

“Where are you?” You called out bravely, squaring your shoulders. You knew what was lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!”

But the emptiness stretched on. You stepped around in a circle. Your feet were still firmly planted on the ground. This was your dream. This was your attachment latching into the hooks of your subconscious. You were losing it.

“You’re reckless.”

It was a simple observation. One you dared laugh at.

“Reckless,” you mirrored with a snicker. “Hopeless. Delusional. Desperate. Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that what you feed on?”

Listing off your inner thoughts, feelings you wouldn’t admit when awake. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Engaging now wouldn’t make any difference.

“No.” It was a warning. “I feel it.”

The slow timber of words carried a weight all their own. Each syllable was intentional, pronounced. But feel it? Feel what? You turned in the dark.

“I’m not naïve to what he feels.” But this wasn’t Bob. It was the other closing in.

“Oh, Robert. He has hero dreams. Dreams of pushing me away. Thinking you could forget about me.”

His words were tormenting, chastising his counterpart.

In your dreams, this monster never spoke to you. You were used to quiet, lingering touches. You were used to watching from the rafters. And then there was a firm pause. Your fingers flexed. The reverberations of his words in your head were heavy.

“He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.” he continued.

He was riling you up, and the proximity was not lost on you.

“Your shame is harrowing. Ongoing. Buried, deep in your subconscious.” The swish of fabric behind you was intentional. He was urging you to tilt your head. He was close now, hovering right over your shoulder. And then a whisper. “It’s precious. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Goosebumps littered up your arms.

No.

“You do.” He coaxed.

No.

“You know. You already know why I can’t leave,” and feeling hot under the collar, uncomfortable at the bluntness, you gave in. Tilting your chin up, two pinpricks stared back. Unblinking. Unfazed.

He was frightening.

“You care for him,” he pressed. You couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. “All of him. And that means you care for -”

“Void.” Your call was a warning.

Raising your hand defensively, you turned to face him head-on. And where your hand should have caught nothing but air, it rested against the hard expanse of his abdomen. You took a sobering breath. It was too close, too human.

He closed his eyes briefly, satisfied, before finding yours again. There was no heartbeat. But there was a flex of movement, of his silhouette under your fingertips.

“And why wouldn’t you?” He tormented. “When my name is so sweet from your lips. You're reckless," he reminded. "You care.”

And shame zipped up your spine. That was it; he was your shame.

“You hurt him.” You deflected, thinking of Bob.

“We hurt each other.” Void acknowledged carefully, head tilting ever so slightly. Then, shifting closer, added, “But I am not the one who left you.”

And it felt like another jab. You were waiting for the pin to drop, for you to wake up from this dream. There was no other explanation for it. It wasn’t real.

You pulled your hand back, embarrassed and nervous, only to be stopped as his grip clasped over yours. He wasn’t warm, not like Bob. He wasn’t cold, like the ice in your veins. Your eyes looked where you could imagine his hands were before letting them drift up.

Gold light peered back. Where a face should be. Too human. And your free hand carefully reached up, grasping where you could imagine the curve of a jaw. Your breath caught in your throat when you found it. The touch was grounding.

“And he is not the one who found you.”

Silence.

“Then why are you here?” You challenged, prodding for an answer. “You could have left me in the dark.”

Pinhole eyes narrowed.

“You called for me. Not him,” The admission held a heavy weight. “You called. For me.”

Your cheeks were warm. He spoke it like it was a siren's call. And it was dangerous.

“You care.” You realized, whispering now. “You feel.”

“What I feel is irrelevant.”

But that wasn’t true. You were convinced he could see your smug expression even in the pitch-black room.

“You’re bleeding.”

Ah. Deflecting again. You knew that game but were through with the charade.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I do care. You win. I care about Bob. I care about his fucked up mind. So sure, I care about you - even if you destroy and create loathing and shame. Perhaps that’s my shame.” You admitted, pulling your hand away from his face.

It wasn’t real.

And it was time to wake up.

“This has been nice,” you admitted. “But if I’m going to die alone in the desert, I better face it.”

The Void offered no words of comfort. You weren’t expecting any. And as you stepped back and out of his hold, the cold seeped in.

Your breathing was uneasy, and the dull ache in your shoulder bloomed into hot pain. You were bleeding. The lights flickered on. The lights…

And he was still there, a dark figure in an empty room. Where there had been men, dark shadows cast along the ground. There was a tick in your jaw. You felt seasick.

And you realized then that it wasn’t a dream. Stoic and observant, the Void was still. His curled hair and the shape of his nose were too uncanny. Pinhole eyes stared back at you even then.

You hiccupped out an uneasy breath. Emotion pummeled into you. Fear. Abandonment. Solitude. Pain. Hope. No. NO.

He didn’t make a move, but observed. And then, at last, the low call of your name had you buckling at the knees.

He had been there all along, skirting around your mind. He met you in the dark, draping his cape around you and holding you in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness.

The Void was real. A tangible threat. Bob knew it. And then it clicked; that was why he pushed you away.

A hand reached out.

You had borne witness to the destruction and affliction it caused, and yet…

“You’re bleeding.”

And as you looked down from where his hand extended, red blossomed from the top of your shoulder down to your navel. Oh god.

“Let me,” He stopped, grounding the words. “Let me in.”

It was an offer of help, and you didn't think. You didn’t look up as you nodded. The movement was slow, slight, but deliberate. And he took action before you could blink.

A firm hand to the wound was all it took, the other wrapping around your hip to keep you planted. And in front of your eyes, inky tendrils replaced the bloodied stain. Where the Void’s touch lingered, it mimicked the charcoal smudges from your sketches.

He was your bad dreams and late nights. He was there the whole time, carving a hole for himself. And it left behind an imprint for you to remember.

He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.

But now you could read between the lines.

“You can’t keep me safe either.” You whispered. He was no hero. No savior - he said it himself.

The grip tightened at your hip, his hair clouding your peripheral vision. He was pulling closer, the hand at your shoulder moving to hook under your chin. He was forcing your attention on him. Bob might have put up a fight, but the Void was inevitable. He wasn’t going anywhere.

And as he drew closer, you smelled it.

Mahogany and ozone. Bob was there, too. The visage changed.

In front of your eyes, the Void flickered in and out of focus. You could see all of them like frames in a set of photos.

The Void. Bob Reynolds. Sentry. Powerful blue eyes, golden eyes, and pinhole eyes locked in. They were drawing closer still until you were a breath apart. And before you were swept under the current, the three of their voices overlapped in unison.

It was not a kiss, but just on the cusp. It was a promise.

“You don’t know what I am capable of.”

#someone sedate me #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #the void x reader #thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds #the void #sentry x reader

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agustdtown1 · 17 days ago

Text

CLOSER TO YOU II [JJK]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x fem!OF!reader

GENRE: smut, roommates au, nerd!jk, photography major!jk, friends to fuck buddies, OF!reader, slight fluff.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC: 4.5k

WARNINGS: pwp, this is pure smut (mdni), unprotected sex, smacking, choking, dumbification/slight degradation, jungkook wearing a silver chain (trust me, that needs a warning), riding, jungkook being a complete meanece for real this time, teasing, a lot of pet names, nipple play, slight fingering, jungkook saying that one line from that one live, big dick!jk, very slight fluff at the end bc i didn't know how to end it. lmk if i'm missing something.

A/N: part 2 is here woo! i cannot even explain how much i love this jungkook, like omg nerdy!jk is just a yes for me. Anyway, i hope u guys like it and enjoy it as much as i did writing it. As always lmk ur thoughts on the comments or through asks, feedback is always appreciated. Happy reading <3!

part 1 | masterlist

Moans, lewd and whiny moans filled the room. A mixture of breathless words, nonsensical chants and obscene sounds engulfed both of your ears, pulling you into a dreamy dimension where only your and Jungkook’s body existed. The reality of it all was that the man in front of you was taking you places that you never thought of reaching, all in the comfortness of your bed. His hands, once timid and careful, were now running wild over your body, eliciting the most beautiful noises out of you. His avid fingers were pressing hard enough in the right spots while his mouth was eagerly devouring yours.

It was only you and him, him and you; nothing else mattered in the world, only the warm touches and harsh curses thrown to the wind whenever either of you would bring pleasure to the other. The video —which was the main reason for you two to end up like this— was long forgotten, with the camera still aiming to the spot you two were sitting at but neither of your bodies were in sight. Jungkook was nice enough to carry you to the bed and lay you down to get more comfortable.

“You deserve better than just pillows and a blanket.” He said, waiting for you to wrap your legs around his waist to finally get up.

Everything leading up to this moment felt like a fever dream, the attempts to dirty talk, the way Jungkook used his fingers to pleasure you, the pet names and the look that coated his face when he watched you come on his hand; it felt like the most cliche plot for a porno. Asking my roommate to help me with something ends up with us fucking; you were sure that if you browsed for a few minutes in the hub you would find at least ten videos with the same storyline, but here you were, being another addition to the list, the only difference is that this wasn’t a raunchy film that you could find on the dark side of the internet, it was your life, and you were about to fuck your roommate.

“I need to ask before this goes any further.” Jungkook's breathless voice sounded so good that it almost distracted you from what he was saying. “Are you completely sure about this?”

“Kook, baby, I appreciate you asking, but if you don’t put your dick in me, I’ll kick you out of the apartment.” You deadpanned.

Jungkook chortled at your response, pulling away just enough to undress. You waited patiently, enjoying the view he was providing you with. His honey-like skin glistened under the neon lights after taking off his black shirt; abs were in full display along with his big biceps. His right arm was adorned with an array of tattoos that he collected all through the years he’s been living with you. Who would have thought that under all those baggy clothes was hidden such a hot body? It often baffled you how different his appearance was compared to his personality; Jungkook looked like a cinnamon roll with the body of a certified fuckboy, however, he wouldn’t catch you complaining, especially not now. The brown-haired guy took his glasses off, carefully placing them on your night-stand, and just as you were about to protest, your roommate was quick to form a knowing smile on his face.

“I know you like them on me, but it’ll be impractical to fix them all the time while I fuck you dumb, don’t you think?” It was ridiculous how much his voice and words affected you. “Let’s keep them away from now.”

You couldn’t even form a proper response to that, other than a meck nod. You were hypnotized by the way he was taking his clothes off. Jungkook was now left with his usual pair of baggy jeans that were low enough to show the hem of his Calvins, he also had a silver chain wonderfully hanging from his neck; you often daydream about it, imagining how the cold material would feel against your skin, dangling just close enough to your face that you could simply take a bite and pull him down to meet your lips. It seemed like you were about to find out.

“Can you leave it on?” You requested signaling to his chain.

“Sure thing, pretty.” He flashed you a smile, pulling away his hands from the necklace.

You really needed to get used to this side of Jungkook, otherwise you weren’t going to survive the night, although you had a feeling that it wouldn’t really make a difference considering what was about to happen.

Both of his hands drifted down to undo his pants, pulling them down easily and tossing them somewhere in your room. Next thing was his underwear, a pair of black Calvins that were just tight enough to reveal his evident hard-on. Even with the fabric covering that area you could still make out its length. It looked bigger than what you were expecting, which only added to your eagerness. Without further ado —and driven by the sudden confidence, Jungkook took them off, letting his thick cock spring free from its confinements. You couldn’t help to let out a tiny gasp, zeroing on his reddened tip that was already leaking precum. It was in fact bigger than what you assumed he would be, nothing too crazy but drastically larger than the other guys you’ve been with. It was slightly curved to the right, the perfect angle to reach the places you wish him to reach. The veins adorning his cock made you salivate at the thought of what it would feel like against your hot tongue. Would it feel heavy? Would it make you gag? Would it get you crying and turn you into a spit mess? Maybe you will have to wait to find out. Tonight was all about you and him enjoying each other in a closer way, getting a taste of him would have to wait.

The more you stared at him the more your hands were eager to reach out and stroke it, to see if it would be able to fit in your palm, because judging by its looks, you even doubted that you could take it all.

“You like what you see?” Jungkook’s voice was the embodiment of sin. Low and raspy with a hint of hesitation that he tried to cover with a faint chuckle.

Deep down he was feeling nervous once again, feeling too vulnerable and exposed, however, backing down wasn’t an option for him, so instead of letting his insecurities conquer his mind, Jungkook decided to act driven by desire more than rationality.

“I do, actually.” You answered, staring at him with such a look that made the guy weak in the knees. “Come here, pretty boy.”

Pulling him by his chain you crashed your lips together, both liberating a satisfied moan when the head of his cock brushed through your folds. His hands, that were on each side of your head, caging you in, fisted the soft material of the pillow in which your head was resting on, all due to the sensation of your hot cunt against his length.

“Shit.” You breathed out after pulling away. “Do that again.”

Jungkook only shook his head, confusing you with the sudden rejection.

“You’re missing something there.” He added, eyes never leaving yours.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, pretty. I know you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.” His answer was followed by a harsh smack on one of your thighs. “Aren’t you?”

“But I don’t—” Another smack delivered to your tender flesh interrupted you. “Fuck, wait…” The next time his hand impacted against your skin a sting of pain mixed with pleasure spread within you. “Jungkook!” You whined, trying to create some friction on your own.

“I thought you said you were gonna be good for me.” He mockingly said, colliding his big hand with the flesh of your ass this time. “Why don’t you look back on your manners, hm?”

This fucker.

Jeon really was full of surprises, or so it seems, because just when you thought he would go easy on you, he pulled this.

“Seriously? All of this over me not saying, what? Please?” You sassily argued back.

“Is that how you wanna act right now, doll?” He raised one of his eyebrows, questioning you in such a way that got you wondering what would be the appropriate approach. “I’d be careful with what I say if I were you.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

The question hung in the air for a few seconds before Jungkook pulled away from you completely. His hands reached out for your waist, holding you with a strong grip.

“Turn around.” He ordered. A few more seconds passed before he turned you around himself. “And just so we are clear, I’m not repeating myself tonight.”

Ass in the air, completely exposed to him. It excited you what his next move would be, but it was also killing you not knowing what he was up to.

His hands were caressing your sides slowly, distracting you for a second with his touches from what was coming your way.

“It seems like you can’t keep up with your promises.” It was sudden, completely unexpected; the sound of skin being slapped echoed through the room. His tattooed hand colliding with your ass. “So I might need to remind you what you asked for.”

The next one felt harsher than the last one, eliciting a deep moan out of you and making your whole body move forward. This is not what you imagined that your night would be like, and you were definitely not expecting your roommate to turn into such a brat tamer. However, what surprised you the most is how much you actually liked it. This whole scenario in which Jungkook was simply handling you in any way he wanted was far way better than what your fantasies were about. The way he talked to you; the fact that he knew just the right amount of strength he needed to use to make you whimper in pleasure rather than pain; the tender touch he would provide you with before delivering another slap, as if he were preparing your skin for the collision. Everything felt like the perfect wet dream.

After delivering one last slap to your ass, Jungkook leaned down to place wet kisses all over the area, before admiring the red imprint of his hand on both cheeks.

“You think you’re ready for me now?” He mockingly asked. “Or should I check?” Not even expecting an actual answer, he slipped two fingers inside your entrance, moving them painfully slow.

“Jungkook, please…” You whined, burying your face into the pillow.

“Oh, now you know how to use the word, hm?” His fingers never stopped moving. “How convenient.”

You shook your head, whimpering and squirming under his touch. “No more, please…”

“No more what? Tell me doll, what do you want from me?”

“No more… teasing.”

You struggled to answer, letting out a deep breath before looking over your shoulders to glare at him. In hindsight, you should’ve known better than doing so, because the way his sweat-coated skin shone under the red lights almost got you coming on his fingers again.

“Oh god!” You moaned when his fingers dug deeper into your velvety walls. “Right-fucking-there!”

And just when you started to feel your walls getting tighter and your stomach feeling funny, Jungkook pulled out, stroking your clit a few times before flipping you over on your back.

“Why did you stop?”

“You’re the only one getting all the fun, baby.” He simply answered. “And next time you come, I want you to do it on my cock.” He placed a kiss on your lips before adding, “Where are the condoms?”

Jungkook wasn’t dumb, he knew you had to have some hidden somewhere in your drawers, he’s seen you buy a package before, and while he had some himself, the brown-eyed boy didn’t think it would be practical to go to his room for it.

“No need.” Just before he could question your answer, you added, “I’m on the pill.”

Jungkook couldn’t comprehend what good he did in his past life to get this lucky, but he was thankful for it.

“Should’ve said that from the start.”

“Why? You like it raw that much?” You chuckled.

“Only when I have a pretty girl like you under me.” His lips brushed against yours with a fleeting touch, making you chase after him which caused a smug laugh out of him. “Patient, doll. I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta be on your best behavior. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, adding a quick yes right after. Jungkook leaned down once again, placing his hands on each side of your head just like before. He started up kissing your neck, placing wet kisses all over it before reaching your mouth again. It was the perfect distraction from him lining up with your entrance. Before you even knew it, Jeon was pushing his tip right in, slowly and steadily.

“Oh, fuck, ah…” You moaned out, hands flying over his shoulders. “Jungkook.” His name came out of your mouth as a whimper.

“I know, pretty, I know.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you’re really tight.”

The brown-haired guy kept pushing in, careful to not hurt you and stopping every now and then to help you get used to his size. It was more than what you would normally take, so it took you a few seconds to go from slight pain to pleasure. Your nails were digging into his honey skin, eliciting a hiss from the guy above you, but not even once did he complain, if anything it looked like he enjoyed that sliver of pain.

“Oh god, you feel amazing.” Jungkook whispered against your lips when he finally bottomed out. His breath was agitated and it was evident that he was struggling to keep still, yet he managed to do it, waiting for your permission to move. “You're doing so good, baby. Look at you, you took me so well, it’s all in.”

You tried to look down to where both of your bodies were united. It was just there that reality really hit you; having all of his manhood nestled deep inside you was a whole new sensation, a different kind of feeling. You knew that there was no coming back from this, no going back to normal, no getting the same feeling from anyone else. You could only hope for this to be good enough for your roommate to stay with you.

“Let me know when I can move, yea?” His breathy voice brought you back from your thoughts, preventing you from overthinking.

A small nod was your first response, “You can… You can move.” You softly said.

“Alright, I’ll be gentle okay? Promise I’ll make you feel good.” A sweet kiss was placed on your mouth before his hips started moving.

Jungkook commenced thrusting in and out, sliding with enough ease inside of you while maintaining a steady pace. You could feel the entirety of him, stretching you out deliciously good. His cock was hitting the right places over and over again, eliciting moan after moan from you. His face had the most beautiful expression you’ve ever seen. Eyes connected to yours, lips parted while panting and cursing, eyebrows furrowed with a slight coat of sweat covering his forehead. Everything was just right.

Jungkook was loving every second of it, the way you were clenching on his length, while looking right up at him with pleading eyes and your nails scratching his skin was something he never thought would love so much. It was until then that he questioned if he was into pain, because the burning sting of your nails digging into his toned back was getting him more excited than it probably should.

“Shit, Kook, you feel so good right now.” You panted, connecting your lips into a messy kiss. “Faster… I need it faster.”

“Anything you want, doll.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice; going at a slow pace was torturing him. Jungkook was quick to speed up, thrusting in and out of you with such strength that almost made you scream. He continued to fuck you like that, pressing his chest agaisnt yours while leaving a trail of wet kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sliding down with ease until he reached your tits. Jungkook admired them for a few seconds before diving in to close his mouth around one of your nipples.

“Ah, Jungkook.” You whimpered, feeling his hot tongue circling your already hardened bud. His pace never relented even when his sole focus was on devouring your tits.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your skin. His teeth made contact with your sensitive nipple, stealing a gasp from you while some incoherent sentences flew out of your mouth. “What was that, pretty?”

Jungkook was fucking you so good that it was difficult to even utter a single word. Everything felt so intense, and he was taking good care of you that it felt almost unfair to only lay there and enjoy it, that’s why you tried to compose yourself to voice your request.

“Come on, baby, use your words. Or is it hard for you to speak with your pussy stuffed with my cock, hm?” He mocked you and your little sounds.

You’ll pay for that later.

Trying to push him away would be futile so you didn’t even try, instead you glared at him while saying, “I wanna ride you.” It was clear and straight to the point, you needed to experience being on top of Jeon Jungkook while taking all of his cock as deep inside you as you could, at least once in your life.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, doll.” He breathed out, “But okay, show me what you got.”

In a split of a second, Jungkook was laying down on your bed, staring right at you with lustful eyes and a smirk plastered on his face. His big hands were resting on each side of your hips, caressing your skin tenderly, almost encouraging you to get going with what you wanted to do. With no further ado, you guided his twitching dick to your folds, sliding through them and smearing your juices all over his length; you were enjoying the sensation of his tip nudging your clit when a harsh smack was delivered to your ass.

“No teasing.” Jeon warned you when you looked at him pouting, however, you complied, lining his cock with your entrance, sinking in slowly to enjoy how good he was stretching you out. “There you go, fuck, that’s it, pretty. You’re so good.” He hissed, holding your hips with a stronger grip than before.

“You feel so big like this.” Throwing your head back, you whimpered out of pleasure, losing yourself in the sensation of his cock reaching deeper into you in this position.

You started to move, back and forth with a steady pace; hands now resting on his chest to get more comfortable. Little by little you gained speed, sliding up and down just like you always wanted, the sound of skin on skin filled the room, along with the filthy sounds coming from both of your mouths.

“Shit, that’s it. You look so pretty bouncing on my cock.” Jungkook loved the new view, not only did you feel amazing in this position, with your walls clenching on his girth, but also the way your tits were bouncing up and down with every move was driving him crazy.

One of his hands reached up to hold your tit, fondling and kneading your tender flesh, however, his hand didn’t stop there. Jungkook felt bold enough to push his hand further up, slithering smoothly until his fingers reached a certain part of your body. Without even thinking, Jungkook wrapped his hand around your neck, just tight enough to make you gasp in surprise but without any ill intent. Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t the only one being taken by surprise, because the sudden pressure on your neck was like adding fuel to the fire, encouraging you to fuck yourself harder and faster on his throbing cock, and Jungkook noticed how your whole demeanor changed.

“Look at you,” He chuckled, “You liked being treated like this, huh? Like it when I choke you and smack you hard enough to leave a mark on you?”

It was cruel the way he was speaking to you, but you couldn’t deny it, if anything it only pushed you to speed up, making your thighs ache and almost fall on his chest completely exhausted.

“Ju-Jungkook…” You tried to call his name in a pleading voice. It was only then that you recognized the hot feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. Your orgasm was, once again, approaching.

“What? Can’t you answer the question? Are you that dumb to say a simple yes, hm?” His mocking smile was as infuriating as attractive. “Come on, doll, I know you can do better than that.”

You really tried to hold yourself together, but the more his cock hit your sweet spot, the more your strength crumbled.

“I- I’m…” It was getting pretty hard to voice your thoughts with his hand around your throat.

“Am I making it difficult for you to speak?” The hand he placed on your waist was helping you to keep moving, but the one adorning your neck never lessened the grip. “Do you want me to take my hand off? You just have to say please and I’ll do anything you want, pretty.”

How could such a sweet and nice guy turn into a complete meanece in the blink of an eye. Jungkook continued to prove that judging a book by its cover it’s never a good thing, because the way he was acting with you in that moment, was beyond what you imagined he would be like in this type of scenario.

“Ple-Please,” You begged, “Jungkook… please.” Not even a second passed before you could breathe properly again, his tattooed hand away from your neck.

You felt like passing out, but his angelic voice brought you back from your hazy state.

“You okay there, Y/n?” He smiled softly at you, confusing you and making your heart skip a beat. Jungkook looked at you with a split of concern and tenderness for a brief second, making a weird feeling spread through your body, one that you were too scared to address.

“I’m… yes, all good.” You nodded.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Both of his hands were back to holding your hips. “Because I’m not done, understand?” His eyes had that evil glint once again.

Before you could even ponder on his switching attitude, his strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, forcing you to rest on top of him, chest to chest and face so dangerously close to yours.

“I know you’re close, baby, stay like this and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

And so you did, burying your face in the crook of his neck while Jungkook positioned himself the right way to slam his cock into you with hard and fast thrusts. Your whimpers were muffled against his skin, while his moans filled your ears. He sounded so pretty, chanting your name the more you clenched on him.

“Shit, I’m getting close too.” Jungkook announced.

“Please, I wanna cum…” You begged, pulling away from his neck to look at him with pleading eyes. “I can’t hold it.”

“I’m almost there, doll, wait for me, come on.”

His hands started to slide down to get a hold of your ass while still thrusting into you at such a relentless pace. So persistent and intense, every touch, move and caress felt ten times more than before, your whole body was sensitive that it was so difficult for you to hold it together, you desperately needed to have your release. Jungkook was aware of it, it was so painfully clear how bad you needed to cum, how desperate you were for him and his cock.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good.” His husky voice rang through your ears, making goosebumps coat your skin. “Fuck, I’m right there, baby, come with me. Make a mess on my dick.”

It was automatic the way your body reacted to his command. A needy moan abandoned your mouth while your hands fisted the sheets in which the both of you were laying. You finally came on Jungkook’s cock, clenching so deliciously tight, meanwhile your whole body shook with the intense feeling of your awaited release.

“Fuck, so good… Y/n, shit.” You couldn’t even pay attention to whatever the brown-haired boy was saying; completely lost in the moment and how well you felt. “I’m gonna come.”

With a final thrust, Jungkook finally unraveled, filling you to the brim with his warm cum. Hips stuttering and voice completely hoarse while calling your name. It felt so good to hear him like that, so breathless and spent; weak and whiny, so needy for you and only you.

It took you a few minutes to fully recover from such an intense moment. Neither of you dared to speak once the rush of your orgasm finally subsided, you laid there, on his firm chest, breathing his scent and relishing in the sensation of his fingers caressing your back with a soft touch.

“Are you… Are you okay?” There was a pinch of shyness in your roommates voice, almost as if his dominant persona vanished the moment he got his release. “I wasn’t too much, was I?”

You giggled against his warm skin, lazily shaking your head to answer his concerns.

“It was way better than I expected.” You confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up due to that. “I gotta admit that you surprised me, though. I didn’t know you could be like that.”

Jungkook sighed softly, feeling satisfied with your response but slightly amused by your comment.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, yet.”

It was the way he said it that piqued your interest, promising and inviting, as if he was trying to lure you into discovering just how much you still needed to learn about him. And just like Jungkook wanted, you fell right into it.

“Maybe you can show me.” Lifting your head slowly, you stared into his beautiful brown eyes, waiting for a reaction.

“Are you sure you want to get into that?”

You nodded, eyes drifting down to set on his puffy lips. Jungkook didn’t think twice before leaning in to kiss you, slow and soft, with so much care that almost made you feel dizzy.

“Alright, I’ll show you all of me.”

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itneverendshere · 8 months ago

Note

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle.

Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. Except tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus.

You weren’t here for Rafe anymore. You loved hockey, loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace. Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth.

The game was about to start, and the arena lights dimmed, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

Then you spotted him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team, dark blonde hair peeking out from under his helmet.

He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever, you genuinely couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. As painful as it was watching him, you’d never let him run you out of your favorite sport. Not even if he was captain now.

This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex, but it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized…

You’d put on Rafe’s jersey, his number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, but you loved Rafe more. Or, you used to.

The puck dropped, and the game started.

For a while, you tried to focus on the action but Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, as if sensing you were there.

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up.

That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen.

Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t embarrassed, but this was... awkward.

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, his lips getting personal, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat.

He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. You could hardly focus on Elijah, but the way he laughed, oblivious to the scene your ex was causing...it made your stomach churn because Rafe was staring like he owned you.

He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words, silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him. He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, all but daring you to move on.

The breakup had been brutal, a messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful.

Now, here you are months later, still dealing with the fallout.

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it.

All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you.

The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah although your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore.

You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. If Rafe thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned you—then he deserved to stew in.

Except, he wasn’t the type of guy to let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah.

His shoulders were tense, movements too aggressive, you knew he was about to snap. You hated this, that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him.

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. Every hit was harder, sharper.

You felt sickly satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

With less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated.

Rafe slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off.

He stood over the guy, glaring down at him, ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer, knowing exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at your ex boyfriend, but his eyes weren’t on the ref, they were back on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet.

The arena was buzzing, the crowd still rowdy, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face.

Elijah leaned back in his seat, totally unaware.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair, too casual for someone who was just about murder a guy on the ice.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant.

You weren’t paying attention anymore, not to the score or the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, how he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile. “Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, tension building in your chest.

It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe. You knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, but you were distracted, scanning the faces around without even realizing it.

Then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight.

He didn’t bother pretending to care about the fans around him—his gaze was intense, a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your eyes, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving.

“Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring your date completely. "Not gonna stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool.

"It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

He stepped closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably.

"Used to be the last one out."

You'd always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes dropped to him for the briefest moment, before landing back on you. "Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, holding on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now, especially not with Elijah here.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at his arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated.

Rafe stepped in front of you again, blocking your way like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow.

“Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing, ignore him.” you cut him off quickly, “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, Elijah,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.”

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway.

Shit.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door.

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the unresolved pull between you two, he still had that stupid hold on you, your body responding when you shouldn’t.

You’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the lit hallway that led to the locker room. You spun around, shoving him in the chest, hard.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe didn't so much flinch, his eyes smoldering as he crowded you against the wall.

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident!"

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did before— God, why did he have to be so damn close? He was overwhelming, and you hated it.

You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended.

His eyes were boring into yours, he could see through all your bullshit.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.”

He caged you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him.

Even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them, part of you was always gonna his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he was reading every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin' about me all night."

His breath was hot on your skin, and you despised how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched, trying to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, leave you alone for good, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your panties. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had.

But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe's lips brushed against your earlobe.

“Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched. “Don’t—”

He was already kissing you, like he owned you, you were his and his alone. You kissed him back, like the fucking idiot you were.

His hands were pawing at you, grabbing at your waist, tugging you closer until your bodies were fully pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans.

This was so wrong, on so many levels.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, Rafe was staring you down.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

His pretty grin widened knowingly. He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief, at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did. “Oh, you will.”

God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You needed to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face.

All you did instead was grab his jersey, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing sweet about this. It was all months of unresolved anger bursting out in one messy kiss. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy.

He groaned, pulling back, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking back down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, and you hated how much you craved him.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be, but every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. Nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so stupidly wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. How touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe begged against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, you did want this. You couldn’t lie—not to him, or to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, hoping you’d find some kind of resolve to pull yourself back from him.

His grip only tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy, your last piece of control vanishing with it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to.

“Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still lost in his hair.

It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

It didn't help that you could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric his jersey. It was suffocating in the best way.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, breath hitching when his mouth clamped down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was low in your ear, sending shiver down your spine. “I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers teasing your skin, whatever you were going to say swallowed by the heat rushing through you. He still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—”

Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body.

“This what?” he taunted, “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.

This was dangerous territory.

“Last chance,” he murmured, “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes, shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again— angrier, needing to prove something to yourself.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one fast motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same rushed urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed.

“No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them, pressing you down on the bench.

Everything was messy, neither of you could get enough. A silly attempt to erase the months of distance, of frustration.

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

His mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking again, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow.

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made you want him more.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, hardly touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was already shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch.

Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, properly. You gasped, head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the way you taught him to.

Your body responded immediately, jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed circles over your clit. He sped up, fingers thrusting deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank.

“Been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt your hips following the rythm of his hands, driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed. Damn him.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, hips bucking wildly against his hand. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He always delivered when you begged nicely.

Rafe thrust his fingers harder until your body gave in completely.

In your defense, you hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months, nothing could get you off properly.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as the sweet pleasure tore through you. You cried out, leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you moaned beneath him, lost in the sensation.

He slowed down enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks.

When you finally caught your breath, he pulled them out, his hand moving to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, only enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment.

Rafe lined himself up, pushing into you in one hard thrust. Your gasp turned into a breathless moan as your back arched, hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The familiar sensation of him stretching you out was overwhelming to say the least, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust.

He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you stupid in seconds, gasping for air. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His fingers dugg into your skin as he fucked you, reminding you who you belonged to.

You loathed how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled as he thrusted into you, each movement brutal. “Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but you still wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He dropped his forehead to yours, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night."

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but a moan escaped your lips instead, as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched even further against his.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe hummed, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, his big toned body pressing into yours so perfectly, his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you.

“I f-fucking hate y-you” you managed to gasp out.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn you were done with him. You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast, your knees hit the bench.

“Rafe—mmh!” you whined, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood, hs hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, despite how desperate you felt, “Fuck, stop teasing—”

“Want more?” he cut you off, voice dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, hard enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “Gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

Just like that, his chest was fully pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

“Act tough all you want sweet girl, I still know how much you want this,” he gritted out, fat cock sliding against your ruined pussy again, torturously slow. “Know how much you need it.”

That's when he slid back inside, filling you completely in one sweet stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench when he didn't bother giving you a moment to adjust, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in.

The angle had you seeing stars.

The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips greedly moving back to meet his thrusts.

Rafe's rough hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, head dropped back as he thrust into you. "So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in deliberate circles that had you on the edge again in seconds. A embarrassing whimper ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, but it was useless when he knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt your second orgasm rising fast.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, “Come for me, baby.”

This time around your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, walls clenching around him, milking him for all he had.

Rafe groaned llike a pornstar as he fucked you through it, relentless, until your entire body was in an entire different dimension.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in.

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you."

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in.

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

2K notes · View notes

iluvbuckets · 3 days ago

Text

wild thoughts

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: paige had always just been your brother's best friend. your little brother's annoying best friend. on a typical summer trip to your family's cabin, you start to realize maybe paige isn't so little and annoying anymore.

warnings: lots of plot!, hella teasing, a little body worshipping, overstimulation, oral + fingering, thigh grinding, paige comes in her pants, switch!paige but bottom!paige would also be accurate, praise of course

word count: 9.3k

notes: this was NAWT supposed to be this long but i got carried away lowkey. i'm considering writing a part 2 for this bc i love this dynamic

✷✷✷

it was always funny when someone at your college found out that paige bueckers follows you on social media–the paige bueckers, star of uconn women’s basketball.

because to you, she was just paige, your little brother, elijah’s, best friend who was over at your house so often you had to wonder if she had her own. she yells at the television at three in the morning over video games, paces around your house over basketball games, and eats your snacks out of the cupboard. she had been around so long that she is practically your parents’ third child, and they never let you forget it. there were pictures of paige hung around the house like they birthed her, not just pictures of her and your brother either–her high school basketball pictures, her senior pictures, pictures taken at her tournaments, you name it. not only that, but your grandparents would ask your parents about her like she was a grandchild. she was always invited to family holiday celebrations and family vacations, and while she rarely came to the holiday celebrations in favor of her own family, she never missed a vacation.

you never had a problem with it per se, but she was just your brother’s friend, so she was annoying by default. your brother was annoying, therefore she was too. which, honestly, she was. she was loud, spontaneous, and maybe even exhibited some warning signs of ADHD, and did you mention she would eat your snacks out of the cupboard?

you remember the day elijah met paige, because you definitely did not want to be there. you were seven and he was five, and it was his first ever practice for basketball (well, actually for any sport). it was a small, co-ed recreation league, so they advised parents to stick around during the hour-long practice just in case. even though you had made a compelling argument that you were obviously very mature and old enough to be left alone, your parents forced you to tag along with them.

practice was running smoothly, elijah looked like a natural, until about thirty minutes in when he bumped right into paige, sending her to the floor. now typically, you would probably expect a little five-year-old girl to sit and cry on the floor after being hit like that, but not paige. she got right back up and shoved him as hard as she could onto the ground. clearly not expecting that reaction, the coach quickly grabbed paige to hold her back like it was a genuine fight (which maybe it was to her–she had definitely looked pissed). after a quick time-out, they forced paige to apologize to elijah, which she was clearly reluctant to do, but she did so she could be put back into the game. they hugged it out and have been practically inseparable ever since.

your parents loved to tell that cute story to anyone who would listen.

when it was time for them to go to kindergarten, your parents and paige’s parents made sure they were in the same class. they constantly got in trouble for talking without permission, going off topic, and playing pranks in the classroom. they would get disciplined, but it never seemed to work because it continued all through elementary school.

as all of you grew up, you didn’t hang out with your brother and paige that much. you were a whole two years older with your own activities, own friends, and own hobbies which didn’t really align with what they were interested in.

there was one day when paige was in fifth grade and you were in seventh grade, when you heard a knock at your door. you were sitting on your bed reading a book, though it was a homework assignment for class so you would’ve rather been doing anything else. you expected it to be your dad since he always knocked now that you were thirteen, but after you shouted come in!, you saw an eleven-year-old paige bueckers standing there. she was wearing a t-shirt from her basketball league, a pair of black basketball shorts, nike elite socks, and her hair was in a pink nike tie headband with a ponytail. she looked nervous, like she didn’t know how to talk to you even though you had known her for six years at this point–like she hadn’t slept at your house literally last night.

“some of the girls at school were making fun of me,” she said, playing with her fingers and not making eye contact.

you immediately closed your book so you could set it to the side, patting the spot in front of you as a gesture for her to sit down. she did it hesitantly, still not looking up at you.

“why?” you asked, like you were baffled that someone would do that. which you were. paige had always been sweet and kind to anyone she talked to, and never had a problem with anyone. if she did, it was probably basketball-related, and she would talk it out with them right after she got off the court.

“they were saying i act and dress too much like a boy so i couldn’t sit with them,” she replied quietly.

you sighed. “don’t listen to them, paige. kids can be mean. there’s nothing wrong with how you dress.”

“but i do dress like a boy,” she said, finally making eye contact.

“what does that even mean?” you ask rhetorically. “you got those clothes from the girls’ section, right? so how are you not dressed like a girl?”

“they all wear skirts and dresses,” she said like it was obvious. you knew it was true, but it wasn’t weird to dress like a tomboy. you had a tomboy phase growing up, but since you joined dance, you started being more girly.

“so what? that doesn’t mean anything. i don’t like wearing dresses either,” you laugh.

“yeah but–” she starts, pausing like she doesn’t know how to ask the question that’s sitting on the tip of her tongue. “how do i be more of a girl like you?”

your face contorts into a sad expression at the question, not really expecting it at all. “paige, you don’t need to change how you dress to please some girls at school.” like a lightbulb went off in your head, you had an idea to offer a solution without changing herself too much. “have you ever painted your nails?”

the answer to the question had been no, which you were expecting, so you did. you painted her fingernails a pink color to match her headband and hopefully help her feel a little more feminine. you wish she didn’t feel the need to change herself because of a couple of mean words, but growing up outside of the norm was hard so maybe it would make it slightly easier.

after that, paige slowly seemed to start talking to you more. she would invite you to hang out with her and elijah and she would ask if you were coming to their games. you often declined as you had your own practices, games, homework, and friends to hang out with. you had started playing school-sanctioned sports so your schedule was busy. you had decided to play volleyball and run track, and paige would often accompany your brother and parents to your games and meets.

following a particularly successful eighth grade volleyball season, you had decided to quit dance to focus on volleyball in high school. in seventh grade volleyball, the plays and positions had been very basic to get you used to it, but eighth grade was a whole new game. you weren’t particularly tall standing at 5’7, you weren’t short but definitely not as tall as most players. your coach tried you as the libero, and you fell in love with it. while this meant you were spending more time in the gym than you did before, it also meant that you had more free time to hang out with and support your friends in their own activities now that you weren’t going straight from the gym to the studio.

you attended every junior varsity and varsity basketball game of the season in ninth grade, which also meant you attended all of paige’s games. though she was only in seventh grade, her skill level had caught the coach’s attention, and she was playing with the junior varsity squad.

even though she was your little brother’s annoying friend, you had a sense of pride watching her play up two grades like that. the little girl who had grown up with you was turning into an unstoppable powerhouse. you shouted her name the loudest (well maybe her dad and her little brother, drew, shouted louder) when she would make her shots, and you would shout at the refs when you thought they made a bad call on her.

one particular home game, you were standing in the hallway talking to a couple of your friends during halftime, eating some popcorn near the concession stand. you couldn’t help but overhear a comment from a couple guys who were standing near you from the other school. one of them was talking about paige. saying she’s overrated and other mean things that you didn’t want to repeat. your friends had told you to let it go because they were just jealous, but you couldn’t. you spun on your heel, approaching them with a rage you had never felt in your life. before they could even greet you, your fist connected with the nose of the guy who had been talking about her. the guy didn’t fight back, but you were walking away before he even could anyway. luckily, no one saw and you didn’t get in trouble because the guy was too embarrassed to admit that it was a fourteen-year-old girl who did it.

when you got home and your parents noticed your bruised, swollen knuckles, they obviously questioned you. you lied at first, saying it was an accident and they just let it go, knowing you wouldn’t tell the truth. about ten minutes later, your brother came into your room to ask what happened. obviously, you told him the truth. he was so impressed, but you made him swear he wouldn’t tell your parents.

the next day at school, rumors flew about how you clocked a guy in the face. there were various reasons for why and you didn’t bother to clear them up, but paige knew the truth because your brother had told her.

you hadn’t thought much of any of it until your dad pulled came into your room after one of her games shortly after that one. it was after the first game that paige had asked if you could get a picture after. she was nervous when asking and you immediately called your brother over assuming that’s what she meant, missing the disappointed expression on paige’s face.

“be nice to paige, okay?” he asked. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion because you were always nice to paige and had never really been mean to her to warrant a conversation like that. “i think she has a little crush on you.”

you hadn’t really considered that to be a possibility before, but now that it was pointed out to you, you were suddenly very aware of all of paige’s actions. her gaze lingered a bit too long, she laughed at all of your jokes, and you were the first person she looked at when she told a joke to make sure you were laughing. even though it suddenly seemed obvious, you weren’t sure if she even knew herself. she had never indulged in crushes or anything and had focused all of her attention on sports thus far. though, you did find it strange that she never seemed to have a crush on any of the boys in her friend group, but you figured that was just because she knew them too well.

you tried to keep a distance while remaining friendly to hopefully defuse that., and you hoped she didn’t notice.

by the summer before you were in eleventh grade, you had a boyfriend for an entire year. since it had been so long (high school relationship-wise), your parents allowed you to invite him to your yearly trip to your grandparents’ house, which was a cabin on the lake. of course, the invitation obviously included paige, elijah didn’t even need to invite her anymore because your grandparents did themselves.

you didn’t notice the way her jaw would clench when he would put his arm around you, bring you food, throw you in the water, or get near you at all. she tried to ignore the feeling, but she had an overwhelming sense of something when she saw it. she didn’t know what it was, but she knew she didn’t like seeing you acting like that with someone else. she didn’t say anything though, didn’t make it obvious to anyone except maybe your bother who definitely noticed. he didn’t say anything, either. she had never said anything to him about the possibility of liking girls, let alone his sister, so he chose to stay quiet and wait for her to tell him on her own time.

it was a long two weeks for paige, but she managed to get through it without losing her mind too much.

even though you loved that boyfriend and so did your family, shortly after the school volleyball season ended and club volleyball began, you broke things off. it wasn’t entirely mutual; he definitely didn’t want you to leave, but he understood where you were coming from. both of you were busy and were struggling to make time for each other. he was picking where he was going to college for track, and you had just signed to play volleyball for creighton.

when paige heard the news, she was ecstatic–internally, of course.

after the two weeks spent at your grandparents’ house over the summer and how she felt about you breaking up with your boyfriend, she had come to terms with the fact that she definitely was not straight and she definitely had feelings for you. it was a tough realization for her, even though when she tried to talk to her stepmom about how she was feeling, her stepmom made it seem like the most obvious thing in the world–like everyone already knew. it was a little comforting, but it was jarring at the same time. could everyone tell that she had feelings for you? she hoped people could only tell that she liked girls, not the girl she liked. even worse, she hoped you couldn’t tell because that would be mortifying.

she didn’t want to try anything either, knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea. you were older, more mature, and she wasn’t even sure that you saw her as anything more than a little sister or something like that. she just silently yearned, dreaming about what could happen if she told you. did you know? would you reject her?

not that it really mattered anymore, though, because for the rest of the year and through your senior year, you barely saw each other. you went to quite a few games in eleventh grade, but twelfth grade was packed with AP classes and volleyball practices. you tried to get to a basketball game when you could, but it was tough. you rarely left the gym and often times found yourself doing your homework late at night in the lounge area of it. you had something to prove in college, and you were working your ass off to get it. and paige was busy too. between playing overseas and out of state, she was rarely at school.

she managed to make a few volleyball tournaments, you attended a few of her games, and she attended your graduation, but other than that, time was passing fast, and you rarely stopped to take it all in. you had missed the family vacation that summer too. you were scheduled for summer training, but paige managed to go even after being overseas. she had sent you a text saying she missed you with a picture attached of her and your brother on the boat, which you responded back with something about how you missed her too and that you hoped she had fun with a selfie of you and your team in the school gym.

paige was giddy the entire two weeks about it.

your freshman year of college went as well as you could imagine. you were a starter for the team, you had bulked up in muscle, and you had a 4.0 GPA. and not only had you had a good year, but so did paige. you made sure to text her when she did something worth celebrating and she was always happy to hear from you. she did the same for you, making sure she never missed an accomplishment.

when she committed to the university of connecticut, your parents mailed you a uconn basketball t-shirt. you sent her a picture of you wearing it with a message saying “congrats, pretty girl <3 you’re going to do great things up there! i’ll be cheering you on the whole way”. of course, you didn’t think much of it. you had always seen paige as an extension of your brother, someone that you had always just been there, but paige thought her heart was going to fly out of her chest when she saw it. she hesitated to reply, but managed to send a quick and simple thank you back after a couple of hours. months later, you sent her another text with a photo of you and your roommates watching her play at the state championship on tv.

again that summer, you had to skip the family vacation, but she did too, so she wasn’t too beat up about it like the summer before.

through your sophomore year and her senior year, life couldn’t get any better for both of you.

until covid-19 lockdown cancelled paige’s final state championship.

she was distraught, rightfully so, at losing her chance to play in her final game for hopkins and for another chance at a championship. you sent her some apologetic texts and even a phone call because you know this meant the world to her, but it was hard to cheer her up. the future of her college career was uncertain at this point and so was yours. you had to come home from school suddenly, but luckily you didn’t have to miss any of your season.

to get away from it all, she had gone to virgina to spend time and quarantine with her friend azzi. the house was definitely quieter without her around. you thought that you would be happy to finally get to experience silence in your home, but it just felt empty instead. and your brother felt it too. one more than one occasion, he had come into your room seeking comfort about missing paige. it brought you two closer together.

as the world slowly opened back up and you were able to go to college again, you were ecstatic that this time, you would have a piece of you joining. your brother had decided to commit to creighton, just as a student though. even so, it made moving back to school away from home so much easier, and you could always trust that someone would be at your games. your parents had done their best before, but since elijah was still in high school, it was tough.

paige had an amazing freshman season and you texted her a few times to congratulate her, but you both were getting too busy to keep up like you used to. you didn’t really watch her games anymore and you didn’t text her for every game, but you managed to catch a few headlines about various awards she won.

that summer, the family vacation was put on hold. your grandparents were nervous about the pandemic given that all the kids were in college and could bring it back, so you stayed in omaha to work on your graduate school applications. your brother went back, though, mumbling something about not wanting to live in a house full of your friends or paying for summer housing.

and it was the same the next summer, too.

paige wouldn’t have gone anyway, after her injuries that season. you texted her about those, telling you how sorry you were. she didn’t get to come to your college graduation and she sent you a congratulations text to make up for it–for both graduating college and getting into the graduate program you wanted, but you understood.

and you ended up having to repeat that for her junior season. you had sympathy for her because she would have to miss out on her entire season twice in a row, something she was working so hard for.

you didn’t talk to her much beyond that, but you could imagine she was devastated.

luckily, her senior year went a lot smoother. she was fully cleared, and playing harder than ever before. after she announced that she would be returning to uconn for a 5th year, your dad called to let you know that you would be having a special family vacation at the cabin to celebrate. grandpa and grandma were healthy, paige was healthy, and it would be the first time in years that you would get to do the tradition–though it wasn’t much of a tradition anymore. you made sure that you could make it because you missed your parents, your grandparents, and truthfully, you missed paige. you didn’t have to miss your brother because you could visit him whenever you wanted, but you guess it would be fun to hang out with him just like old times.

the drive to the cabin in your parents' car was so nostalgic, you almost had the urge to cry. the familiar view of trees lining the road, though there were several new houses and stores lining the route. when you were younger, paige would ride along with your family, but this time she was driving herself. you couldn’t remember why, but you didn’t really question it.

when you pulled into the driveway, you saw your grandpa’s minivan and a brand new jeep in the driveway–a jeep you had never seen before. you furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering who the hell was at your grandparents house.

your dad put the car in park, immediately popping the trunk to get the luggage out and inside. if there was one thing about him, he certainly didn’t waste any time getting settled in here. you got out too, looking around to take it all in. you had always loved coming here, this house had so many memories.

usually, though, your grandparents were rushing to the porch at the sound of the car door to greet you with a hug and a kiss, but they hadn’t come out yet. you tried not to think about it as you grabbed your suitcase and carried it inside. you left your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, not really feeling like carrying it up to your bedroom at the moment. you could see your grandparents sitting on the back deck laughing through the big windows of their living room, so you all walked toward the door to see what had them so occupied.

your dad was first, opening the door and immediately saying, “hey, what’s the deal?”

“oh, shit! you’re already here!” your grandpa laughed, pushing himself off out of the chair to give your dad a hug. your dad quickly bent down to give your grandma a hug as she stayed seated in your chair.

“paige got here early! we must’ve gotten distracted talking about how amazing she is,” your grandma explained.

then your dad turned, opening his arms wide. “paige,” his voice was soft, “it’s so good to see you again, kid.”

she stood, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “i’ve missed you.”

when your dad stepped away, you were able to catch a glimpse of paige, and you swear, time stopped for a few seconds. she looked wildly different than the last time you saw her in person, and the livestreams and photos didn’t do her any justice. she looked grown up, like an actual adult rather than the little girl you remember running around your house. her hair was pulled into a messy low bun, probably because of the heat, and she was wearing a gray fitted tank top with black shorts and sneakers. you noticed she had definitely been spending time in the weight room by the defined muscles in her shoulders. her features were sharper, face slimmer.

you were snapped back to reality when it was your turn to hug your grandparents, giving them quick hugs before turning to paige. you tried not to make it obvious that you were feeling a whole different way for your brother’s best friend than before as you said a hello and gave her a quick, probably too quick to not be obvious, hug.

you knew it was going to be a long two weeks.

and the first week only proved that.

you found yourself staring at paige when she was doing anything–swimming, playing pickup basketball with your brother, sitting at the breakfast bar, playing cards with your family. and she definitely noticed. you made eye contact almost every single time. at first, you would immediately look away, but you started testing the waters and holding it. she almost always broke first. you hoped no one else noticed because you couldn’t help it. the veins in her hands, the accentuating lines on her abdomen, the new curve of her ass–they were all distracting.

she started getting bolder too. touching your waist or back just barely whenever she went by you, bringing you snacks or drinks, and making sure to always be on your team when you were playing games. your dad and your brother would snicker quietly, clearly assuming paige’s crush never subsided.

it was friday night, and your grandparents had invited a few of the other families that lived close to come hang out a few hours ago. it was normal, you knew all the families that were coming, and so did your parents. your dad had grown up in this house, so they had all known each other for years. you had been talking to one of the girls for a while, trying to catch up, but you could feel paige’s eyes trained on you.

she was sitting across the deck from you at the table with your brother and a couple of the other kids from the other families. you didn’t know what they were talking about, but paige didn’t seem too interested at all. the only thing that was holding her attention was you and the seltzer she was holding in her hands.

after around twenty minutes, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. only, you didn’t even really have to go to the bathroom, you just could feel yourself getting antsy under the intense stare.

paige excused herself too, mumbling something about how she needed another drink. your brother didn’t see you go inside, nor was he really paying attention, so he didn’t even say anything as she chugged the rest of her seltzer and pushed the back door open.

you had gone to the bathroom upstairs to splash some cold water on your face and give yourself some light affirmations in the mirror about how you would be able to get through this week without any issues or slip ups. it wasn’t really convincing, but you managed to peel yourself away from the bathroom to join your family anyway. you knew that if your dad even suspected that you irish-goodbyed him at his own childhood home, he would come searching for you to drag you back out–especially since he had been drinking. you took a deep breath before you started down the stairs, trying to calm yourself down so paige didn’t notice she was getting to you.

when you got to the bottom of them and walked down the hall, you saw paige in the kitchen leaning against the counter. she was gripping it like it would run away, her head hung between her arms like she was struggling with something. with the way it made her muscles pop, you wouldn’t be surprised if drool started dripping from your lips.

“hey,” you said casually as you entered the kitchen.

her head immediately snapped up to look at you, and she seemed stunned for a few moments, too shocked to even reply. she shouldn’t have been, she knows you are here and she followed you inside. you visibly chuckled at her, but she just watched you as you moved past her to grab a drink from the fridge.

“need another?” you asked, grabbing a random can from the shelf and holding it out for her. she stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching out for it.

“thank you,” she said quietly.

you cracked your own can open to take a drink, holding eye contact with her while doing so. she held her breath, clearly nervous about where this was going but you had a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“i’m glad you’re here,” you say, leaning your hip next to her hands against the counter. “i was beginning to think i’d never see you again.”

she pushed herself off, copying your position while facing you to use the height difference to her advantage. holy shit, when had she gotten this tall? well, she had been that height since high school, but the new body made her seem more powerful in her stance. she used to be a lanky kid who grew too fast for own body to keep up. she seemed to have gathered her composure as she smirked.

“are you saying you missed me?” she asked, seemingly assuming that she could make you nervous. you were a little nervous, but you knew you had the upper hand in this situation.

you tilted your head flirtatiously. “yeah, i did, but i didn’t expect you to look so...” you paused like you were coming up with a word to use, “different.”

she raised her eyebrows in shock, struggling to swallow from nervousness as her lips parted. you glanced at them then back at her eyes, knowing what you were doing. she seemed to be searching any part of her brain for a coherent reply, but was coming back with nothing.

you just smiled, taking a step back and walking back onto the porch to rejoin the conversation you had abandoned. and for the rest of the evening, you could feel paige’s eyes on you again, but you made zero effort to give her a glance back.

after the party had died down and it was far later than you intended to be awake, you sat in one of the chairs that had been left out with a drink in your hands, watching the water. you were below the deck, so just slightly out of the line of sight from the house so no one could see you and come interrupt your moment. that is, until you heard paige walking down the rickety old wooden steps. she jumped a little, like she had not expected to see someone there, but quickly recovered. you watched her for a moment before gesturing to the chair next to you in a silent command for her to sit down. she did, of course she did.

“what are you doing awake?” you ask in an accusing way, like she was in trouble.

she laughed at your tone. “trying to figure out what different means.”

admittedly, you were not expecting that answer or even anything similar to it. it took you a little off guard, but you were able to not make it obvious. she sat back in her chair casually, staring at you with intensity, waiting for the answer, and you did your best to match it.

“what do you want it to mean?” you asked.

“i don’t know,” she shrugged. “you’re the one who said it.”

you chuckled and looked away, nodding at her words. she obviously had an answer she was searching for, and you had one that probably aligned with it, but you did not want to give it to her right away.

“you’re not gonna tell me?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

you shook your head stubbornly, making eye contact with her again. “i think you know.”

the air between you two was suddenly loaded, tiptoeing over the line that had never been crossed. you both knew where this was going, and you could cut the tension with a knife. though, she didn’t seem very patient to get the answer.

her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. she hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware of how close your chairs were. “i want you to say it.”

you pretended to think about it for a moment, even adding a little hum for dramatic effect.

“nah.”

you figured that would be the end of that, that you had made paige just nervous enough to back down. she would go back into the house and overthink this interaction. but she didn’t. she leaned in toward you, her eyes shifting to stare at your lips instead. she stopped just before your noses were touching.

“c’mon,” she murmured, brushing your noses together. “tell me.”

you consider giving into her game. you consider closing the gap and pressing your lips together in the kiss she’s obviously baiting for, to give her exactly what she wants. what she’s been waiting for.

but you don’t.

you bite your lip, turning your head forward toward the water.

“shoot,” you say as you stand, “i’m beat. think i better get to bed.”

she stares up at you with parted lips in shock, thinking she was going to finally get what she wanted. and she will, you intend to, but not right now. you want to tease her, string her along a bit more, make her desperate for it. but you didn’t have much time left to do so.

you walk back up the stairs of the porch without looking back at her, proudly smirking to yourself like it was an accomplishment. she stares at you as you do, not even able to be annoyed at how that played out. she doesn’t know why. she always gets what she wants, so she didn’t know why she wasn’t angry, let alone annoyed.

when you made it up to your bedroom, you closed the door softly to not wake anyone and flopped onto the bed. you stared at the ceiling with your arms crossed across your chest, thinking about how you were going to approach this. part of you wishes you had just given in and gotten what you both wanted, but this was fun. it was fun to know that you had power over her, the girl who would call herself the ultimate rizzler. maybe she was back at school, but you had yet to see it. here, she was all nervous smiles and glances and gentle touches that could be mistaken for something else. you had been the ones leading the conversations that were loaded with anything but friendliness.

even though he made jokes about it sometimes, you wondered if elijah would be mad about this. apparently, he used to love telling paige that you were home or that you’d be at a game to test her and see if she would react. she tried not to, but everyone could see right through it. which you had just learned this week from your dad after he had a few too many drinks. paige tried to play it cool, but you didn’t miss the blush that rose to her cheeks as he told the stories.

well, even if he would be mad, it’s not like you have to tell him. it’s not like you’re asking for her hand in marriage. you doubt that paige would tell him anything because why would he want to hear that stuff about his sister? you definitely wouldn’t want to hear about him from girls that he hooked up with.

the sound of a door closing in the hallway broke you from your thoughts. you knew it was paige’s, that she had finally come inside for the night. even though you wanted to keep her waiting longer, your body betrayed you as you pushed yourself off the bed and walked to your door. your hand hesitated on the knob for a second, because really, what were you doing? but you opened it nonetheless.

unfortunately, paige’s door was directly in front of yours. to make up for it, you stood stupidly in front of her door, contemplating just turning around and going back to bed. you didn’t know what to say or do once she opened it–if she opened it anyway. you almost wish she wouldn’t.

before you could even convince yourself not to, you knocked on the wood twice in an attempt not to wake anyone else up. you could hear shuffling from within the room, making your mind wander to what paige could be doing in there. you didn’t have too long to think about it before the door was creaking open, though.

her expression was a mix of emotions–both surprised and not surprised to see you standing there. surprised that you were standing there knocking on her door in the middle of the night, but not surprised because you were the only other person awake. she stared at you for a few moments, not really knowing what to say.

you didn’t know what to say either, but it didn’t matter. you reached your hand out to fist the collar of her shirt, pulling her down to your height and crashing your lips together. she made a surprised sound in the back of her throat, but quickly recovered to kiss back with an open-mouthed, heated intensity that you weren’t expecting. her hands flew to your waist, using them to tug you into the room. you used your other hand to close the door, so she took advantage of the opportunity to press your back against it, pressing your bodies together. you didn’t even realize that your hand had released the grip on her collar and had a light grip on her throat.

you must’ve accidentally squeezed because she whimpered against your lips, snapping you back to reality. you pulled away breathlessly, a look of disbelief in her eyes. you just smiled, leaning forward to give her another peck.

she tried to chase you, but you just whispered, “goodnight, paige.”

and with that, you spun on her heel, opening the door and closing it behind you. your heart was racing from what you just did, and you almost wanted to skip back to your room from the giddiness. that wasn’t even your intention, but you knew it would definitely linger in her mind.

behind the door, paige was staring at it in shock. her hands were still in the same position they were in on your waist and her jaw dropped. one, because she couldn’t believe that actually happened. and two, because you really did her like that. like, what the actual fuck? she had half a mind to march her ass across the hallway and give her a piece of her mind.

she didn’t, though. she did exactly what you wanted–didn’t sleep, just stared at the ceiling wondering if she was hallucinating.

you thought that you would probably do the same, but as soon as you laid down, you found yourself falling asleep.

at around 10am the following morning, there was a knock at your door. you groaned loudly, extremely annoyed that someone decided to wake you up from the best sleep you had in months. they were polite, at least, because they were waiting for you to answer instead of barging in (so it definitely was not your parents). you huffed as you sat up in bed, throwing the covers dramatically and padded over to the door.

you turned the knob and pulled it open to see paige standing there with a disheveled bun like she had been tossing and turning all night, and a blank look like she was trying to mask how she was really feeling. it woke you up, suddenly remembering what you had done to her last night. before you could even say anything, she was using one hand to push you back into the room and closed the door behind her, eyes on yours the whole time.

“good morning to you, too,” you laughed.

“you think this is funny?” she deadpanned. it definitely caught you a little off guard, and had you wondering if she was genuinely angry at you. you definitely wouldn’t blame her if she was, but you also didn’t really think it was that serious.

“maybe a little,” you shrugged nonchalantly. though, you didn’t really feel nonchalant at the moment. your heart was pounding against your ribcage and you were struggling to control your breathing, but you hoped it wasn’t obvious to her.

she blew a laugh out of her nose, clearly unamused, and rolled her eyes. you watched as she bit the inside of her cheek, but you couldn’t tell if she was trying to figure out what to say next or if she was genuinely upset.

“y’know what you do to me?”

you tilt your head slightly, raising your eyebrows like you’re confused–playing dumb. obviously you do, you both know that, but this was unclaimed territory. you had never really been friends, let alone anything close to where you are now, and everything changed last night. you would never be able to take back the one thing that completely changed the trajectory.

“tell me,” you say so softly it was almost a whisper.

“i think you know,” she replies with a smirk, copying you from last night.

you hesitate for a few moments to weigh your options on where to go from here. you know you could keep asking and she would probably tell you, but she’s even more stubborn than you. you could leave her hanging for the third time in twenty-four hours, but what’s the fun in that?

“i do.”

she swallows hard, clearly not expecting an upfront answer like that. she completely expected you to dance around the subject like you had been–to keep her wondering and hanging onto an idea that she wasn’t even sure was real. not that she had a reason to doubt anymore after last night. her face was unreadable, but you could tell that she was nervous now. she didn’t expect that answer, and now wasn’t really sure what to do. she didn’t think she’d get this far, to be honest.

instead of waiting for her to make the first move like you planned, you put your hands on her waist, fisted her shirt, and backed her against the door like she did to you last night. her breathing sped up enough for you to see the shallow rise and fall of her chest, relishing in the power you had at the moment. you pressed your bodies together and brushed your noses together, not wanting to close the gap yet. her lips parted as you did so, her eyes closing in anticipation.

a smile rises to your face when you decide to pull away again, loving this game you were playing. she seemed to not return the feeling, though, because she automatically reached out to grab your throat and crash your lips together again. you expected it to be intense and fast like last night, but she kissed you slow and sensually like she was trying to savor the moment–like she didn’t know if this would ever happen again.

you loosened the grip on her shirt to press your hands on the small of her back and press your bodies impossibly closer. she tangled her other hand in your hair, but didn’t pull.

“you’re drivin’ me crazy,” she whispered into your mouth, but didn’t give you any time to reply.

the heat of your lips and bodies pressing together was more passionate than you had ever felt in your life. you didn’t know what it was–if it was the anticipation or the amount of want between the two of you. she was definitely still holding back, and you wanted paige to let her guard down fully.

the hand she had on your throat slid down slightly to your chest, using the position to lightly push you backwards. you didn’t even take the time to think about what she was doing, but her intentions were clear when the back of your legs hit the bed. she gave you a light shove so you fell backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress with a soft thud. she didn’t waste any time grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head as she smirked down at you, exposing her black nike sports bra.

you figured she would immediately crawl on top of you to continue kissing you, but she sank to her knees in front of you. you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch her curiously. she held eye contact as her palms smoothed over the skin of your legs from your ankles up to your knees. then, she leaned forward to place a soft kiss along the inside of your knee, trailing up your thighs slowly with close-mouthed pecks. when she reached the hem of your shorts, she placed a kiss to your other leg and trailed back down to your other knee, her hands coming up to smooth over your thighs.

wetness pooled in your shorts at the touch. even though you would be content going slow if you were in her position, you wanted her to speed up and move to where you wanted her the most. it was only okay when you teased like this.

and you thought she was going to give in as you watched her face get closer, but instead, she used both hands to push up your t-shirt to expose your abdomen and placed a kiss just above the waistband of your shorts. she started to trail her kisses up your stomach toward your breasts, but you interrupted her.

“paige,” you groaned in annoyance, trying to resist the urge to push her head down.

she just laughed against your skin. “what?” she asked with a combination of amusement and innocence dripping in her tone.

you rolled your eyes with an exasperated sigh. honestly, you had no right to be complaining after last night, but that was your game to play. you were supposed to be the one in control of the situation, not her.

“i thought you were patient,” she accused playfully.

“i never claimed to be,” you replied, but you knew exactly what she was referring to anyway.

she shook her head, a light chuckle leaving her lips. one of her hands traveled from your shirt slowly down your stomach to your shorts, teasingly tracing over your clit through the fabric. the sensation was more intense than you thought it would be due to your lack of underwear. you expected her to move her hand again when she noticed, just to keep you waiting, but instead, she lowered her hand and mouthed over it through the fabric. you sighed, placing one of your hands on the back of her head.

her pointer finger hooked around the waistband of your shorts to tug them down. you lifted your hips directly into her face to assist her, causing her to laugh, but you didn’t even think about it. you just wanted her to stop wasting time, to stop teasing. once your shorts are off, she doesn’t do anything for almost an entire minute, just stares at you to take it all in. she almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

“paige,” you impatiently groan again, “seriously.”

without any hesitation, she leans forward and flattens her tongue to lick a stripe from your entrance up to your clit while making sure she’s holding eye contact the whole time. you bite back a moan, not wanting anyone in the house to hear you. but when she starts to circle your clit with her tongue at a fast pace that you weren’t expecting, you can’t hold it back. her hips buck forward slightly and thighs clench together at the sound, loving that she is the one making you feel like that.

you should’ve known she would be good at this. you’re sure she has all the girls falling to her knees back in storrs, connecticut. she probably has so many girls crying over her, wishing they would be next, and you say a silent thank you to whoever taught her to do this so you could experience it.

one of her fingers traces your entrance lightly causing you to grasp her hair, probably messing up her bun, but neither of you care. she pushes two fingers inside you and your back arches off the mattress. they curl inside you as she pumps them in and out slowly. the contrast of her tongue quickly circling and her fingers moving slowly makes you buck into her face, and she moans against you. you can’t help the way your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling.

she pulls her mouth away to gauge your reaction, speeding up her fingers and using her thumb against your clit to make up for it.

“does that feel good?” she asks lowly, but you couldn’t help but notice that she sounds genuine too. like she isn’t confident in her abilities–her amazing abilities, mind you.

you open your eyes to meet hers, seeing a genuinely curious glint in her eyes. “so good, paige. you’re doing so good for me.”

her eyes widen, hips bucking forward again. you hadn’t even touched her yet but she was having to squeeze her thighs together to keep from coming in her pants. she couldn’t help it though–the teasing, the sensual kisses, your moans caused by her. it was shocking too, she doesn’t know if she has ever gotten off this much and this fast just from pleasing someone else. maybe it’s because it’s you, the girl she’s been waiting for to finally look her way.

her mouth is back on you again, but this time, instead of her fingers moving slowly while her tongue quickly swirls, her fingers are moving fast too. they’re curling inside you desperately trying to find your spot. it’s so much, and you can feel the pressure building in your stomach already.

“shit,” you moan, trying to hold back your release. “fucking me like you were made for me.”

but then she moans against you again, and that’s all you need before your stomach tenses and you’re coming on her fingers. she keeps the pace, working you through it relentlessly which drags it out much longer than you expected it to last.

you twitch as you begin to come down, but paige doesn’t stop.

“w-wait–fuck, paige,” you stutter out. your hips attempt to buck away, but she throws her arm across your hips and squeezes to keep you in place, and your unoccupied hand presses against her forehead. you apply a little pressure, but not enough to actually push her off. it’s too much but it feels so good–you can’t decide if you want her to keep going or stop.

“i’m not done,” she murmurs–or maybe whimpers is the more appropriate word.

you moan loudly as your thighs clench tightly around her head, but she doesn’t care. she continues to fuck her fingers into you at an intense pace, circling her tongue like she wasn’t losing any stamina. it only takes about a minute before you’re falling apart again, but you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

with your head thrown back against the mattress, you don’t even notice the way she’s clenching her thighs to hide her own orgasm.

luckily (or unluckily), she slows her pace this time to help you work through it. when you finally came down, she pulled her fingers out causing you to wince at the sudden emptiness. then, she slowly stood, trying to cover up the way her legs were shaking a little bit. she sheepishly bit her lip, hoping you didn’t notice the way she had just came in her pants in a touchless orgasm.

you do notice her legs shaking, though. you sit up, placing your hands on the sides of her thighs and smoothing over the skin.

“you’re shaking,” your voice is soft as you say it, and she can’t meet your eyes.

your hands quickly move up to tug her shorts down her thighs. when she realizes what you’re doing, she scrambles to help you. after she steps out of them, you move your hands to her hips to tug her into your lap. she complies, straddling your thighs awkwardly. clearly, she didn’t do this often either. you groan when she settles herself down completely, feeling the wetness through her underwear brush against the muscle of your thigh. not only that, but the way her clit is pulsing too.

“fuck, paige,” you moan, looking up at her with amazement, “did you come already?”

“no,” she replies a little too quickly. but you don’t miss the way her cheeks turn red.

“you’re so cute,” you laugh, leaning forward to press your lips together.

she cradled your face in her hands as your lips move together slowly. you used the placement of your hands on her hips to grind her against your thigh.

“is that okay?” you whispered against her lips.

she started to grind her hips slowly on her own, then whispered, “yes.”

“i want you to make yourself come again.”

you pulled your lips away from hers to kiss down her neck, nipping at the skin while making sure you didn’t leave any marks so she didn’t get in trouble with her coaches. she threw her head back in a moan at the feeling.

“you look so good in my lap like this,” you reply. “so desperate for me.”

her head drops to bury itself in your neck, a whimper leaving her lips. one of her hands gripped at the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling slightly. you couldn’t help but smile at her even though she couldn’t see it.

“feels so good,” she whispered hesitantly like she was nervous to say anything. “never want to stop. i could fuck you all day.”

you moan as your hips bucked up to meet hers causing your thigh to press against her harder.

“fuck, i’m gonna–” she didn’t even get to finish her sentence before she was crying out and coming hard on your thigh, still sensitive from her orgasm earlier.

“that’s it, baby. so good for me,” you say, smoothing your hands over her back in a comforting way.

when she came down and stopped twitching, you wrapped your arms tightly around her waist and pulled her back as you allowed your back to meet the mattress, her lying on top of you. giggles erupted from her lips at the action which caused you to laugh at the adorable sound.

“we should do that again sometime.”

#paige bueckers x reader #wlw smut #wcbb x reader #wbb x reader #sub!paige bueckers

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missadangel · 1 month ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 6: Truth or Dare

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: “What about me?” asked Pride. “Shut up,” replied Jealousy. Lust laughed hard. You finally get that you can’t run from your feelings anymore, but what the hell? Or are you too late?

Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time.

Chapter Word Count: 12,5k, oops I did it again!! HOT (SMUT) CHAPTER ALERT! , feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk.

authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

Getting out of bed in the morning was a total struggle. The memories from last night felt like a heavy weight, making you feel crushed. You thought you knew how you felt, but then again, you weren’t so sure. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

You definitely needed to talk to someone, or maybe even see a therapist.

But you couldn’t chat with Zoe yet; you’d come home late the night before, and now you had to rush off to work. Perhaps you could catch up with her when you return later that evening.

Zoe was still sprawled out on the couch, her ankle too painful to even rise for a bathroom break. You made her a sandwich before heading out.

As you walked to the subway, you found yourself scrolling through relationship advice sites on your phone. You knew it was a bit silly to seek guidance online, but what could it hurt to take a peek? After sifting through a bunch of silly sites and endless ads, a social Q&A platform caught your eye. One question stood out:

"How am I supposed to tell him I love him too, but I'm not ready?"

Ah just what you were looking for.

You scrolled to read all the answers.

clickcrazecreations

It is okay to not return the statement, to say “thank you but I'm not ready”, to tell the person that you are not ready to be shackled by their love and affection.

But that wasn’t your issue—you were ready;-almost ready- that wasn’t the real problem.

wanderlustchronicles

Seriously, think twice! If you can't answer, it might mean you're not really in love, girl! It's okay to move on and find someone who makes you happy!

Hey! Who said you didn’t love him? And you knew he made you happy.

oprahwindfury

Wait, you found a guy who told you he loved you first, and you couldn't reply? Seriously? In this day and age with dating being tough, that's wild! You need a good kick in the ass. You bet I will.

That comment scared you a little and made you feel weird. Why did she sound so angry?

hopelessromantic

Is he handsome? I'll say yes to him. Give me his number.

What the heck? Those online comments were really getting on your nerves.

fartnroses

It’s pretty simple, come on! Follow your heart instead of... No, I’m not talking about that squishy thing!

You were just closing the page when you realized the most sensible comment.

agnespire

Love requires Courage. Take a hard look at your fear of saying these words to him. Then, if you love him, tell him so. Good communication is key in a relationship. This means pushing yourself into situations that may not be so comfortable at first. It’s called growth. Grow together. Share your feelings. Honor your feelings for him. Most of all, confront fears you have about anything and everything, and acknowledge that all negative emotions stem from fear. Kill it! Choose Love.

Choosing love.

Maybe it was that simple.

Courage.

Maybe that's exactly what you need.

The elevator bell chimed as Oliver stepped into Harry's apartment on the 72nd floor. His phone rang just then, and he answered it while scanning the room for Harry.

“Damn gossipmongers, they don’t waste any time. Get that story taken down from every site and warn them we’ll sue their asses if they keep running with it,” he said, fuming as he ended the call. His eyes continued searching for Harry, darting toward the bedroom but finding it empty.

He ventured into the living room and discovered Harry in the last place he expected: sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling over the side. Whiskey bottles littered the floor, and the heavy scent of alcohol mixed with something else—cigarette smoke.

What the hell?

He’d quit smoking almost a decade ago.

This wasn't good.

Oliver leaned in and gave Harry a gentle nudge on the shoulder. “Harry? You okay?”

Harry mumbled something incoherent. Oliver leaned closer, trying to catch it, and realized he was murmuring your name.

Sighing, Oliver stood up. “Seriously, Harry! Wake up!” This time he poked him a bit harder.

Harry blinked awake and sat up, coughing as he tried to shake off the grogginess.

“Cigarettes? Really?”

“I have my reasons,” he replied, still half-asleep and grumpy.

Placing his hands on his hips, Oliver surveyed the scene. “Dude, last night... I thought you and her had it all figured out, but apparently not.”

“Harry! Ollie!” Maria called out as she rushed in from the elevator, her eyes widening in shock. “Sweet Jesus!”

“Good morning to you, too,” Oliver said, smiling sheepishly.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked, grimacing as she took in the chaos. “I thought…”

Oliver shook his head. Maria sighed in frustration.

Harry, nursing the terrible headache from his night of heavy drinking, pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and temple. His hair was a mess, and he was still in the same tuxedo pants with his bow tie nowhere in sight.

“That dress. Isn’t it—” Oliver pointed to the black dress Harry was loosely holding, not even realizing he was still clutching it.

Suddenly aware, Harry sheepishly placed the dress back on the couch.

“The dress she gave back,” Oliver concluded, looking astonished.

“Are you kidding me?” Maria said, staring at him in disbelief.

Harry frowned, holding the dress back up to his nose. “Smells like her, okay?” he murmured, looking like a kid with his favorite candy.

“That’s fantastic! Bravo!” Maria clapped her hands together mockingly. “Who are you, and what have you done to my buddy Harry?”

Harry, ignoring the banter, picked up a pack of cigarettes and searched for any left inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver snatched the pack from his hands.

“Give it back!” Harry barked.

“Stop it! You’ve been clean for years; you can’t start again now.”

A tug-of-war began as Harry reached for it again.

Maria crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You guys are acting like kids fighting over a toy.” She glanced at her watch. “Just so you know, it’s Monday,” she added, putting extra emphasis on her point.

Oliver suddenly froze.

“Give me a break today,” Harry whined, seizing the moment to grab his cigarette pack. He pulled one out and stuck it between his lips. “Where’s that damn lighter?”

“Harry, it’s 7:40 a.m.”

“I’m in no shape to go to work. Just email me the presentation details, and I’ll get to it when I’m feeling better,” he said, finally spotting the lighter under the pillow.

Oliver yanked the cigarette from his lips. “Dude, it’s Monday, and the housekeeper’s coming to clean your place at 8 o'clock. You get what I mean?”

“Oh, so now you get my point, huh, you geniuses?” Maria mocked.

Harry stiffened and murmured, “I can’t let her see me like this.”

“Can’t let her see you like this? She shouldn’t see you or any of us here, man! The whole thing will be revealed!”

“Well, it was bound to happen. Let it be,” Maria chimed in.

Harry squinted at her and stood up, but dizziness swept over him. “Whoa, I think I’m still feeling the effects of last night’s drinks.”

“How much did you even drink?” Maria scolded.

Oliver grabbed his arm and glanced at Maria. “Come on, help me out. We need to get this big guy out of here.” “Are we really going to kidnap him from his own apartment? Seriously?” she whimpered, but she slipped under Harry’s other arm to assist him. “Ugh, you smell like an ashtray, hermano.”

They made their way to the elevator, and Oliver pressed the button. “You hold him up, and I’ll grab his things.”

“Get that dress out of sight!” Harry called. “She can’t see it.”

Oliver nodded and dashed back inside.

“Are we in high school or something? I’m a 42-year-old mother; I’m too old for this. You need to come clean to that girl already,” Maria muttered.

“Stop whining. You’ve been in worse situations. Have you forgotten how many times I’ve pulled you out of a mess?”

“Hey, that was when I was in my 20s! Plus, I’ve never been as pathetic as you!”

“Yeah? Who was the one crying on that married ship captain’s doorstep for hours? I got slapped in the face by his wife because of you.”

Maria swallowed hard, averting her gaze. “You really do have a good memory for a drunk.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Oliver said as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button.

When they hit the ground floor, they rushed toward the exit, but when Oliver spotted you approaching through the glass door, he froze again. “She’s coming! Turn around now!”

“There’s no other way out,” Maria snapped.

“The other elevator!” Harry pointed.

“That makes sense,” Oliver agreed.

They hurried to that elevator and hit the button. Luckily, it was on that floor, and when the door opened, they slipped inside. Oliver grumbled as he pressed the buttons in a frenzy.

Unaware of everything, you stepped inside the apartment. Just as you turned to look in that direction, you heard the elevator doors closing. Oliver, Harry, and Maria breathed a sigh of relief as you walked straight to the staff's quarters to change.

Oliver kept his finger on the door-close button, waiting.

“I think we’re safe,” Oliver grinned.

“What a morning,” Maria muttered.

Then someone called the elevator to the tenth floor, and it started moving.

“What are you doing, man? We need to get out of here now!” Harry grunted.

“What can I do? I can't keep pressing the button every second!”

When the elevator arrived on the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a little boy frowning at them, school bag slung over his shoulder. "Were you the ones keeping the elevator busy? That’s so wrong."

Harry and Oliver shared an awkward glance, embarrassed.

“Sorry, little buddy,” Harry forced a smile.

“Going to school, huh?” Oliver asked nervously.

“Well, I was, but now I’m going to be late thanks to you!” The boy sniffled, shaking his head. “Drunks, seriously.”

Maria covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. The little boy stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

After an awkward ride down, they finally stepped outside. Maria turned toward her car and said, “All we needed was to get scolded by a little kid. Thank you, Harry, for this wonderful morning."

“I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous,” Oliver laughed.

“Come on, get in, you big babies,” Maria said, pressing the key fob to unlock her car.

“Where to?” Harry asked, opening the door.

“To get scolded by another kid.”

“Your place?”

“Well, if you can’t stay in your own house, what choice do you have? Get in, sneaky ass.”

Before hopping into the car, Harry glanced up at the top floor of the building—his apartment. A sense of sadness washed over him, knowing you would have to clean up the mess he left behind.

“Oh, my God…”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sight—and the smell—caught you off guard. What on earth had happened here? Did they throw a party last night or something? Clearly, the owner had his share of trouble, maybe he was not so innocent after all.

First things first, you rushed to the windows, flipped the hidden lever, and let some fresh air flow through. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed a big garbage bag and started clearing the floor of empty bottles and cigarette butts from the overflowing ashtray. As you cleaned, your curiosity kicked in. It couldn’t have been a wild party; only one couch was askew while the others remained untouched and tidy. The kitchen showed no signs of food; just a multitude of empty glasses scattered around.

You scanned the room—no lipstick on any glasses, no hair on the floor, so it was obvious no woman had crashed here. Maybe the two guys just shared a few drinks and chatted? Or maybe the owner just got dumped or something.

You smiled yourself and shook your head.

"Just do your job, girl. It's none of your business," you muttered.

Meanwhile, Harry sat in Maria's living room, staring blankly at the screen. "What are you, Sherlock Holmes?" He smirked.

"Is she suspicious?” Oliver asked.

“She was at first, but I think we're good,” Harry said, flopping onto the couch.

“For now,” Maria chimed in, pouring herself a glass of water. “But she’ll figure it out sooner or later and give you a good kick on the-- Oh, is someone awake?"

Maria’s daughter, Mia, came into the room, spotted Harry, and smiled. “Uncle Harry!”

Harry sat up and patted her head. “What’s up, darling? How’s it going?”

“Fine, but are you sick or something?” she asked with concern.

“Just a bit tired,” he replied, stretching out on the couch.

"Or hangover?" she grinned.

Harry chuckled. "Smart girl."

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Oliver said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Same old, school stuff,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Mia, eat your breakfast; I’ll take you to school,” Maria said, pointing to the plate on the counter.

“You skipped work, so I should get to skip school too, right?” Mia muttered.

Maria frowned, “Who said we skipped work, smartypants? Now hurry up, or you’ll be late!”

Mia huffed but sat down. “If you didn’t skip work, why are you both here while everyone else is working? And why’s Uncle Harry in Dad’s shirt?”

Maria chuckled, “Because he got kicked out of his own apartment.”

Mia took a big bite of her toast and looked at Harry inquisitively. “Oh! Did you leave your key inside? Mom did it once.”

“Thanks for bringing that up, kiddo,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, we’re late! Just eat that on the way,” she added, grabbing her school bag and urging Mia to finish her juice.

“Good luck at school,” Harry waved as Mia headed toward the door.

“Catch you later, princess,” Oliver called back.

Mia waved goodbye, and as Maria followed her out, she turned back to Harry. “You’d better be in better shape by the time I get back, Romeo,” she warned before closing the door behind her.

Oliver turned to Harry, “She’s right, man. You need to pull yourself together; you look worn out. Even a shower didn’t lift your spirits. Want me to whip you up something to eat?”

Harry let out a deep sigh. “No, thanks. I don’t have an appetite.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Okay, that has me worried. There’s definitely something you’re not saying.”

“Well, I couldn’t say it in front of Maria, but I’ve got an issue,” Harry finally admitted.

“Yeah, I can see that. But it looks like you’ve got more than one thing going on,” Oliver said, grinning. But then he noticed the seriousness in Harry’s face and softened. “What can I do? Just tell me what you need.”

Harry huffed, swallowing hard. “I need her.”

“Dude. Tell me something I don't know."

He huffed again.

"Okay, she’ll come around if you just give it some time—”

“You don’t get it,” Harry snapped, sitting up to face Oliver. “I...really...need...her,” he emphasized, his breathing steadying as he spoke.

Oliver frowned, sensing the weight of his words. “Go on,” he urged gently.

“Every thought I have revolves around her. That night in Paris haunts me…her skin, her scent, her...”

Oliver raised a hand to stop him. “Whoa. I get it, man. No need to go into detail.”

“The memories consume me, and they’ve left me in a real bind,” he said frankly. "It's like a unique kind of erotic film that continuously plays in my mind, and she is the only actress. But I can't do anything; I'm just watching in awe."

“Can't do anything? But, I mean, come on. You—surely you’ve tried—”

“Everything. From the erotic to the pharmaceutical.”

Oliver chuckled, unable to help himself. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but this is just bizarre, man. It’s oddly romantic too,” he said, laughing again.

“I guess it's because I’ve never faced rejection before. All I can think about is her. Maybe that’s how my body reacts, and maybe I’m—”

“In love.”

A short silence hung in the air. “Yes, I am,” Harry admitted.

“Well, If you ask me, you haven’t really tried everything yet,” Oliver suggested.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, curious.

“Listen, it doesn’t have to be about hooking up with her to solve your mechanical issues, you know? There are plenty of women out there who would be interested—like through escort services or sex workers.”

“No, never!” Harry barked. “I can’t cheat on her. Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Cheating? Is she your wife? You’re not even dating! That’s not cheating, man.”

“It wouldn’t even matter. It wouldn't work. I can’t think about anyone else. I just want her, only her.”

“Alright, but I’m out. You’re asking me to help with something I can’t fix. Plus, that girl you "want" is super stubborn. It’s definitely not going to be easy.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” he grumbled.

Oliver stood up, shrugging. “Try to get some sleep. Maybe that’ll help clear your head.”

Harry nodded and flopped back on the couch, opening his tablet to check what you were doing. Oliver shook his head when he caught sight of the goofy smile spreading across Harry’s face.

Once he stepped into the garden, he pulled out his phone and called Maria. “Hey it's me. Listen, Harry's got a bigger problem than we realized. I think you need to step in now.”

After finally wrapping up the cleaning of the apartment, thoughts of Harry filled your mind as you stepped outside. He had been on your mind all day, especially since he hadn’t reached out with a text or call since last night. You couldn’t shake the feeling of how much you missed his playful messages.

The nagging worry that you might have upset him echoed in your mind, driving you a bit crazy.

But how could you express your feelings when you weren't fully ready?

When the moment to speak your truth arrived, you wanted to pour your heart out.

You shouldn’t have brushed it off as if it didn't matter, right?

As you walked down the street, the happy couples around you caught your attention, casually dropping “I love you” into their conversations. In the past, you would have thought little of it, but now it felt like a constant reminder of what you were missing. Another couple strolled by, murmuring those same words. Then, on the subway, a woman sat next to you, holding hands with her boyfriend or husband. And there it was again—“I love you.”

Feeling unworthy, you got up and told the guy that you would get off at the next stop anyway, nudging him to sit next to his partner. You felt like you didn't deserve to be there next to them, especially when you couldn’t even tell the man you loved that you loved him back.

They seemed to express their feelings so effortlessly, while you struggled, so you decided it was better to step aside as a form of penance.

Yeah, you were really losing it.

When another cheerful couple boarded the train, and more declarations of love surrounded you, you reached your breaking point. You hopped off at the next station, even if it meant getting off three stops early. The heaviness of guilt was the last thing you needed, yet it hung heavily on your shoulders.

It felt as if your mind was caught in a tug-of-war, much like a dull quiz show.

Congratulations!

You've won yourself a lengthy walk home as a consolation prize!

Once you got home and recounted last night’s events to Zoe, her reaction was immediate. “He told you he loved you, and you did what? Just walked away?” she exclaimed. "Girl, are you crazy? You’re in love with him, for fuck sake! Call him right now and say you want to talk."

From the corner of the couch, you frowned at her. “I told you I’m not ready yet.”

Zoe rolled her eyes as if you had just said the most absurd thing. "If John told me he loved me, you'd be surprised how quickly my panties would fall down."

You grimaced. "Ugh, slutty much?"

"Stubborn much?" she shot back. “Don’t come crying to me if you lose him to someone else because you overthink everything.”

You let out a huff and stood up. “I’m heading to my room,” you muttered. “Good night.”

"Think about what I said! Tell him you love him before it's too late, you silly!"

Ughhhhh.

It was as if she was inside your head. You knew that if you didn’t speak up, other women would be swarming around him like a pack of hyenas.

You flopped onto your bed, feeling as though you were collapsing under the weight of it all, and sighed deeply. Checking your phone, you noticed there were no messages. You opened Instagram, scrolled through his comments on your photos filled with heart emojis, and couldn’t help but smile, even giggling like a little girl. Then you clicked on his profile and browsed through his pictures one by one. That’s when your heart began to race.

Thump, thump, thump.

Perhaps it was simply your body’s instinctive response.

Screaming.

It certainly seemed to convey your feelings more effectively than your words ever could.

You turned off your phone, placing it face down on the nightstand.

It was time to come clean.

You missed his messages, longed for the sound of his voice, craved his smile and his touch, and you knew that if this dragged on for another day, you’d toss your pride out the window without a second thought.

The next day?

The next day was even worse. You had hoped for a cheerful morning message from him, but when you picked up your phone and flipped it over to check the screen, all you found were a few advertisements—nothing from him.

Frustrated, you sat up in bed, seething with anger.

Why were you so upset?

Why did this feeling of abandonment weigh on you?

Your emotions took a turn, and frustration morphed into remorse.

Great!

In a fit of anger, you snatched your pillow and flung it against the wall. Just then, Zoe opened your door and stumbled in.

“What on earth is going on here?” The pillow landed at her feet. “Hey, do you want me to injure my other ankle too?”

You jumped out of bed and grabbed her arm, checking her ankle. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

“I think so, but you definitely don’t seem okay.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, right. You’re just great,” she teased. “And this pillow must be flying in from all the happiness.”

“Alright, that's enough. I need to head to the hotel,” you muttered as you opened your wardrobe to get ready.

“Oh, by the way! While you’re out, can you grab some ointment from the pharmacy?”

You rolled your eyes as you put on your pants. “Let me guess, you’ve used it all up, haven’t you?”

“What else am I supposed to do? I want to heal fast; I’m so over staying at home.”

"You gotta take it easy, sweetie. Just be patient."

“Well, I’m not as patient as you are, sorry.” She shot back with a grin.

"Just like that, and nobody got a clue, and the wedding went off without a hitch."

You were chatting with Bruno about how you managed to save the wedding cake at the last minute.

"Ah, cara mia, you’re great. Taking risks is crucial if you want to grab those chances. Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out, is what really counts, even if you mess up at the end," Bruno said proudly. He leaned over the counter and winked at you. "Just kidding, but seriously, try not to mess it up,” he added with a chuckle.

You laughed, but his words lingered in your mind, making your smile fade.

Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out.

Wasn’t love worth that risk?

Absolutely, it was worth it.

He was worth it.

Lost in your thoughts, you finally heard the waitress calling your name. “Huh? Sorry, what was that?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the moment.

“I was just saying that Mr. Finnegan's girlfriend and her friends are here, and she wants to see who made the dessert — which is you,” the waitress replied.

“Oh look, my assistant is on her way to becoming a chef,” Bruno said, grinning as he continued slicing the cheese.

“Or on the path to getting fired,” you muttered under your breath.

You were quite sure that Lucy didn’t like you at all.

As you walked into the dining room, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh when you saw Lucy and the two women sitting across from her. Lucy flashed a tight smile that didn’t do much to ease your discomfort. The other women were giving you the once-over, evaluating you from head to toe.

“Here’s the person who made this delicious dessert, ladies,” Lucy announced, with a fake smile.

“But isn’t that the waitress who danced with Harry Castillo at the wedding?” one of the women said, looking totally shocked.

“Aren’t you that maid?” the other woman added with growing astonishment. “The one who hacked our system, impersonated someone else, and embarrassed us in front of all our customers? How many faces do you really have?”

“Seems like she’s trying to snag both Castillo and Finnegan,” one of them remarked, glancing at Lucy with a knowing look.

"A gold digger for sure."

All three women were looking right at you, as if you owed them some kind of explanation. Even the people at the next table were tuning in, throwing you judgmental looks that only made your embarrassment and anger worse. You gripped your apron tightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

Just then, Maria entered the dining room, her eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding before her. She shared in your anger.

One of the women pushed her plate away with a grimace and said, “I can’t eat this. It’s making me feel sick.” With a little shove, the plate slid off the table and hit the floor. “Oops! Well, lucky we’ve got a cleaner around. What are you waiting for? Clean this mess up!"

You shot her an incredulous glare; this was too much.

“Looks like someone’s itching for a fight,” Maria muttered as she strode confidently towards their table. “That’s not a cleaner, that’s a maid, you illiterate bitch,” she snapped.

Everyone shifted their attention to her, including you.

“Maria—” Lucy froze, taken aback.

The woman looked annoyed and shot back, “Who the hell are you talking to?”

Ignoring her, Maria turned to the other woman, the matchmaker. “It wasn’t her who hacked your system; it was Melanie and her minions. Why are you taking your anger out on this girl? And what kind of system collapses at the slightest breach? Everyone should steer clear of this matchmaking company,” she declared, her voice rising for all to hear. “If their tech team is so incompetent they can’t protect customer credentials, consider what they’d do with your credit card info! Scammers would be the best-case scenario.”

Trembling with fury, she hissed, “And who even are you—”

“Me?" She adjusted her hair in a swift move. "María Elisa Rivera Armada,” she replied coolly, crossing her arms defiantly.

A hush fell over the room; they clearly recognized her name, her connections, and her influence. The two women exchanged nervous glances before rising to leave.

“I’d better go,” one of them muttered under her breath.

Other one joined her.

Maria stepped in front of them, her expression serious. “Are you really going to leave without apologizing to her?”

Both women turned to you, quickly avoiding eye contact. “We’re sorry,” they mumbled.

“Look at them,” Maria shot back, clearly disappointed. “You were loud enough to throw insults but now I can barely hear you.”

Lucy opened her mouth to say something but held back, choosing to steer clear of a fight with her. The women repeated their apologies and hurried out.

Maria took Lucy by the arm as she stood up. You couldn't hear over their conversation while you helped the waitress clean the floor.

“I didn’t confront you earlier for what you did to Harry, because I was caught up in my own divorce and dealing with depression." Maria said to Lucy. "But let me make this clear: if you ever mess with her again, I’ll step in before Harry ever does. Got it? Just a heads up, the crazy bitch is in town and ready to kick some ass."

Lucy narrowed her eyes defiantly. “I didn’t say anything she hasn’t done. Besides, I really don’t care if Harry likes her; I just want her to stay away from Alan.”

Maria laughed cruelly and leaned in closer. "Maybe it’s Alan who needs to keep his distance from her, don’t you think? Why don’t you go and tell your boyfriend about it and see how he reacts?"

Lucy’s face flushed with anger as she stormed out of the room.

A soft murmur spread among those eating; some must have known Maria. Unbothered, Maria took a seat in the chair left vacant by Lucy and looked at you. “Don’t just stand there like a scarecrow; come sit,” she said.

“I could have handled them too, you know,” you muttered as you settled at the table.

Maria pulled Lucy's untouched dessert plate towards her. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have to stoop to their level. You’re too good for that.” She glanced at you and winked. “You’re like an angel; keep that up.” Then she took a big forkful of dessert. “Oh, this is fucking delicious.” She took another hefty bite.

You chuckled. "Bon appétit, Mrs. Rivera. By the way, thanks for that; I wasn’t sure how to respond. I mean, I’m used to getting scolded, but those accusations were a bit much."

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. It’s been a while since I’ve acted like that, and it felt so good,” she said with a laugh.

“You were really cool,” you replied with a smile.

"I should be a bit tough on you too, you know. You deserve it," she said, eyeing the dessert.

You were taken aback. "Me? Wh-why?"

Maria shot you a serious look. “Oh, you know very well.”

Silence hung between you for a moment as you averted your gaze and sighed.

“Look, I’m not great at lying, and I’m pretty upfront, even when trouble’s on the horizon. So here’s the deal,” she said earnestly.

You nodded, sensing what was coming next.

“Listen,” Maria sighed. “I’m not going to beg you like 'He loves you—just tell him you love him back, please'. No. Let’s just cut to the chase. Are Harry’s feelings mutual or not? I need to know. Is there any hope? Because he’s like my brother, and I can’t bear to see him suffer like this. Do you understand?” she added, her tone sincere.

“Maria, I don’t want him to hurt either, but is he okay? He hasn’t called me for days,” you replied, worry creeping into your voice.

Maria smiled softly.

“I don’t really know what to do anymore. I never meant to hurt him; I would never intentionally do that,” you admitted, lowering your head.

Maria’s smile turned into one of satisfaction. She had found the answer she sought. “He’s fine,” she said coldly, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth. “Well, he will be; I’ll make sure of it as his friend.” She stood up suddenly. “But I wish you had been there; by his side, it would’ve made everything much better. But again, it’s all right.”

You stood up too, trying to grasp what she meant.

“Remember. No one is irreplaceable, not even you.”

You frowned slightly. “That’s a bit—”

“Bitchy? It’s just my protective side coming out. Harry is family to me, and I tend to be overprotective of my family.” She leaned in and spoke in a lower voice. “Here’s a warning for you: you’re on the verge of letting him slip away, so you’d better act quickly.” She winked at you before turning on her heel, leaving you in awe as you watched her walk away.

Maria hopped into the car waiting for her, Oliver was in the driver’s seat, giving her a curious look.

“Well?”

“Good news, she’s totally in love with Harry,” she said with a grin.

“Then she’ll tell him, right? That’s awesome!” he replied, looking relieved.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. Not anytime soon, anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

“She just needs a little push.”

"Alright, we need to bring them together. Should I arrange a date?"

Maria rolled her eyes. “What’s it like in that little head of yours, Ollie? You men are really simple creatures."

Oliver frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“Never mind. I’ll handle it,” she said, pulling out her phone to text.

“How? What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to give her a little nudge, get her emotions going, and light that fire.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Jealousy, Ollie. Jealousy.”

Oliver leaned in to take a look at her phone. “Stella? Oh boy, Harry’s not going to like this.”

“As long as he doesn’t find out, we’ll be fine. So you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“But what if she ends up hating Harry instead of feeling jealous? How can you be sure?”

Maria shot him a glare. “My seventy-year-old grandmother divorced my grandfather out of jealousy after fifty years of marriage. It’s one of the most primitive and powerful emotions a human can experience; it activates everything within you. Trust me—our little cat will turn into a tiger.”

It was yet another dreary morning, and you had to admit—another day without his good morning text was not going well at all.

Then there was Maria's comment. She must really have a knack for manipulation.

What did she say again?

“No one is irreplaceable.”

Did Harry actually say that, or was it her idea? No, Harry wouldn’t say something like that.

Would he?

Who knows?

He hadn’t been around for three days; maybe that’s what he thought now. You rolled over in bed, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a frustrated growl.

Why did it hurt so much?

It just made you mad. You felt like there was nothing you could do, like it was too late. You hated that feeling.

The door swung open, and Zoe peeked in. "If you're going to smother yourself, you should probably put your head under the pillow instead."

You shot her a glare. “Oh really? Why don’t you come show me how it’s done?”

She let out a wicked laugh. “So, you still haven’t called him, huh? Babe, you’re way past the ‘he should call first’ phase, don’t you think?”

You sprang up, fired up. “Don’t start on me too, Zoe! I’ve got enough people coming at me!”

She narrowed her eyes at you as you stormed out of the room. “Who else is coming at you? Although I shouldn’t be surprised! Your stubbornness must be famous!” she shouted after you.

When you got to the hotel, things just went downhill from there. You were so distracted that you messed up a bunch of things, and Bruno had to tell you to head home early. You were actually relieved because you really weren’t feeling up to working. On your way back, all you could think about was Harry. You typed out a ton of messages but ended up deleting them all before hitting send. You were itching to get the scoop about his house from Oliver so you could figure things out. You were desperate to see him. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing games or if he actually wanted you to chase after him.

But you knew you had to do something.

Just then, waiting at a red light to turn green, your phone buzzed.

Mr. Ol’man sent you a photo.

You opened the message quickly, and your heart raced as you did so without thinking.

Once upon a time, you used to have pride.

You saw the photo he sent you and froze in the middle of the crosswalk.

There was Harry, enjoying drinks in a bar with a super-hot, blonde woman, clinking glasses and laughing at the camera.

Laughing.

Happy.

With a woman.

In a bar, drinking.

Harry.

The man you loved.

The man who told you he loved you a few nights back.

Suddenly, the blaring horn of a car jolted you back to reality, realizing you were still standing in the street. You hurried across and leaned against a nearby wall to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding now, but it was all anger. It felt like fire was coursing through your veins. Then you got another message, and it only stoked the flames.

“Sorry, I sent it to you by mistake. I meant to send it to Stella.”

Stella.

Oh, come on! Seriously?

You felt a wave of anger and hurt, your body shaking as if jolted by a live wire. It took you a minute to think straight. This had to be some sort of game. There was no way it was real. It was just his way of messing with you. But what if it wasn’t?

No, you couldn’t think clearly; your mind was clouded. One emotion dominated your thoughts, taking control of your entire being.

Jealousy.

You were furious and incredibly jealous.

Tears of anger streamed down your face as you walked aimlessly down the street. While wrestling with what to do next, another message pinged on your phone.

It was from Maria.

“The King Cole Bar. Better hurry, sis; this skank’s all over Harry.”

That was the last straw.

You had to go there.

But how? You knew that place was fancy; there was no way you could walk in looking like you were right then, or in any of your clothes, honestly. In that moment, you did something rash, something that felt immature, and you’d probably regret later, but anger and jealousy took charge.

You didn’t care about the fallout.

You called her on your phone, the one saved under “trouble.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” you muttered under your breath. Sharing a limo with Melanie and Nate, and unintentionally overhearing their steamy chatter was too much to bear.

“God, just end my misery,” you thought grimly.

“Hey, we skipped our program for you tonight,” Melanie hissed. “How about a little gratitude?”

“So you two are together now? That's more disgusting than the most disgusting thing I can think of.”

“You really,” Melanie grunted.

Nate's hands were all over her. “Never mind her, baby, she's jealous of us.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah! I'm dying of jealousy!”

“Maybe not us, but you're insanely jealous of your boyfriend,” Melanie giggled. ‘’I see what you are doing, that's a lame excuse.”

“Mind your own business,” you barked.

“Exactly, honey, let's mind our own business,” Nate licked her neck.

Ugh, you looked away and ignored them, feeling nauseous.

At least Melanie, annoying as she could be, had brought you a dress and shoes.

Of course, it wasn't for nothing.

You promised to talk to Jack about her in return.

The limo pulled up near the bar and you got out. No, you jumped out, because the two of them were getting into it. You hurriedly told the limo driver to get lost, the two of them didn't even look back, they were too busy.

You sighed as you read the name of the bar from the elegant logo above the black entrance door. “This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done,” you muttered. People were looking at you with interest when they passed by the bar. Oh that's right, Melanie and her dress sense, she liked to look like a little slut.

So the red halter dress you were wearing was not so short but a bit revealing, with a deep slit on your right side that shows off your thigh with every step. You felt like a neon sign flashing, “Look at me!”

Thanks a lot, Melanie.

Did it really have to be red?

You tugged at the tight black jacket, trying to cover yourself up, but it wasn’t working. The doorman checked you out, grinning as he happily welcomed you inside.

As you stepped in, all eyes were on you, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

Just perfect.

You chose the corner table and sat down immediately, trying to ignore the stares. You covered your face with the menu and looked around.

Where the hell were they?

The stares were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. After all, you were stunning, dressed to impress, and scanning the room as if you were searching for someone special. Who could say what thoughts were running through their minds?

Finally, you spotted them—Maria, Oliver, and Harry sitting at the bar. But where was the woman from the photo he sent? You looked again. There were no blondes in sight—just a couple with other people, none that looked like her. What’s going on? Just then, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Maria.

“Looking for Stella? That photo was from last year, honey.”

You shot her a quick glance, and she winked at you with a sly grin.

Seriously?

Had she played you?

Maria nudged Harry to look your way, and the moment he turned, you quickly looked away.

The instant Harry noticed you, he nearly choked on the whiskey he was sipping, looking utterly stunned.

But honestly, you couldn’t care less; they had all been playing games with you, and you felt like a total fool.

You got up in a huff and tried to leave, but as luck would have it, you bumped into a guy. Of course, he was holding a glass of scotch, and the impact sent it splashing all over you—on your jacket, your chest, everywhere. The cold liquid, still icy, made you shiver when it hit your skin. Some even dribbled down into your expensive bra—the one you had saved up for.

Just fantastic.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, looking younger than you, his eyes glued to one spot—your breasts. You were the one who bumped into him, but he was the one needing to apologize, yes he should. He grabbed a napkin from the table, still staring at your chest like he was talking directly to it. “Can I wipe that up, p-please?” he asked, way too eager.

Seriously, was he a fucking teenager or what?

You instinctively pulled back, trying to cover yourself with your arm. “No thanks,” you replied tersely.

In that moment, three things happened at once. Maria dropped her bag right on the guy's head, Harry yanked your wrist and pulled you behind him, and Oliver stepped up next to you, giving that guy a fierce look.

“Are you a creep or what?” Maria shouted.

“How dare you touch her?” Harry barked.

“Who the hell are you people?” the guy shot back.

“I’m her boyfriend, so what?” Harry replied.

“And I’m her sister,” Maria jumped in.

“And I'm her brother,” Oliver added.

Wow, here's your saviors.

That’s when you figured it was your moment to mess with them. “Excuse me, but I don’t even know you guys, so you can sort this out on your own,” you said, not bothering to look at them. You couldn’t help but enjoy the shocked looks on their faces as you turned and headed for the exit.

“Where do you think you're going?” Harry yelled after you. He bumped into the guy, causing him to stumble, and ran after you.

Once you stepped outside, you purposely took off your jacket, making sure your wet top was on full display. “My jacket is ruined,” you said, glancing up at Harry.

People walking by stared, even whistling. Harry growled, took off his own jacket, and wrapped it around you. “You think that's funny? Are you playing games now?”

“Look who’s talking,” you shot back, frowning. “You messed with me, so we’re even now.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Messed with you?”

You gave him a swift kick with your high heel, aiming right for his leg, and he groaned. "Ahh, what the-"

“You made a fool out of me; I won’t forget that.”

He bent down, rubbing his leg where you kicked him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

With a sigh, you took your phone from your bag and showed him the photo and text that Maria had sent.

Harry’s face went from surprised to narrowed. “Maria… Now that makes sense. She took my phone and kept telling me not to call or text you.”

Just then, Maria and Oliver came out of the bar and walked up to you. Harry turned to her, clearly angry. “How could you do that?”

“Hey, I was just looking out for you! I had to step in a little, but guess what---it worked!”

Then he looked at Oliver. “You’re in this too?”

“I told her not to,” Oliver replied, sounding nervous.

Maria glared at him. “You sold me out, you cabrón.”

“Come on, I told you this wouldn’t end well,” he said.

You turned to Maria, upset. “You tricked me. Seriously, how could you?”

“Come on, you two are totally into each other. And you girl, you are dying to be with him! Just admit it!”

“Don’t you dare show your face around me again,” you said, eyeing Harry. “You too.” Then, you turned on your heel.

“Stop right there, sweetheart; you are not going anywhere,” he said, blocking your path. “We need to talk, and this time you’re not running away.”

You looked at him, surprised. “I’m not running away,” you mumbled. “If you want to talk, fine, but not out here; I’m freezing.”

He nodded, “Come here,” he said softly, putting his arm around you. “Oliver, give me the car keys.”

“Are we heading to your place?” you asked.

“No!” Harry snapped, making you jump a little.

“Not there,” Oliver added, looking uneasy.

“Oops,” Maria giggled.

What the hell was that?

You shot them a skeptical glance. “Seriously? Are you living in some kind of secret Batcave or what?"

Harry chuckled. “Very funny. The thing is, we can't go to my place because…”

“Because?”

“There’s a bit of an insect invasion,” Oliver chimed in. “The house is being fumigated, so…”

It seemed like a weak excuse, but perhaps it was the truth; you decided to stop probing. “So, where are you staying now?” you asked.

“Just at the hotel, of course,” Maria replied casually.

“Right, the hotel,” Harry mumbled.

“I’ll drive you there; you’ve had too much to drink, you can't drive,” Oliver said, heading for the car.

You turned to Harry, catching a glimpse of something strange in his expression but didn’t dwell on it. The thought of being alone with him was actually appealing.

Fuck all your pride and stubbornness.

Yeah, it was definitely time to follow your heart.

“Memories, huh?” you mutter as the elevator smoothly ascends to the top-floor suite.

Harry's gaze was locked onto you, his breath coming in steady but heavy bursts. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Was he checking out your ass?

It didn’t really matter; he could look all he wanted, and honestly, you wanted him to do more—like touch you, everywhere.

Right, why wasn’t he?

What was he waiting for?

Oh right, those damn cameras.

As you walked into the room, he clasped your hand tightly. When you reached the door, he pulled the card from his pocket, swiped it, and the door swung open. “Ladies first,” he said with a gesture, inviting you inside.

His voice was a bit shaky, making you bite your lip to keep from giggling. He followed you inside and closed the door with a firm click, almost as if he was making sure you were alone. You took off his jacket and handed it back to him, trying to keep a straight face. “Thanks for the jacket—”

And he lunged at you. He threw the jacket angrily and wrapped his arms around you, pulled you to him and captured your lips with his mouth. He kissed you passionately, longingly, hungrily, like you were his oxygen and he was underwater in a sea of lust.

“Harry," You breathed trying to break the kiss, but his lips closed in on yours again before you could utter another word. You sighed softly against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. As your hands slid down to his biceps, you clung to him, feeling the undeniable strength beneath the fabric, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"I thought we were just going to talk," you said mockingly, tilting your head to the side. His gaze remained fixed on your chest.

"Later, baby. With you dressed like that, I might not be able to concentrate. You look exquisite," he breathed, his voice laced with a seductive tone that made you weak in the knees.

A smile broke across your face, “You’re looking quite handsome yourself.”

And he truly was, his black long-sleeved shirt clinging perfectly to his well-defined frame.

The atmosphere crackled with an electric tension the moment his gaze settled on you. You craved to keep him focused solely on you, yearning for his eyes to linger endlessly. Those captivating brown eyes, glimmering like precious jewels, seemed to caress every inch of you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Your dress is soaking wet," he said breathlessly, his hands gliding over the damp fabric, brushing against your breasts. They instantly hardened at his touch, which they had been longing for. You bit your lower lip.

"It's not just my dress," you whispered slowly in his ear.

He darkly chuckled, fire licking at your veins from the heat of his gaze, “Is that so? So you’re saying that If I touch you, I will find you ready for my cock?” he asked, grinning.

“Why not find out for yourself?” you teased.

His hand suddenly found itself trailing a path towards your bare legs to between your thighs, making you gasp. Holding on to his strong arms, the feel of his fingers trailing over your skin was a wonderful, delicious shock that left you breathless.

“Playing with fire would be dangerous, you know,” he growled low, so low, it reverberated through your chest. And through the partition of the dress, that slit that split mid-thigh, he caressed up your leg, towards your hip.

You almost mewled.

Almost.

“I'm not playing,” you murmured, half panting.

He chuckled again, that dark, seductive glee escaping from him in agonizing, tantalizing waves. “You decided to be a good girl then?” he stared at you, eyes molten pools of lust. “It surprises me you acquiesced, given how stubborn you are. Hmm, maybe I should reward you,” he whispered while his hand still deliciously trailed a lazy path over and around.

Who was playing now?

It sure wasn't you.

You were already past the playing part, you were dripping.

He knew, of course, he fucking knew, without even having to touch...

But he did touch, sliding his hands under your dress down to your wet panties, his fingers pushing them aside, there it was; he could feel your lips, drenched and ready.

You bucked against his palm, aching for more but he deliberately pulled away.

You frowned in response.

Damn.

He chuckled delightfully, looking at his fingers coated with your wetness, “My darling kitty, you’re completely soaked. So you were being honest, after all. Such a good girl. Are you hoping for a reward?”

“Just give it to me already,” you urged, gripping him tightly and pressing yourself against him, ignoring the feeling of a deep blush spread across your cheeks.

“Oh, I will, sweetheart,” he said with a sly smile. He spun you around, pulling you firmly against him. Before you could even process what was happening, his strong arms enveloped you, and you felt his chin just above your ear and his clothed cock pressing against your thighs; you could feel beneath the fabric; it was hard, painfully hard, and you gasped. "You drive me so fucking crazy. I want so bad to slide into that sweet wet pussy and feel it all tight and hot around me while I pound into you.” He purred, “But first, there’s something I want you to do.” He touched your lips, then chin, tracing his fingertip down the line of your throat, over the hollow of your collarbone, down to the swelled curve of your breasts. His other hand had already slipped under the slit in your dress and found your dripping pussy once more, you bit your lower lip hard. The hand at your sex continued to tease you, lazily circling your entrance.

Fuck.

You shuddered under his touch and words, your back arched, eyes rolling, moaning softly.

"Will you do what I want, baby?” he asked as if you might protest.

“Whatever you want,” you whispered, eyes closed and completely surrendered to him, it was all too much and you were helpless in the face of this torture, you were melting.

He had to do what he had to do already, he had to do it before you lost your fucking mind.

His other hand grabbed your head from behind and he tilted your head to the other side this time, you tilted your head back towards his other shoulder. You couldn't do anything, you had no choice but to let him play with you like a toy. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered in a demanding tone.

It took you a second to figure out what had just happened, then you opened your eyes and frowned. “What the hell? Are you really trying to seduce me into saying that?”

"You left me no choice. Now say it, come on, I'm waiting."

In that moment, your stubbornness flared up because he had pushed you, forcing you to say that. But those wonderful fingers stroking your pussy so incredibly slowly, damn it, it made you stop thinking.

“Say it,” he said, sounding a bit impatient this time. He grabbed the strap of your dress and pulled it down to your waist. "I know you love me, so spill it. I’m not letting you leave this room until you do."

You turned your head to him, "Wait, what did you say? You can't do that."

“Watch me,” he said, yanking the dress down off your waist until it fell to the floor. “Now, darling, you’ve got two options,” he said, pulling you closer. You tried to struggle, but there was no breaking free from his grip. “The easy way or the hard way.”

“I get the easy way, but what’s the hard way, Mr. Castillo?” you scoffed.

He smirked, turned you around, this time you faced him. You deliberately took a step backwards, he was unbuttoning his shirt as he stepped towards you. “So you're taking the hard way?” he said huskily and kept walking towards you, and you kept going backwards.

Until your back hit the wall.

He leaned in, one hand against the wall next to you while the other gripped the strap of your bra. His gaze was intense as his fingers played with the lace. Then, feeling impatient, he quickly reached behind you, found the clasp of your wet bra, and undid it in no time. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he lifted your bra and tossed it on the floor. You could feel your face getting hot, and you bit your lip.

After that, he bent down to your level and lifted you by your hips. Your bare breasts rubbed against his bare chest, you both moaned. “Say it,” he said again, his breath hot on your skin.

But instead of answering, you held on to him, letting your hardened breasts torture him some more.

He growled in frustration and picked you up, carried you into the bedroom and threw you on the bed roughly making you gasp. You crawled backwards as he hurriedly took off his pants, your heart pounding in your throat, excited to see him completely naked.

Your gaze remained locked on his, biting your lip in anticipation.

But he was still lingering while taking his underpants off.

Finally.

You let out a happy sigh, taking in how breathtaking he looked. Impatiently, you shifted to the edge of the bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer to you. He leaned over and let you pull him down on the bed on top of you.

“Getting a little impatient, are we?” He smirked at you. “You can speed up the process, you know,” he said pinning you to the bed with his weight, putting one knee between your not yet fully spread legs and grasping your wrists.

“Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous,” you muttered.

“But it’s so much fun,” he breathed out before lunging for your mouth, pulling deep, hungry kisses that leave you both panting harshly.

Proving in a way that he was an amazing kisser and hot as hell.

Needing to taste every inch of your flushed skin, he continued up the sharp line of your jaw, your wrists slipping from his grasp.

He let out a hot breath over your ear before running the tip of his tongue down the shell of it. A shiver ran up your spine, and you bit down on his shoulder, pulling a groan from his throat. You soothed the spot with your lips as your hands roamed his body, his muscles rippling under your fingers.

He made his way down your throat, kissing and nipping and swirling his tongue in all the right places, leaving goose bumps in his wake.

Next, the tip of his tongue traced the underside of your breast in a teasing, feather-light sweep, breathing out as he hovered above the peak of your nipple, almost touching it. He waited until your eyes locked and paused just for a moment before he dived down and captured you in his mouth roughly, sucking hard as he expertly used his lips, teeth, and tongue.

“Oh god,” you let slip out on a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, chest now heaving from the sudden onslaught. He let you slip slowly from his lips but added a quick kiss to the sensitive flesh, making you jump. Your fingers run through his curls as he lowers his head further.

“You’re so beautiful baby,” he hummed.

Without warning he ran the flat of his tongue over you again, causing your hips to buck.

You were on fire.

You were whimpering.

You needed him needed him so fucking bad.

“Harry…” you moaned when he finally spread your legs and made a slight contact with your clit.

Working you with his tongue, he placed lazy open-mouth kisses over your breasts. He teased your entrance with the head of his cock while sucking your nipples hungrily, relentlessly, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, your whole body tingling.

“Shit! Harry, I’m gonna--” Already worked up from all the teasing, the exquisite combination of sensations sent a jolt straight to your core, causing a small orgasm that surprised you both.

Whoa, that never happened to you before; you were still in shock.

But that wasn’t enough.

It didn't do anything to satiate you, though; it only made you want more.

What the hell got into you?

Damn it.

He snickered. “Yes, baby, say my name and say that word, and I will give you more," he hummed into your flesh.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you growled, almost sobbing.

“As soon as you say the damn word,” He growled back and rubbed the tip of his cock against your walls and you pressed your hips against him but he pulled back, still waiting. “Oh c’mon, tell me you love me already,” he hissed.

It was too much and frustrating

“I… Harry, I-” you panted, trying to use your words but you were failing.

“Go on,” he grunted, commanding.

It was too much and frustrating for him too.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore as his cock throbbed in agony, and with a quick and rough thrust, he buried himself inside you, but halfway through it yet was enough to make you jump and scream.

He pulled back again and sighed.

You leaned back into the pillows, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around the backs of his. Your eyes met his, with a soft caress of his cheek, you whispered, "Harry Castillo... I love you... I love you so much that I do silly things because of you. I love you so much that I don’t want a single day to go by without you."

His lips curved up in a wide, victorious smile. "That's my girl. I love you too baby.”

He began to kiss you everywhere--- your cheeks, your nose your chin, your collarbone. And you moaned a little when he finally smashed his lips on yours, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sliding across your lower lip before nipping it. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” he grinned and kissed you again.

You managed to shake your head a little, blinking up at Harry as you panted broadly against his mouth. Your cunt throbbed around his cock as he fully sheathed himself in you. His fingers intertwined with yours, raising your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside you. He rolled his hips gently, then again as you whimpered, swirling his tongue with yours. He fucked you with slow, even strokes, trading slow kisses as you moaned and panted into one another's mouths.

He then broke the kiss, pressing his face into your neck as his thrusts became harder. You gasped, sinking your nails into his shoulders as you let your eyes slide closed. The bed was beginning to shake with his movements, and the slapping of your hips slightly echoed through the grand bedroom. You felt the familiar curling sensation beneath your waist, and you slid a hand down, grasping his behind and using the grip to urge him on. He drew back just enough to get a good look at you, his eyes bright in the dim room. You sucked in a stunned breath as he reached between your legs, fingers teasing your clit as his hips pounded yours more roughly.

You were moving so wildly that he couldn't keep his mouth on you any longer.

Your head fell back and you gasped when he thrust harder, deep into your wet, heated walls, a desperate sound escaping your thoroughly kissed lips. He stroked your clit while keeping up the rhythm he knew -he remembered from the first time you had sex that night-, one that pulled insanely erotic noises straight from your throat.

A devilish grin spread across his face as he took in the sight of you, his kitty writhing uncontrollably at his touch. Unable to take his eyes off of you, he worked his hand faster, moving it in a new sinfully exquisite way.

“Oh, God! Fuck!” You cried out, slick sounds of your bodies became louder and louder with every pump of his cock as his mouth latched onto your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping him tightly to your chest, needing something to hang on to desperately. He could feel your body tense and knew you were close from the sounds you were making.

Fuck, those sounds alone could be his undoing.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathed in your ear, pushing you over the edge.

And you did.

Arched off the bed, his hand never left you, gone with you, working you through it as a steady stream of curses and what could be his name tumbled from your lips. Coming back down, you pulled his face to yours as you plundered his mouth, all sense of restraint shattered. His hand started moving again in time to your kiss, trying to - oh hell no.

You needed more.

You needed him.

Surprising him, you reached and flipped his hand over, then him, still breathing hard from before. Your eyes were filled with lust as you straddled him and, without preparation, sank down onto him as much as you could take at this angle, throwing your head back while letting out a loud moan of satisfaction.

Your whole body shuddered as your hips jerked involuntarily, the feeling of him filling you so completely, almost too much but so good.

“Fuck, baby!” he choked out, his head slamming back into the pillow.

“That’s the idea,” you said, voice dripping with sex, only giving him a second or two before you start to ride him.

He couldn’t decide which was better.

Having the power to make you lose all self-control, completely at his mercy, or lying back and letting you take what you want from him.

Luckily, he didn’t have to choose.

It was like celebrating your confession; there were no more secrets, no more games, and no holding back between you two, finally.

Groaning, he ran his hands up your thighs and caressed the curve of your waist, coming around to knead your backside. Mesmerized by how fluidly you were moving, he watched in awe as your body prepared for yet another release. Rapidly reaching your peak again, he rubbed your with his thumb while his other hand tweaked and pulled your nipple. Your fingers curl, nails scraping his chest as you clenched hard around him, almost bringing him with you but he somehow managed to hold back.

Barely.

For now.

Dazed from multiple orgasms, you were not exactly sure how but he suddenly had you on your stomach, body pressed into the bed by his, the fingers of one hand interlaced with your own. He started off slowly, making sure you could handle it. He picked up the pace when you arched your back for an even better angle, giving his free hand room to sneak underneath your hips and play with you. Crushing your entwined hands together, you frantically reached out for anything else to hold on to, gripping the side of the bed with your other hand as he pounds into you from above.

Your mouth locked open, sobbed into the bed with every thrust, bringing you higher and higher until you were exploding, your whole body trembling with shockwaves originating from the epicenter where you were connected. His face was covered in sweat, cursing as he spilled into you with a deep, feral growl, finally letting go.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tall window, you gradually roused from sleep, reluctant to open your eyes. It felt as if you were resting on a soft, fluffy cloud, completely weightless. A wave of happiness washed over you, and you silently chided yourself for not embracing this morning magic sooner. After mustering enough courage, you finally confessed your feelings for him, and Harry’s efforts truly deserved a reward.

Just then, your phone alarm buzzed loudly from inside your bag on the floor, breaking the tranquil moment.

Ugh, of course, it was Thursday.

Damn it!

Realizing you were still face down on the bed, you wished you could just stay there forever. As you swung your legs over the side and reached out, you felt the empty space next to you. Had Harry already gotten up? You yawned and looked around. “Harry?” you called out sleepily.

The bathroom door swung open, and there he was, toothbrush in hand, foamy mouth and all. He shot you a smile that made you giggle. “Good morning, beautiful,” he managed to say through the toothpaste.

“Morning, ol' man,” you teased.

He frowned dramatically and went back to rinse his mouth before returning to you. “Ol' man, huh?” he asked, sitting on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him. “My ol' man,” you replied, kissing him, and he kissed you back.

“Are you getting me back for calling you 'kitty'?” he mocked, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Maybe,” you said with a playful grin and kissed him again.

You wanted to lose all sense of time in this room with him, wrapped up in nothing but kisses, but you had to get moving. “I’ve got to go to work,” you mumbled, breaking the kiss, reluctantly.

He grimaced. “Can’t you just skip today?”

“It's Thursday, Harry. Besides, don’t you have work to get to?” you reminded him as you slid out of bed.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you, and—” he murmured.

“Hmm?” You looked at him.

Just then, Harry's phone rang.

“I’ll be in the shower,” you said as you walked over.

He sighed and answered the call.

After using the toilet, you stepped into the shower, only for Harry to sneak in behind you. He quickly shed his pants and joined you under the warm water, wrapping his arms around you for another kiss, making you giggle.

“Looks like you were right; I guess I have to get to work too,” he said while turning on the water.

You kept kissing as the water poured over you, both of you unable to stop touching each other. Harry was super gentle as he massaged shampoo into your hair, clearly enjoying it. You returned the favor, and it felt so much nicer than just a simple swap.

As you both walked out of the hotel, Oliver showed up, carrying a bag that smelled amazing. “Here’s a quick breakfast for you,” he said, handing it over.

You glanced at Harry, who was smiling cockily. “I didn’t want you heading off to work all hungry.”

You smiled widely, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you. And... I love you.”

He smiled back. “I love you too,” he said, giving you another kiss.

Oliver laughed, clapping his hands. “Now that’s the sight I needed to see. Congratulations. I can die happy now.”

You both shared a joyful laugh and leaned in for another kiss, celebrating your love.

Harry and Oliver offered to drop you off near the building, but you declined, knowing you still had plenty of time and weren’t running late. After saying goodbye to them, a smile crept onto your face as you made your way to the entrance.

You were now Harry Castillo’s girlfriend—something that turned out to be less daunting than you’d imagined.

Lost in thought as you approached the building, a sudden screech of brakes pulled you back to reality. Startled, you turned to find a little girl who had just fallen to the ground. You hurried to her side. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

Meanwhile, the driver of the car was shouting, “Watch it, kid! Do you want to get hurt?”

Fuming, you yelled back, “You should be the one watching out! Don’t yell at her; can’t you see she’s terrified? Come on, sweetheart.”

Once you reached the sidewalk, you crouched down to check the scrape on her knee. “Does it hurt?”

“I wasn’t scared,” she replied defiantly. “I could have handled myself against him.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, absolutely, I’m sure you could. I was just looking out for you, you know. Girls have to look out for each other, right?" You winked at her.

She laughed. "I think so too, thanks. It’s just a scrape, really."

“Let’s swing by the pharmacy for a bandage,” you insisted.

“No need; I can take care of it. I'm already where I want to be, and I’m sure there are some first aid supplies at the house,” she said as she headed toward the building where you work.

You quickened your pace to catch up. "Do you live here? I actually work here."

She glanced at you, curious. “Not really. I’m just trying to get away from my parents’ drama for a bit. I thought I’d use my Uncle Harry’s place while he’s away.”

You suddenly froze.

No way, it couldn’t be.

Must just be a coincidence with the name or something.

“Did you say Harry? Does he live in this building?”

As you headed for the elevator, the girl nodded. “Yeah, he’s on the top floor, in the penthouse.”

Another wave of shock hit you.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Is your Uncle Harry's last name Castillo, by any chance?”

“So you know him?” she said, sounding casual.

But you were anything but casual, your mind racing.

Nodding, “Yeah, I know him,” you said in barely more than a whisper.

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wendichester · 22 days ago

Text

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ voicemail²,

summary.you and dean broke up, he tries to call you a couple of hours after.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluff with a cutesy bit of smut

wordcount. 1140

notes / warnings. yall can never leave my sad endings alone, can you? 😳// heavy angst turns soft. crying. unprotected shower sex. possessive language.

ᯓ★ read part 1

You don't sleep after that voicemail.

You can't.

You just lie there, crumpled around your pillow, chest aching in that hollow, unbearable way that feels a lot like missing a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you needed until it was gone.

His voice plays over and over in your head. The toothbrush. The broken apologies. The please.

And something inside you just snaps.

You’re out of bed before you even know what you’re doing—pulling on jeans, shoving your arms into a hoodie, grabbing your keys with shaking hands. It’s raining outside. Cold, needling rain that soaks you the second you step off the porch. You don't care. You drive anyway, windshield wipers screeching, heart hammering so loud you can hear it over the storm.

The closer you get, the worse the ache gets.

You don’t even remember pulling into the motel lot. You just see the Impala parked there, black and gleaming under the shitty streetlamp, and your throat closes up so tight you can barely breathe.

His room is on the ground floor.

Light on.

You walk up to the door like it might blow away if you don't move fast enough. Fist raised, knuckles trembling. You almost don't knock.

You almost turn around.

And then the door yanks open like he’s been standing on the other side the whole time, holding his breath, waiting.

Dean looks like hell.

Grey t-shirt. Sweatpants. Sleep-rumpled hair. Red-rimmed eyes that go wide and shattered when they land on you. For one terrible second, neither of you says anything. You just look.

And then—

He surges forward, grabbing your face in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His forehead presses to yours, breathing you in, arms coming around you so tight it almost hurts.

“God,” he chokes out. “God, you’re here.”

You’re crying again. You don’t even try to stop it. Big, messy, gasping sobs into his chest while he holds you like he’s piecing you back together with nothing but touch.

“I’m sorry,” you manage between broken breaths. “Dean—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it—”

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay.” His hands smooth over your back, your hair, like he can fix it if he just touches enough of you. His voice is thick, raw. “You’re here. That’s all I care about. You’re here, baby.”

He kisses the top of your head, your forehead, your temple, frantic, desperate little presses of his mouth like prayers.

You bury your face in his neck and just breathe him in. Leather and rain and salt and him.

He pulls you inside without letting go. The door swings shut behind you with a soft click, locking the two of you away from the whole fucked-up world outside.

You don’t know how long you stand there.

Minutes. Hours. Lifetimes.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

“You didn’t,” you whisper back. “You never could.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and tongue and aching forgiveness. It's not slow. It's not soft. It’s desperate and wild, the kind of kiss you give when you know you almost lost everything.

You cling to him, hands fisting in his t-shirt, trying to climb into his skin, trying to make up for every second you were apart.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, trembling.

“You’re soaked,” he says, running a hand down your wet hoodie.

“You gonna fix it?” you challenge, voice still shaky.

Dean’s mouth twitches like he’s trying to smirk, but his eyes—they’re nothing but wide-open devastation. He steps in closer, hands slipping under the hem of your soaked hoodie, fingertips skating along your cold, damp skin.

“Gonna fix everything, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Gonna make you feel so good you forget why you ever left.”

And God, you believe him.

Because when Dean Winchester loves, he loves like he’s on fire. Like there’s no tomorrow.

The clothes come off fast and clumsy—both of you half-laughing, half-breathless as he backs you toward the bathroom. The door bangs open, the shitty fluorescent light flickering overhead. Dean kicks it shut with his foot, eyes devouring you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

The shower hisses to life, steam curling into the air.

Dean lifts you up like you weigh nothing—your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist—and presses you back against the tile. His mouth is everywhere—jaw, neck, collarbone—biting and kissing and gasping against your skin.

“Missed you so goddamn much,” he pants, voice breaking open. “Missed this. Missed you.”

You tug his face up, kiss him like you’re trying to climb inside his soul.

“I’m here,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s all he needs.

He’s inside you a second later, hot and thick and perfect, stretching you open with one desperate thrust. You both cry out—half pain, half god, yes, full-body relief.

The water pounds against your back, but you barely notice—too busy clawing at his shoulders, too busy moaning into his mouth, too busy feeling.

Dean fucks you like it’s the last twenty minutes of the world ending. Hard, fast, deep—savoring you, worshiping you, hands everywhere, mouth filthy against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he growls, each thrust slamming the words deeper into your bones. “You’re my girl—you hear me? Always been my girl.”

“Yes,” you sob, nails raking down his back. “Yours. Always.”

Your body shudders around him, pleasure crashing over you so hard you see stars. Dean follows with a broken, wrecked groan, spilling into you with his face buried in your neck, arms trembling from how hard he’s holding you.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

Just the shower hissing, your hearts pounding, your bodies clinging together like drowning people in a shipwreck.

Dean finally pulls back to look at you—hair dripping, lashes wet, cheeks flushed—and presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Love you more than anything.”

You kiss him—slow and deep and aching—like sealing a vow.

Later, you’re curled up in bed, wearing one of Dean’s soft, worn t-shirts. It swamps you, smelling like him, like leather and soap and salvation.

Dean slips in beside you, still damp from the shower, and tugs you into his side without hesitation. His bare chest is warm under your cheek; his hand settles on your back, thumb rubbing slow, sleepy circles.

The motel room hums with cheap neon light bleeding in through the curtains.

Dean leans down, mouth brushing your temple so soft it barely counts as a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers again, voice rough and raw, like he’s praying it into your skin. “Always.”

You smile against his chest, eyes fluttering closed, heart finally, finally quiet. “I love you.”

Home. Not the place. Not the motel.

Him.

It was always him.

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gojover · 22 days ago

Text

☆ END OF BEGINNING.

summary: the world’s ending, the air is toxic, and here you are, sitting on the floor of your childhood room, contemplating a heist.

pairing: caleb xia x fem!reader contains: romance, angst, smut (breast play, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex (please stay safe irl!)), childhood friends to lovers!au, apocalypse!au, hurt/comfort. inspired by djo’s end of beginning and iu’s love wins all music video. word count: 6.8k

The world is about to end, and you’re eating instant noodles on the living room floor when he tells you.

“The government fucked up,” Caleb says. He’s sprawled on the carpet next to you, his thigh pressing against your knee and his arms crossed behind his head. He hasn’t gone to work in weeks—and it’s a pity, you think, because he’s the best pilot they had.

But then again, you suppose, what use would a pilot be when the skies themselves are poisoned?

You slurp a noodle, unbothered. The taste is bland, and you wish you’d sprung for the spicy kind last time you went to the store. It’s too late now.

Caleb exhales a long, slow breath through his nose, eyes tracing lazy circles across the ceiling like he’s looking for constellations that aren’t there anymore. His hair is too long, curling over his forehead, a leftover from the time when days still mattered.

“They tried to fix it,” he says. “But it just made everything worse.”

You swirl your fork through the soggy mess in your bowl. “Of course they did.”

It comes out sharper than you mean it to, but he doesn’t flinch. Caleb never flinches. Not even when the emergency sirens first started going off. Not even when the newsfeeds turned to static.

Outside, the sky is the colour of an old bruise—yellow, purple, sickly green at the edges. You stopped checking the forecasts. They always said the same thing anyways: hazardous, do not breathe, shelter indoors.

“How long?” you ask after a while, setting your bowl aside. It doesn’t matter, really, but you want to hear him say it.

Caleb tilts his head towards you, just slightly. His eyes catch the dim light. “A few weeks. A month, tops.”

You hum, as if he had told you it might rain tomorrow. The silence stretches out between you, heavy and companionable. He shifts closer, his ankle pressing against your calf, and you don’t move away. You wonder if he’s scared. You wonder if you should be. Instead, you glance at him, at the grim set of his jaw, the lazy sprawl of him on the floor like he’s sunbathing in a world that’s already gone cold.

“Guess we picked a good last meal,” you say dryly.

He laughs, and it’s the best sound you’ve heard in days.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Caleb turns his head, resting his cheek against the carpet so he can look at you properly. He grins at you like you’re kids again, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

“What kind of stupid?” you ask.

“Does it matter?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over, but the truth is you’d say yes to anything right now. “What do you have in mind?”

Caleb sits up, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up in soft, messy tufts. He looks like a boy again—trouble and charm and wild ideas stitched into his bones.

“There’s a museum downtown,” he says. “The one with all the… old stuff. Paintings, sculptures. They abandoned it when the first evacuation orders went out. Bet no one even bothered locking the doors.”

“You want to steal art?”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone’s going to miss it.”

Well. That is kind of true.

You sit back on your heels, eyes narrowing in thought. It’s absurd, but then again, everything feels absurd these days. The world’s ending, the air is toxic, and here you are, sitting on the floor of your childhood room, contemplating a heist.

“You’re serious?” you ask, half-laughing, half-asking for reassurance.

Caleb grins, leaning forward to push himself up to a sitting position. His hair falls messily over his forehead as he straightens his back, giving you a look of fond exasperation. “Who else is going to do it?”

The idea starts to settle in, like it’s meant to be this way. A last hurrah, the sort of thing you’d see in movies before the credits roll. Except this isn’t a movie, and you know it. This world is real, and it’s dying. But somehow, it still feels like you’ve got a chance at doing something ridiculous.

“And you think there’ll still be something worth taking?” you ask.

“Maybe not. But I bet it’ll still be beautiful. Art’s supposed to last forever, right? Guess we’ll see if it actually does.” His voice softens at the last bit, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You nod, almost absentmindedly. “Alright. Sure. Let’s go steal some art.”

Outside, the air burns the back of your throat, thick and metallic, but you don’t care. The streets are empty, ghost-town still, your footsteps the only sound as you walk side by side towards the heart of the city. The asphalt sticks to your shoes, tacky from the heat, but you keep moving. Caleb matches your pace, close enough that your sleeves brush every few steps. He hums a low, tuneless song under his breath.

You turn a corner. The skyline, once proud and glittering, leans crooked now, buildings half-shrouded in the jaundiced haze. Billboards flap limply in the dead air, advertising a future that never showed up.

“Feels like we’re walking through the end of a movie,” Caleb says.

You glance at him. His face is set in a strange kind of calm, the kind people wear when they’re past fear and deep into acceptance. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders loose.

“Except no dramatic soundtrack,” you mutter.

He huffs a laugh. “Guess we’ll make our own.”

You let the quiet settle between you again, breathing shallowly through your mouth. Every now and then, a birdcall splits the thick air—sharp, jarring against the hush—and it makes you both flinch, just a little.

You pass by a coffee shop you used to go to sometimes, back when things were still normal. The door hangs open. Someone left a cup on the table inside, a ring of brown staining the paper lid. You wonder, absently, if they ever got to finish it.

Caleb bumps your shoulder with his, pulling your attention back. He’s smiling at you—small, lopsided, a little tired.

“We’re almost there,” he says, nodding up ahead.

The museum looms ahead, its glass façade cracked, vines curling hungrily up the walls. The banners that used to advertise new exhibits hang shredded from the columns, fluttering lazily in the poisoned breeze. You stop at the bottom of the steps, tipping your head back to look up at the building properly. It’s massive and empty, the kind of thing you used to call haunted before everything turned into a shell of itself.

“Ready?” Caleb asks.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat and nod. “Yeah.”

Caleb grabs your hand and starts up the steps two at a time, dragging you along. You let him. At the top, he kicks the door open with a flourish, bowing low.

“After you, milady,” he says, with a wink.

You roll your eyes but smile, stepping past him into the dim, echoing coolness of the museum. It smells like dust and old paper and metal. Inside, the marble floors stretch out in wide, empty corridors. The exhibits are still there: paintings, sculptures, relics from a thousand different lives that had nothing to do with yours.

It’s so quiet that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

Caleb whistles low. “Whole place is ours,” he says, voice bouncing off the cavernous walls.

“What do we even take?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He swings his arms out wide, spinning in a slow circle, loose and child-like.

“Anything you want,” he says, grinning. “Steal the Mona Lisa for all I care.”

“That’s in Paris, dumbass.”

He shrugs, unbothered, and ambles towards a nearby painting: a silhouette of a woman, painted in bruised blues and splashes of red. He tilts his head at it. “She looks kind of pissed.”

“That’s because it’s a landscape,” you say, and he lets out a bark of laughter that echoes all the way up into the broken rafters.

You drift through the museum together, your steps turning lighter with every ridiculous comment Caleb tosses over his shoulder. He narrates the paintings in stupid voices, poses beside marble statues, pulls a face and says, “That’s the face you make when you’re judging me for my driving skills.” You’re laughing before you can stop yourself, covering your mouth with your sleeve.

At some point, you wander into one of the grander halls, where the skylight above is cracked like a spiderweb, letting in a sickly light that pools across the floor. Dust floats through the air in thick, lazy motes.

Caleb stops at a sculpture of two dancers frozen mid-twirl, their hands barely touching. He looks at it for a long moment; then says, “I bet we could do that better.”

“You don’t know how to dance,” you remind him.

“It can’t be that hard.” He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “C’mon, pipsqueak. One last dance.”

You hesitate, then laugh and place your hand in his. His palm is warm, a little calloused, and he gives you a clumsy twirl that nearly knocks you over. You’re giggling helplessly by the time he dips you, exaggerated and wobbly, and he’s laughing too, bright and breathless, his forehead falling against yours for just a second.

You stay like that—forehead to forehead, hands tangled together—for a moment more, breathing in the same thin, dusty air. Caleb’s laugh dies into a smile, and for a second, you can almost forget the world crumbling outside.

“You’re terrible at this,” you mumble.

“I’m incredible,” he corrects, not moving away.

You give him a gentle shove on the chest and he finally moves back, albeit reluctantly. His hands catch on your elbows like he doesn’t want to let you go.

“At least you didn’t drop me on the marble,” you say, but you’re smiling too, and he beams like he’s won something anyway.

The museum stretches endlessly in every direction: gold-framed portraits, ancient jewelry, fossilised bones arranged in careful displays. Caleb pauses here and there to point out something absurd—a crown so heavy, it looks like it could crush someone’s neck; a medieval tapestry that, upon closer inspection, includes a diagram about medieval-era contraceptive measures. It’s stupid, and a little reckless, but for the first time in weeks, you feel something like lightness thread through your chest.

You slow near the entrance to a small gallery tucked into a corner. It looks emptier than the others, the walls bare except for a few faded posters peeling at the corners. On the floor, near the cracked tile, something catches your eye.

A crumpled ticket stub.

You crouch down, brushing your fingers over it gently. The print is worn and the edges are curled, but you can still make out the faded words: A Night at the Museum – Summer Gala. There’s even a little gold star printed beside the date.

You could take anything here—paintings worth millions, artifacts that only belong in textbooks—but somehow, this feels more important. A piece of someone’s normal night, a memory left behind like a breadcrumb trail.

“What’d you find?” Caleb asks, crouching beside you.

You hold the stub up between two fingers. “This.”

He studies it, then you, and a smile curves slowly at the corner of his mouth. “Good choice,” he says. “It’s beautiful, too.”

You slip it into your jacket pocket, smoothing it flat with careful fingers. Caleb bumps your shoulder lightly with his again.

“Sentimental,” he teases, but there’s no heat to it; only something fond and quiet.

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

He stands first, offering you a hand. You take it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet.

You take a detour on the way home, because Caleb says he wants to cook you a meal. A proper one, he’d said. Not one of those stupid instant noodles packets you like.

Instead of the community centre he usually breaks into, he steers you towards the old supermarket on the Fifth, the one with the dilapidated sign and boarded-up windows. You shoot him a look as you approach, but he simply nudges you forward with his elbow.

“Trust me,” he says. “We’ll eat like kings tonight.”

You roll your eyes but follow him anyway, your footsteps crunching over broken glass and gravel. The front doors are still stuck half-open, warped with heat and time. Caleb slips through the gap. You duck in after him.

Inside, it’s dark and humid, the air thick with the smell of rot and old paper. A few broken fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting the aisles in feeble strips of greenish light. You can hear the slow drip of water somewhere in the back, as if the building is still trying to bleed itself dry.

“Alright, shopping list,” Caleb says, clapping his hands together. “Pasta, sauce, anything that looks even remotely edible.”

“And a can opener,” you add. “I lost the one at home.”

He nods and gives you a sloppy salute before disappearing down an aisle, the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the sticky floor fading as he goes.

You wander in the opposite direction, picking through the remains. Most of the fresh stuff is long gone, spoiled and soupy in abandoned carts or smeared across the floor. But in the canned food aisle, you strike gold: tomatoes, corn, beans—stuff that’s probably still edible if you squint and don’t think about it too hard.

Caleb jogs back into view, his arms overloaded with supplies: a bag of rice, a half-smashed box of cereal, two grimy jars of pasta sauce.

“You’re hoarding,” you point out.

He shrugs, unrepentant. “It’s the apocalypse. Finders, keepers.”

You stuff your finds into a battered plastic basket and follow him to the front of the store. Every once in a while, he tosses something in: a packet of gummy worms, a bottle of some bright blue sports drink, a tin of instant coffee with the label half peeled off.

“For morale,” he says, dead serious, when you give him a skeptical look.

It’s dumb, the way he says it, but for reasons you don’t want to look at too closely, your chest aches with it.

By the time you’re done, you’ve amassed a dragon’s hoard of nearly-expired groceries piled high in a stolen shopping cart. Caleb steers like a drunkard, ramming into shelves and cackling like a maniac when you shush him.

“Stop it, Caleb,” you hiss, ducking low out of instinct, even though you know no one’s going to come yelling at you.

He only grins wider, pushing the cart through the broken doors.

Outside, the sun has almost fully collapsed behind the ruined skyline, leaving the streets bathed in a blemished orange-coloured sunlight. You grab one side of the cart to help him steer, wheels rattling unevenly over the cracked asphalt.

Neither of you says it out loud, but you’re both thinking it: this haul will keep you fed for weeks. It’s an idiotic, lucky victory.

You stop at the old playground one street away from your house before heading home. Caleb says it’s because you’re already outside, anyway, so what’s a few minutes more?

You let him pull you towards the rusted swing set after hiding your stolen cart behind a cluster of metal sheets, and ignore the way your throat itches and your lungs burn because of the poisoned sky.

The swing groans under your weight when you drop onto it, the chains shuddering like they might snap if you so much as breathe too hard. Caleb claims the one next to you, giving himself a running push so he rocks back and forth, shoes kicking up dust from the cracked ground. You hook your fingers around the chains, scuffing the toe of your sneaker against the dirt.

The sky above is smothered, thick with the smoke and haze that never really clears anymore, but here, tucked away in the hollowed-out bones of the world, it almost feels like time has paused. Like if you just sit still enough, you could almost trick yourself into thinking you’re just two kids killing time before curfew.

Caleb leans back so far, the chains creak in protest, tipping his head toward the sky like it could swallow him. His hands are loose around the rusted metal, and when he speaks, it’s almost too soft to hear over the sigh of the wind.

“If the sky wasn’t poisoned,” he says, “I’d take you flying.”

You glance over at him and he’s still looking up, like he’s imagining it—a world where the clouds are white instead of ash-grey, where the stars are something you can actually see and not just rely on childhood memories to remember.

“I’d take you so high, you’d forget the ground ever existed,” Caleb goes on, voice low and far away. “I’d show you the stars. All of ‘em. I’d fly us so far out, the city lights wouldn’t drown them anymore.”

Your chest aches in that familiar, hollow way it always does whenever he talks about the sky. Caleb used to dream about it out loud when you were kids, lying side by side on your driveways in the summer, naming constellations you could barely spot through the streetlights.

He was always the one who believed there was more waiting for you, just past the horizon.

“You’re still a show-off,” you say, a little hoarsely, trying to smile.

He cuts his gaze towards you then, his smile lazy and warm despite everything. “Yeah, well. Some things survive the end of the world.”

You duck your head, hiding your grin. Your fingers tighten around the swing’s chain. For a second, you can almost feel it—the slipstream pulling at your hair, the stars crowding in close like they belong to you. Almost.

You want to tell him you’d go anywhere with him. That you’d climb into whatever battered plane he dragged out of a hangar and not even ask where you were headed. That it doesn’t matter if the sky’s poisoned or the stars are gone—you’d follow him anyway.

But instead, you just scuff your shoe harder into the dirt, stirring up little spirals of ash, and hope somehow he already knows.

The swing chains clink together lightly, the sound as delicate as wind chimes. You look up at the sky, at the thick clouds smearing the sun into that disgusting blur, and wonder how long it’s been since you’ve seen a real sunset. You wonder how nice it’d feel to sit here with him and watch the sky turn pink and purple instead of this endless, brassy gold.

Your throat feels tight.

“I think…” you start, then falter, twisting the frayed edge of your sleeve around your finger. You can feel Caleb’s gaze on you, steady and patient.

“I think I would’ve liked it,” you say a little too fast. You swallow and force yourself to keep going, even as the words stick to the back of your dry throat. “If things were normal. If I could… marry you.”

The confession hangs in the air, fragile and trembling like the gossamer silk of a spider’s web. You immediately look down, too cowardly to see whatever’s written on his face. Embarrassment prickles up the back of your neck, hot and awful. Maybe you’ve ruined everything. Maybe you’ve said too much.

But then Caleb’s hand brushes against yours, and carefully, he lifts your left hand from your lap. You glance up, startled, just in time to see him lower his head and press a soft, gentle kiss to your ring finger, right where a gold band might have sat in some other life, in some better world.

Your breath catches so sharply, it hurts your chest.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression uncharacteristically serious, though his smile is still there, small and steady.

“We don’t need the world to be normal for that,” he says. “Registrar’s closed anyway. Who’s gonna stop us? Some dead fucker in a suit?”

You let out a shaky laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. “You’re serious,” you say, your voice wavering.

“Dead serious.” Caleb presses another kiss to your knuckles for good measure, warmer this time. He leans in a little closer, so close you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I’ll find you a ring. Steal it from a jewellery store if I have to. We’ll do it ourselves. We’ll make up vows, find a spot under the stars—hell, we can carve them into a tree if you want.”

The grin he flashes you is crooked and a little bashful, like he knows how ridiculous he sounds and means every word regardless.

“We’ll be the most illegally married people left alive,” he says.

Something in you shudders, fragile and aching, and you squeeze his fingers tighter without even thinking about it.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Caleb’s smile softens. He shifts, standing up from his swing with a rustle of fabric, and pulls you to your feet, hands still tangled together. He holds your hand between his like it’s something precious, something he can protect through sheer stubbornness alone.

“Then it’s settled,” he says. “You’re stuck with me now.”

You let out a watery laugh, the kind that feels like you’re almost crying, and nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re stuck with me, dummy.”

“Best decision I’ve ever made,” he says, smiling so widely now that you can see the dimples bracketing his mouth.

Dinner, that night, is a giddy affair.

Caleb finds some excuse to touch you. You pretend you don’t like it but lean into his arms anyway. He kisses your cheek when you accidentally smear pasta sauce over it and smiles when you shyly turn your head away. The food isn’t even that good—the pasta is overcooked, and the sauce is too runny, and it’s bland because you couldn’t find onions or garlic—but these days, when even finding proper meals is a luxury, you find yourself enjoying it.

You find an old candle hidden away in one of the living room drawers, and you place it in between your plates and let the wick catch flame. It’s a parody of a meal you’d find at a decent restaurant before the world went to shit, but Caleb says it’s perfect and you believe him.

Later, you pile the dishes in the sink, telling yourself you’ll wash them tomorrow, and leave the candle burning down to a stub between you. Caleb stretches out on the battered couch, one arm flung lazily behind his head. You sit down on the space next to him, legs tucked under you.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” Caleb says.

You hum. You are tired, but it’s a good kind of tired. Full-bellied, warm-skinned. You rest your head on the back of the couch and close your eyes. When you open them again, Caleb’s watching you with that look he gets sometimes—fond amusement, something quieter you’ve never been able to place. He doesn’t look away.

“Come here,” he says, voice low, roughened by the kind of exhaustion that’s too deep to sleep off.

You don’t think about it.

The couch sags under your weight as you crawl over, knocking his knee with yours. He shifts to make space, but not much. Just enough that when you sit beside him, your thighs press together, warm through the fabric of your jeans. Your heart knocks around in your ribs like it’s trying to find a way out. Caleb looks at you, his eyes flickering down to your mouth and back up again, almost as though he’s waiting for permission he doesn’t really need.

So, you lean in first.

It’s awkward, at first—a bump of noses, a quick breath of laughter you swallow between your teeth. Then Caleb’s hand finds your jaw, steadying you, and the laughter fades into something slower.

The kiss is soft, careful and testing; like you’re both trying to memorise this, in case it slips away just like everything else. Caleb tastes like tomato and burnt bread and something stubbornly, stupidly sweet—like the boy who used to drag you down the street by hand when you were late for school, and the man who learned how to fly because he thought it would make him brave.

Your hands find his shirt, bunching the fabric at the sides. His fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, slower, like there’s no need to hurry.

You shift, climbing into his lap without thinking, and he catches you with a low, surprised noise against your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, pulling you closer.

The candle burns lower still, forgotten, wax puddling onto the chipped table. The world outside stays exactly where it belongs: outside your old, dusty window panes with no way of bleeding into the walls and floorboards of your childhood home.

Caleb kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s given up on pretending to take it slow. His hands roam, slow and certain, slipping under the hem of your shirt where your skin is warm. You shiver at the contact—not because it’s cold, but because it’s him.

His mouth trails lower, pressing hot, open kisses along the line of your throat, your collarbones. You lift your arms without thinking when he tugs at your shirt, letting him pull it over your head and toss it aside. He pauses—just for a second—to look at you. His eyes are dark, not just with want, but like he’s letting the fact that you’re here sink in, that you’re real and here and his.

He reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, letting it drop onto the floor. You reach for him in return, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and tugging until he helps you strip it off too, leaving both of you half-dressed and breathing hard.

When he leans down again, his mouth finds the top of your breasts, lips dragging slowly over the swell of it, tongue licking experimentally. It makes you shiver, even in the thick, heavy warmth of the room. His hands cup them fully now, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate strokes that send sparks racing under your skin.

You gasp, arching into him, and Caleb groans before closing his mouth around one nipple, sucking gently. His tongue laves over the sensitive peak, teasing, while his hand kneads your other breast with a slow, steady rhythm. Every touch feels unbearably good, like he’s learning you by heart, piece by piece.

“Caleb—” you breathe, nails scraping lightly down his back.

He switches sides, giving the same slow, thorough attention to your other breast, while his free hand starts to drift lower, tracing the line of your ribs, your stomach, until he’s slipping just under the waistband of your jeans, thumb stroking the skin there.

The anticipation coils tight in your belly, a sweet, aching heat building between your thighs.

Caleb lifts his head to kiss you again, and you realise you’re both trembling, holding on to each other like the world outside has already ended—and maybe it has, but here, in this bubble you’ve made together, there’s still something left.

He nips at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you, chest heaving. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, pulling him back and kissing him hard, greedy for the taste of him, for the solid weight of his body pressing you down into the couch cushions. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your waist, the curve of your ribs—sliding under the remaining layers of clothing with barely restrained urgency.

When you fumble with the button of his jeans, Caleb groans into your mouth, low and desperate, and lifts his hips to help you push them down. You tug them down to his thighs, leaving him in just his boxers, the outline of his cock thick and heavy against the thin fabric.

You palm him through it first—slow, teasing—dragging your hand up his length until he shudders, forehead dropping against yours. His breath stutters out hotly against your lips.

“Please,” he says, voice wrecked and trembling with the effort not to just take.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, small and secret, and then nudge him gently back against the couch cushions. He follows without protest, legs sprawling open, watching you with wide, dilated eyes like he’s helpless to do anything but obey.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and peel them down torturously slowly, the fabric catching slightly around his thighs before you finally free his dick. It’s flushed deep pink at the tip, a bead of wetness already glistening there.

You wrap your hand around him first, stroking from the thick base all the way to the leaking head, feeling the way his cock twitches at your touch. Caleb’s hips jerk involuntarily, a moan torn from his throat, and his hands grip the couch so tightly, his knuckles bleach white.

You lean in and swipe your tongue along the underside, tracing the thick vein there, savouring the way he trembles for you, the way he bites back a curse that still spills from between his clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” Caleb mutters, barely more than a rasp.

You flatten your tongue and take his cock into your mouth, inch by slow inch, feeling him throb against your tongue. His whole body goes rigid. You work him deeper each time; your jaw aches slightly but you don’t stop, hollowing your cheeks.

“You feel—fuck, you feel so good,” Caleb pants, his thighs trembling under your hands.

You pull back a little, letting the tip slip free from your lips, and swirl your tongue around it, teasing the slit until he’s cursing again, hips bucking despite himself. You take him back in deep, relaxing your throat, swallowing around him. Caleb moans, one hand tangling in your hair—not pulling, just holding your head in place.

You bob your head steadily, letting him fuck into your mouth with shallow thrusts, slick sounds filling the otherwise silent room. You moan softly around him, feeling his dick twitch against your tongue in response, the sound shooting straight through him like a lightning bolt.

When you pull off with a wet pop, your lips are swollen and your eyes are glassy. You look at him through your lashes, and he looks completely unlike what Caleb normally looks like—chest heaving, hair mussed, mouth slack with want.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes out.

“You okay?” you tease, thumb brushing over the slick tip just to see him flinch.

“Come here,” he says instead.

He hauls you onto his lap, kissing you deeply, not caring about the mess. One hand slides between your bodies to undo your jeans. He works them down your thighs with clumsy urgency, dragging your underwear with them. Then he flips you onto your back, kneeling between your legs, spreading your thighs open with both hands.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words tore themselves from him.

You barely have time to whimper before he leans in, pressing his mouth to your folds with one stripe of his tongue up your centre. You arch off the couch instinctively, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Caleb groans low in his chest, and he does it again, slower this time, dragging his tongue from your dripping entrance to your clit.

He settles his broad shoulders between your thighs and locks his arms around them, anchoring you there, helpless against his mouth. His tongue flicks lightly over your clit, teasing, coaxing, until you’re gasping—then, he sucks it gently between his lips, rolling it with the perfect pressure that makes your thighs tremble against his ears.

You can feel yourself dripping onto his chin, his mouth, but Caleb doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it spurs him on. He groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

When you buck against him, desperate and overwhelmed, he only tightens his grip, one strong hand pinning your hip down while the other trails between your legs. His fingers glide through your slick folds, teasing your entrance before he sinks one thick finger into you, slow and careful, stretching you open.

You moan his name, shameless, fisting the couch cushions. Caleb watches you like there’s nothing more important than the way your face twists with pleasure under him.

He pumps his fingers in and out slowly, curling it just right, while his mouth stays locked on your clit, tongue relentless, driving you higher with every stroke. When he slips a second finger inside, scissoring them carefully to stretch you, you sob, writhing against him.

He builds you up mercilessly, mouth and fingers working in tandem, coaxing you towards the edge so expertly that it feels euphoric. Your thighs clamp around his head, but Caleb just groans again, fucking you deeper with his fingers, sucking harder on your clit.

You come with a cry of his name, thighs trembling and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. Caleb doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, drinking down every shudder and gasp, prolonging it until you’re a boneless mess sprawled across the couch.

Only when your body stops jerking does he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cheeks flushed and his lips shiny.

He doesn’t give you time to recover. He kisses his way up your body—your thighs, your belly, your chest—murmuring your name like a prayer against your skin. By the time he reaches your mouth, you’re already pulling him in. He kisses you deep, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Want you,” you whisper against his lips. “Please.”

He nods, once, twice, frantically. “Yeah. Yeah, I—”

“Please, Caleb.”

“Fuck.”

When Caleb finally pushes inside you, it’s slow—agonisingly so. His hand finds your waist, digging into your skin, and he presses his lips to your forehead. His eyes flutter shut. “You okay?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, still a little breathless. You can’t form words, but your hips move instinctively, rolling up to meet his thrust halfway. He inhales sharply, pulling back and thrusting back in, starting slow.

You pull him closer, your hands wandering over his skin, finding purchase on his shoulders, his arms, his back. You feel the muscles in his body coil, tense with each stroke, but he doesn’t falter. He’s focused, his eyes never quite opening fully.

His hand slides down your body, finding your hips, and he pulls you up against him. Your legs lock around his waist as you move with him, desperate for more. He groans at the way you meet him, each thrust growing deeper, faster, as you push him harder, pulling him closer with each movement.

The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room, punctuated by the wet, breathless gasps that escape both of you. He pulls you closer still, each movement becoming more urgent, more demanding. You can feel every muscle in his body tighten as he drives into you, his grip tightening as if afraid you might slip away.

Your breathing comes in sharp, erratic bursts, and every thrust feels like it’s taking you higher, until your vision blurs and you’re not sure where you end and he begins. You can’t focus on anything but him — the weight of him on top of you, the rough cadence of his movements, the desperate way he groans your name between each thrust. You’re drowning in it, lost in the rhythm, in the sensation of him moving inside you.

You’re so close—the heat building between your legs, the tight coil of anticipation so ready to snap. Your hips meet his in sync, rocking against each other in a slow grind that has your pulse thundering in your ears. Every second feels like an eternity. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks behind as your legs tighten around him, pulling him in deeper

The tension in your body snaps, and your breath catches in your throat as your climax hits you, sending shockwaves through every inch of your body. You cry out, fingers gripping his back as you clench around him. Caleb follows right after, his own groan of your name rough. He pulls out just in time and spills on your stomach.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You both lay there, panting, your bodies still connected, struggling to regain some semblance of breath, of control. His forehead rests against yours, your fingers tangled in his hair, his chest rising and falling against yours with each ragged breath.

He doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, Caleb presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, to your collarbone, trailing his lips to the curve of your jaw.

You thread your fingers through his hair, cradling him close.

There is only one tree still standing in your neighbourhood, though its branches have long been stripped bare and its bark crumbles if you brush against it wrong. It’s a wonder it’s survived at all, gnawed at by the poisoned air and years of neglect.

Caleb finds it when he goes out hunting for a ring for you—a battered silver band scavenged from a pawnshop’s ruins, dull with age until he painstakingly polished it against the sleeve of his jacket.

He comes back with dirt on his jeans and a quiet kind of brightness in his eyes, the kind he used to have when you were kids and he’d found something he couldn’t wait to show you.

“We should do it properly,” he says, holding out the ring in the cradle of his palm. “Or… as properly as we can.”

You don’t have a dress. He doesn’t have a suit. There’s no music, no flowers, no one to witness you but the empty street and the sick, churning sky.

Still, you walk hand-in-hand to the tree.

Still, you smile at him like the world hasn’t ended.

Still, when Caleb takes your hands—rough and calloused, but shaking a little anyway—you think you’re the happiest you’ve ever been.

Neither of you has vows prepared. You fumble through promises, your voice catching and trembling in the thinning air. Caleb laughs under his breath, wiping at the corner of his eye with the back of his wrist like he can pretend it’s just dust.

His own voice is hoarse when he tells you three simple words, eight simple letters.

He slips the ring onto your finger—too loose, cold from the wind—and kisses you before you can start to cry, cradling your face between his palms. It’s a kiss like a vow in itself: steady, certain, and chosen.

The world around you is broken and hollowed out, but right here, right now, you are whole.

When you finally pull away, Caleb digs into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a bent, rusted nail. Without saying anything, he turns to the tree and presses the nail into the bark, dragging it slowly. You step closer, peeking over his shoulder, heart aching at the simple, stubborn act of it.

The bark flakes away under the nail, the lines rough and uneven, but it doesn’t matter. It’s yours.

A mark. A memory. Proof that even at the end of the world, you chose each other.

Caleb steps back, dusting his hands on his jeans, and looks at the carving like it's the most important thing he's ever made.

Then he turns to you, grin tilted and familiar, and says, "Now it’s official."

You laugh—real and bright, like it bubbles up from somewhere you thought was long dead—and pull him in again, arms winding tight around his neck as the grey sky rumbles overhead.

The end of the world feels like falling asleep in your beloved’s arms, your mouth pressed to the pulse at his throat and his lips pressed to your forehead.

Exhibit: “Testaments of Survival” – Section II: Personal Histories

Object: Piece of Bark from an Apple Tree (Malus domestica) Date: Estimated circa 2074 Location Found: Sector 18, Northern District (Formerly Linkon City) Condition: Severely weathered; fragment only. Hand-carved inscription partially preserved.

Background: This artifact is a remnant of the environmental and societal collapse commonly referred to as The Withering. Following the ecological chain-reaction of 2070–2075, flora across most continents experienced mass die-offs. Very few plant species, including domestic apple trees, survived the acidification of the soil and atmosphere.

Recovered from a once-residential area, this bark fragment bears a simple, hand-etched inscription:

“CALEB XIA AND ████████ WERE MARRIED HERE.”

It is believed to mark an unofficial wedding ceremony held during the height of The Withering.

Personal ceremonies like this, often improvised and undocumented, served as acts of resilience and resistance against the dissolution of traditional societal structures.

The names etched into the bark are a rare human touch from a time otherwise dominated by loss—a stubborn act of hope carved into a dying world.

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